Crazy Old Man

“I hardly ever go outside. Whenever I do, something crazy happens.” I explain to my co-worker buddy, Cory. You see, I went outside this weekend. No, it’s true. Ask my friend Cory. You see, our favorite podcast was in town so I got us some VIP tickets, which included a meet-n-mingle. We got to talking in his car and naturally the topic fell on why I spend all my time indoors. I don’t know what it is about me but I just attract crazy. It’s why I have dozens upon dozens of stories about failed dates and bizarre encounters that rival Mulder and Scully from The X-Files. All that despite the fact that you can count how often I leave my house on one hand.

We got to the shindig early because Cory wanted to get away didn’t want to be late. We waited outside and chatted for a bit, a rare treat we hardly get outside of work. A chill wind blew through the Salt Lake’s inversioned air. Along with it came an old man on a bicycle. He stopped right in front of us as if to ask a question but what came out was something neither of us expected.

            “The Devil went down to Georgia; he was lookin for a soul to steal.”

I’m not sure what went through Cory’s mind or if this is just normal Salt Lake behavior for its old white dudes but the only thought that went through my mind was “Oh shit. This is how I die. Why did I have to go outside? I know better!” The old man kept talking but I wasn’t paying attention. I was just hoping that it would be quick and painless (also that I not be buried in Utah). The only thing I noticed is that he asked a question and mentioned food. I turn to Cory. He’s saving his pennies for the baby his wife is expecting. It’s up to me to save our lives.

            “Sure.” I reply, giving the biggest smile I can muster. Maybe if I agree to feed him he’ll wait until after he gets his food to kill us. That gives our group plenty of time to show up and save us.

I took him inside, he asked Cory to watch his bike outside, and he ordered. I’m not sure what he got or what it cost. He could have ordered one of everything on the menu and I’d be none the wiser. All I remember is that the hostess asked me to sign the receipt and she needed a better fitting bra (Your boobs are important, ladies. Treat them with the care they deserve). The hostess said the food would be ready in 15 and she’d bring it outside for us. She didn’t sit the old man down at a table to wait for his food and save us from an early death. Probably as punishment for me glancing at her boobies.

We went back outside where Cory, like an idiot, watched the guy’s bike instead of running for the police. I sat right back where I was before. The old man took his position next to his bike. He took the time to reminisce about his life to us. The son of a southern minister, he fell on hard times after being released from the military and is now homeless. I smiled and nodded, realizing that if he’s talking, that means he wants us to listen and to listen we need to be alive so at the very least he wasn’t going to kill us right then and there.

           

            “People assume that, because I’m homeless, I must have a drug problem. I don’t have one. I’m clean. I just can’t find a job. See, people won’t hire you if you’re an ex-con.” I haven’t listened this intently to a lecture since my college days. “I killed a man. He was trespassing on my property. So I spent 10 years in jail.” That’s all I caught of his story. The internal screaming I was doing drowned out any attempt I could muster at trying to comprehend the words coming out of his mouth. Thankfully someone showed up soon after and that made us feel a little safer. I mean, it’s harder to kill 3 people than 2. And maybe this guy knows some self defense skills because God knows Cory and I don’t. We spent our teenage years playing video games, skills that don’t translate too well into the real world, no matter how much you practice on a controller.

The hostess came out a bit later and told us the 3^rd floor was ready for our meet up and thus ended the standoff between us and the homeless killer. Thankfully there was food waiting for us at the top and we quickly got to doing our second favorite activity, stuffing our fat faces. I’m not sure how Cory felt about the encounter. We never even mentioned it, perhaps too traumatized by the events that unfolded. Well, at least now he’s one of the few people who know what it’s like to hang out with me. After all, I hardly ever go outside. Whenever I do, something crazy happens.