Friday Night Fun
On Drag Queens, Kinky Boots, Homeless Sports and Friday Night Funning
My friend Jason called on a Friday night to see what I was up to. I was up to nothing. Jason suggested a flick. I thought we’d go see something where someone walks away from an explosion with their back turned without flinching or maybe one of those movies where space robots fight each other on Earth and you can’t tell which robot is which – it just looks like one giant shiny bundle of metal rolling around. Per Jason’s suggestion, we saw a movie called Kinky Boots.
I was hoping Kinky Boots would be a motion picture with perhaps dominatrix prostitutes or strippers with hearts of gold. But the movie turned out to be about a drag queen who saves a floundering shoe shop because the drag queen needs boots and so do the drag queen’s friends. Okay, fine. We watched that. Afterward, I was in the mood for crepes. We went to a crepe place around the corner. I got a crepe with bananas and Nutella and the evening was complete.
After the crepes, we walked back to the parking structure where my car was. Jason and I carpooled. I had driven. My car was on the fifth level of the structure. This is insignificant except for the fact that we opted to take the elevator up to the fifth level.
As we waited for the elevator to arrive, a young couple on a date approached. They stood beside us, also waiting for the elevator. When the elevator doors opened, they opened with a surprise.
There were three gentlemen inside. These particular gentlemen made no effort to get out of the elevator. Instead they flashed mischievous smiles and beckoned our group to join them. The couple immediately walked away, choosing to take the stairs instead. I believe what rattled the couple was the fact that these three gentlemen were dressed in rags, they were dirty, and they smelled "not the greatest."
A Further Examination of What "Not the Greatest" Smelling Actually Means
One of them had a mini-shopping cart filled to the brim the way people were depicted packing their trucks in The Grapes of Wrath – only this guy had items such as empty coffee cans and a bag of weathered tennis balls. The man standing next to him was in need of major dental work, though that didn’t keep him from showing us his stained yellows. The third gentleman was exceptionally tall. He wore a tattered trench coat and had an oblong, crooked walking stick he must have obtained from Middle Earth. He was wet for some reason. There was a great deal of liquid around his feet. If they weren’t filthy and crammed in an elevator these three could have made a distinct team of superheroes.
“Come on in! There’s plenty of room,” beckoned the man with the shopping cart, the apparent leader of the trio. Jason began to walk away, hot on the heels of the couple who bailed immediately. But I couldn’t get into the elevator fast enough.
There were two things going on here. One, I could tell the gentleman got a kick out of inviting us in – their Friday night fun consisted of startling unsuspecting citizens as they waited for the elevator to arrive. Something about that did not sit well with me. I wanted to show the man and his cohorts that I was not afraid, even though I should have been terrified.
Secondly, I like to make up dangerous games for myself when given the opportunity. Something about these games make me feel so alive. When out with another friend, we once encountered a clearly disturbed man walking down the street toward us. Rather than cross the street and avoid him altogether, I walked directly in his path to see if he would perhaps attack me. I called this game Find Out If the Psychopath Heading Toward Me Has a Knife. He didn’t. On another occasion, while walking through a park, I played See If the Pit Bull Is Friendly. It was. And now, I had the chance to play Interact With Three Sinister Transients in a Cramped Elevator Car. I knew I was better off not playing this game, but I couldn’t help myself.
When I walked in and settled into the corner of the elevator, the men looked surprised. No one was more surprised, however, than my friend, Jason. He returned to the elevator entrance looking none-too-pleased. “I’ll see you on level five,” he said. I nodded, having no problem with that. Jason didn’t leave. He stood there looking at me in disbelief, waiting for me to get out. I wasn’t going anywhere.
“Sure you don’t want to join us? There’s room for one more,” pointed out the ringleader. Jason shook his head and gave me a look. I waved him off, gesturing I’d meet him on the upper level. As the elevators began to close, Jason hopped in. He was a true friend. If the tables were turned, I probably wouldn’t have done that. I noticed Jason held his keys in between his fingers. He was ready to rumble.
We headed up. The ringleader focused his attention on me. He asked, “Do you think it’s possible for a White Supremacist to be a homosexual?”
I quickly answered, “Oh, that’s a tough one. There’s so much conflict in that scenario. I’d feel bad for the White Supremacist. I imagine he’d be going through a lot of inner turmoil. I’m guessing he wouldn’t have a lot of support from his peers – in either group. Ultimately, he’d feel completely alone and adrift. Poor guy, I don’t envy him.” Suddenly my new friend was at a loss for words. He seemed a bit anxious, as if he wanted to get out of the car, away from me. I looked to Jason and saw that he was gripping his keys tighter.
We arrived at level five. When the doors opened, the ringleader spoke again, finding his second wind. “You guys are leaving? But the night is young. We’re just getting started.” As Jason and I walked out of the elevator, I explained to the gentleman I had eaten a banana Nutella crepe and was ready to go to sleep. He raised his voice, shouting, “See ya! Wouldn’t want to be ya!” I waved back, assuming he was being facetious. I’m sure if we sat down at a coffee shop together and went over the particulars of our lives, he would indeed prefer to be me much in the same way I’d prefer to be Matt Damon.
“What’s your problem?” Jason asked. “Why did you get in the elevator with those guys? You acted as if you had won a prize.”
“Yeah, I don’t know. I was drawn to them. They were like a tractor beam. I had no choice.”
“That’s ridiculous. You did have a choice. I was ready to fight, I thought we were going to have to. Those guys could have killed us.” Jason was genuinely upset. He was probably right. There was nothing keeping them from hitting the stop button, taking out a samurai sword from the shopping cart and gutting us. The fact that they didn’t makes every day since having met them feel like gravy. Since our encounter, every rose smells sweeter, the sky looks a bit bluer, and the soothing tones of Kenny G are that much more relaxing. May we all come face to face with a potentially dangerous trio of homeless men in an elevator.
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