It is customary, when you see some lunatic on a street corner playing an instrument and obviously trying to make a couple of bucks, to throw a little change into his cup, instead of ignoring him completely or worse… criticizing his performance.
The conditions were already just about as bad as they could get… cold, overcast, threatening to rain… And I was suffering from the effects of too much beer the night before. I really needed something to eat. Every once in a while I would catch a whiff of the Sausage McBiscuits cooking at the McDonalds across the street and my stomach would grumble. I was struggling to get my heart into the song I was singing. So far not one person had given me so much as a nickel. I noticed that people were actually crossing the street to avoid me, then crossing back over after they had walked by.
“Rotten bastards!” I mumbled under my breath.
Thirty minutes later, another street bum who pretends to be a statue, comes by and throws a dollar in my guitar case. I looked at it in disgust. I needed another 39 cents to get a Sausage McBiscuit.
“Son of a gun!” I said dejectedly, which prompted the silver grease pained imitation of a Robert E. Lee statue to stop and fasten his glare upon me and declare… “You stink!”
Huh? I thought… What does he mean? I smell bad? Or that my playing stinks? But all I could think to say was, “Shut up stupid!”
The greasy silver fake statue moved closer to me and sniffed the air. Then he points at me and says, “What’s that on your shirt?”
I look at the area where he is pointing and realize that there is some foreign substance stuck to what is my favorite, and my cleanest, western shirt. Dammit! It appears to be something similar in texture and fragrance to human excrement! I must have rolled in some crap last night while trying to sleep down by the river!
“You got thirty-nine cents I can borrow?” I asked the statue with what must have been a severely pathetic look on my face, because he hesitated like he was about to tell me no, but then he changed his mind and fished out 39 cents out of his greasy silver pocket.
“Thanks man.” I said as I started packing up my guitar.
“Take a bath!” The statue said sarcastically as he strode away.
“Mind yet own damn business!” I yelled after him, trying to resist the urge to slug a statue in public! I really wanted to roll him down the hill in the park nearby so that all of the dirt and debris would get stuck to his grease paint and then he would have to spend the rest of the day trying to remove it so that he could go back to his job standing motionless on the sidewalk for tips. But the urge for a Sausage McBiscuit was much stronger. And so, I finished zipping up my gig bag and made my way across the street.
I go inside and get in line and there is a little girl in front of me holding her mother’s hand. I catch her casting an occasional sideways glare at me and crinkling up her nose. Then I notice that her mother is also sniffing the air and looking around in search of the offensive aroma.
“Gawd!” She finally declares. “What is that awful stench?”
She said it so loud that everyone in the place began looking at her and then conducting their own investigation of the premises, trying to assist in determining the origins of the foul odor. The little girl hadn’t taken her gaze off of me in what seemed like an eternity. We both knew exactly where that horrible smell was coming from, but I was hoping nobody would figure it out before it was my turn to order. Just then, I noticed the little girl tugging on her mother’s coat sleeve… her eyes continually fastened upon mine. I was shaking my head almost imperceptibly, pleading silently with my facial expressions begging her… please don’t do it!
“Mommy… that cowboy smells like poop!”
The little girl’s mother spins around and conducts an instant scan of my six foot frame with an angry scowl on her face and then says, “When’s the last time you took a bath?”
Oh boy! Talk about embarrassing! Everyone in the McDonalds restaurant was now looking at me with accusatory faces… waiting for me to answer the question, it seemed. But I didn’t want to tell them the truth… that it had been quite a while… unless you counted that time three nights ago when I was drunk and looking for a place to sleep and accidentally fell in the river and nearly drowned. Before that, I guess it had been about a week.
Just then, the manager of the place comes around the counter and tells me that I have to get my smelly carcass out of their high-class establishment.
“I ain’t leavin’ without my Sausage McBiscuit!” I protested.
He was a big kid and I could tell that he was contemplating throwing me out by force, if it wasn’t for the horrible smell that he was afraid might attach itself to him I’m sure he would have tried. Everybody started yelling at me to get out and saying stuff like, You stink! Boy was I embarrassed, but I stuck to my guns and insisted on being served.
“Oh, alright!” The pimply faced counter boy said as he hastily gathered up some food, stuffed it in a sack and then thrust it into my chest.
“Now please leave!” he said fairly politely.
Everyone applauded as I departed and made my way over to the little store on the corner. I went in and got myself an ice-cold beer and then sat down on the sidewalk. When I finished eating, I took out my guitar and stated playing. I tried to ignore the fact that I still smelled like I’d been dipped in dog manure, and just as I was about to finish my song, I spotted that little girl and her mother standing across the street watching me. When they started walking in my direction, I thought for sure that they were coming over to criticize me. But to my surprise, the little girl put some money in my guitar case and smiled. And as they walked away, the cashier in the little store came out and said, “Hey!… how about you go smell up some other part of town!”
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