Posted: Jul 30, 2005 3:56 am
Miles and I were working a Saturday afternoon at Shangri-La when we noticed this alterna-grit, or "Arkansalternative" character acting erratically across the street, to the right of the Huey's parking lot. He was about our age, scrawny, with a dirtball goatee and wild eyes. He would walk in one direction, then double back, and so on. We were both muttering "don't cross the street, don't come in here" to ourselves when he fixated on the "Open" sign and did just that.
The man was high as hell on meth, crack, something of that ilk, or was enduring a psychotic hangover/comedown from something of that ilk. Sweating profusely and with there's-nothing-behind-them-but-they’re-still-crazed eyes, our exchange went like this (Miles ducked into the back, when the "back" was up front, I was stuck behind the counter):
"Dude, it's hot as hell, can I take my shirt off?"
"Please don't do that."
"Man, I was just asking a question."
"I was just answering a question."
He fidgeted about for a minute, picked some things up, put them down - it didn't appear that he could concentrate on anything for more than a few seconds. Plus, he kept trying to find some conversational meeting ground.
"Uh, dude, did you go to that rave at 616 last night?"
"Nope." (at that point, 616 had been closed for at least three years)
“I don’t really go to raves.”
He looked at the magazine rack, and of all things, picked up my zine (The Cimarron Weekend - we had about fourteen readers, and this guy was most certainly not one of them), flipped around for a second, and said to himself, "Fuck, no way can I read THIS shit right now."
He then emptied the contents of his wallet and pockets all over the counter, and with no rhyme or reason, started sorting through about 30 - 40 scraps of paper, change, and receipts.
At this point, I was trying to move him out the door. My body language and looks were in that mode.
"Dude!! I'm just trying to get my shit together!!"
This was sort of aggressive, so I asked him to leave unless he was planning on buying something, and if what was spread out all over the counter was any indication, he was not.
He storms out the door with a trailing "Fuck this place!" I locked the door, and we then safely watched this little slice of Midtown Theater:
1. Lays down, shirt off, in the Huey's parking lot.
2. Walks into Huey's.
3. Almost immediately bolts out of Huey's, backwards, waving his finger at someone inside the doorway.
4. Runs up to the cop car that had just pulled to the light - driver’s window (won't this get you shot?) - and has some sort of conversation with the cop, who, oddly, DRIVES AWAY.
5. Lays down in the Huey's parking lot AGAIN, then climbs on top of the dumpster. Jumps down and disappears.