For Mike. So He’ll Get The Reference.

WAYNE’S WORDS
Volume 6 Number 03
For Mike. So He’ll Get The Reference.

I understand that it has been a very long time since the last edition of this blog. I know I have talked before about making time for things. I was just, quite frankly, unable to make time. I have to get a better grip on time management, but that is my own private Idaho. It seems that I have been extraordinarily busy since I returned from my first real vacation in 3 years. I have been slammed, swamped, on the go, occupied, etc. So much was going on at work (it is better now). So many side projects and events were in the works. I already need another vacation!

So, I thought I would share with you a short story about part of my vacation.  

This story is for Mike Draney. He was on this trip yet was somehow clueless to these events.

I'm going to start the story at the end…

“You drank after a hooker?!?!” Vivian shouted at me in her loudest, highest-pitched voice while many of us were enjoying a late night snack at Johnny G's Creole Kitchen. 

“That's not what I said,” I tried to explain. “Let me tell you the story…”

“You drank after a hooker!?!” was shouted again. By this time Bita had joined in and so had many patrons of the small restaurant. As the question reverberated through the diner its echo was peppered with giggles and laughter of, well, everybody.

 “No! No! No! Listen. It’s like this…”

So, I'm talking to a hobo and a hooker on Beale Street in Memphis. For some reason they had taken a liking to me. I remember the hobo's name was David the hooker's name… I don't recall but it was something like Shaniqua, Taneesha or Aqua Fina, Really. It was one of those multi-syllabic names ending in “uh.” I just honestly don’t remember, but I do remember that she was short and round. In the beginning, I didn’t know they were a hobo and a hooker. I foolishly just thought they were folk.

If you haven’t been to Beale Street, it is much the same as New Orleans' Bourbon Street, but wider and without all the boobie flashing. Anyway, I was leaning against a wall or something with Patrick and Dawn enjoying the last half of a beer that was becoming warm. They started playing kissy-face so slid a few feet away to give them a bit of privacy on the busy party street. Isolating myself was my first mistake.

I don’t know who said “hi” first: David, Aqua Fina or me, but somehow a conversation was started between the three of us. Hell, it was probably me who started it. I was going up to people all weekend and just striking up conversations out of the clear blue. Anyway, we were talking and David revealed that he was a hobo. He didn’t say it quite like that. He actually relayed a story of how he hopped a freight train in a yard in Chicago (or was it Atlanta?) and fell asleep and woke up in Memphis, and then he stashed his stuff in an alley and came to hang out on Beale Street. Maybe I was wrong to assume he was a hobo? Um. No. I was right.

The more we talked the more David liked Shaniqua and the more Shaniqua seemed to like me. Ugh. She just wasn’t my type. Although I really needed a fresh beer (this one was warm and stale by now), I stayed to talk with these two. They seemed fun.

David pulled me aside and expressed is growing interest in Taneesha, but he didn’t know what to say to her. I told him to just talk to her. He tried and fumbled. So, I asked Taneesha what she did for a living. She told me that she was an IT Tech. And a forklift operator. And a mother of two. And a dancer at a local strip club. And she turned the occasional trick on the side. WOW! I remember thinking that she is either an incredibly busy woman or the first two jobs were bullsh*t.

She continued to say that I should give her my number and maybe she could be my “company” the next night. She added that nothing cost more than $75 and for that amount EVERYTHING was included. I looked at her and all that ran through my head was the beginnings of a thought about hookers at Big Lots! I said no. She persisted. What I did next stemmed from the night before when locals were writing restaurant recommendations on my arm with my ubiquitous Sharpie. I grabbed her arm and wrote my name on it. Then I stopped for a second. I really didn’t want to give her my phone number. I tried so very hard to remember my sales manager’s cell number, but with these stupid smart phones I had no reason to have it in my brain. Evidently, while I was trying to remember Vic’s number for what could have been the best joke ever, I had unconsciously written my own number on her arm. My phone number. Under my name. My full name. In Sharpie. On her arm. The best joke ever was now on me. Dammit!

I laughed and called myself a moron (in my head) as the three us we continued talking. I kept telling her how much David liked her and he kept trying to sidle up to her. He was even more interested in her now that he heard that he could get everything for $75! I guess he had that much cash on him since he rode the train for free.

Then Aqua Fina stated that she was really thirsty, but didn’t want to go into one of the bars. Being a nice guy I offered her the rest of my luke-warm, stale beer. She turned it down. She didn’t turn it down because it was tepid and flat, but because… and I quote… (ya’ll say the following with a Southern drawl)

“MY MAMA TAUGHT ME TO NEVER DRANK BEHIND NOBODY.”

Yeah. Me too. “What?!” I didn’t want her to get behind me and drink it. I asked her to clarify and I was finally able to figure out that she meant that her mama taught her to never drink AFTER anybody. She DIDN’T misspeak, that was the way they said it where she was raised…drink behind nobody.

At this point I truly hope you are having the same thought that I did at the time: sure, her mama taught her not to “drank behind nobody,” but why didn’t mama teach her “not to have all manner of sex with strange men for money?!?!” Why didn’t mama AT LEAST teach her to charge more than $75 for “the works”?

It was late. Beale Street was clearing out. David tried a couple more times to get with Shaniqua, but she was still having none of it. She said goodnight and went on her merry way. With my phone number. Under my name. My full name. In Sharpie. On her arm.

Patrick and Dawn, who seemed quite oblivious to this whole exchange, said they were going to head to their hotel and pointed out the direction. (I think all of the other Bigheads were already back at our hotel which was in the opposite direction). David stated that he was going the same direction as my friends and I felt weird letting him follow them so I said I would walk with them. The happy couple, David and me walked back to their hotel and bid them goodnight. I turned around and started toward my hotel.

Now it is just David and I walking in Memphis at 4 am. It seemed like we were the only people around. I was trying to figure out how I was going to lose this guy when he exclaimed that he had to pee. I said OK and he stopped. Right there on the sidewalk and started to pee. If you hadn’t noticed, I said HE stopped. I kept right on going.

I made it to my room safe and sound and generally happy with the silliness of the night. Then 8:30am rolled around and I received a text. Here is the text exchange with times noted. The texts in italics are mine.

8:44am        What u doing?

8:44am            Being hung over.

8:45am        Same here

8:46am            Shower helped.

9:03am        Could have been better if i was there

9:04am            I’m sure you are correct.(c’mon I was being polite)

9:11am         R u busy now i wanted to c if I could be your company

9:16am            With my church group right now.

9:25am         K

11:01am       R u busy still?

5:39pm         R u busy still?

5:41pm         Yeah. Sorry. I’m tied up the rest of the time I’m here.   My flight leaves early. Thanks for hanging out last night. :)

5:42pm         F*ck u

Which brings us back to Johnny G's Creole Kitchen, when I was trying to tell the story to some of the Bigheads and all they heard was that I drank after a hooker.

Which I didn’t.

There Mike.

That’s the story.

Until Next Time,

Wayne.