Quite the mime, this dude. I like these performance artists you find in the big cities. Their poverty is my entertainment gain, I fear.
Woman picking through the trash for breakfast. When I go to Chicago (for professional conferences) I spend much of my time (while not at the conference) stuffing my face with Dunkin Donuts a la Homer Simpson. My town (blessedly) does not have a Dunkin Donuts, but Chicago has about forty-seven hundred of them per square mile. Which is all to my liking. Homeless dudes like to hang outside of my favorite one, and I've often bought them a cup of joe and a couple of donuts. It's agonizing. I know that I should buy them a warm breakfast, and yet if I were homeless and hanging outside the Dunkin Donuts (which is where I'd hang) it's because I want a donut. I typically would go chocolate with sprinkles, but then I suffered from pangs of conscience prompted by fears that they may think the sprinkles were a little too cheery, a subtle attempt to mock them.
But then I thought, "Sprinkles be sprinkles." Whether you're homeless or whether you're living in a high rise penthouse, baby, sprinkles are happy. Not happy enough to overcome the soul-crushing pain of living in abject poverty. But better than a day in soul-crushing pain of living in abject poverty without sprinkles.
Or so I thought. As I said, it was agonizing. But not agonizing enough for me not to enjoy my donuts.
Oh Dunkin Donuts cake donuts: You are made for me and I'm made for you.
Wish this weren't so fuzzy. I want to title this "caught." Because I think she caught me taking a picture of her. I know this because she came up to me and asked me what in the world I was doing and told me to mind my own business.
Okay, that's what did not happen. Except in my mind. Which is nearly as bad as if it had happened if you know what it's like to be in mind. And you don't, count your lucky stars.
"And for my next trick I will proceed to mesmerize the young ladies with my two....with my two....my two...ahem....my 'props.'
Shazam!!"
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6 comments:
May I please adapt and steal your prose so that I may employ the phrase "soul crushing pain with chocolate sprinkles" for my own ends? It's a right fabulous turn of phrase.
So what did that mom and girl say about you taking their picture with the silver mime?
I have a few comments for these, all as to the sprinkles.
First, all I can hear in my head is Peter Sellers as Inspector Clouseau saying, "That is where you are wrong -- sprinkles are not sprinkles."
My real concern about this line of reasoning and self analysis about whether the homeless person would or would not be insulted by sprinkles, is that sadly this is the type of debate I often have with myself too. And so, you have now infected me with needing to finish the debate.
As for the answer, I think to myself "what is a donut without sprinkles?" And my answer is: a pancake. And you at Dunkin, not IHOP. Go with the sprinkles.
But finally let me suggest a practical solution. A long john. Who doesn't love long johns?... All of us do, all manner of humans.
Which unfortunately leads to the next debate: filled or unfilled?
S-S: It's about time you stole something from me. I've stolen enough from you already, I'm sure.
Technoprairie--My concern wasn't their opinion, it was his. There was a large crowd around this guy and everyone was taking photos; it would have been freaky had I asked them permission. But you could go up to the dude and pose with him with the expectation that you gave him a tip, and I didn't want to do that. And, by the way, I figured they were sisters, not mom and daughter.
Andy D: It always makes for a good dear when I hear Peter Sellers in my head. Count yourself lucky.
Your logic was comforting. Who wants to give a pancake to a homeless man on the sidewalk, unless it's a pancake breakfast for the homeless, in which case they should be welcome in and served like a proper pancake eater.
I'm not a long john guy. I will eat one, of course, but it's not my favorite. And I'm mixed about filled or unfilled. I'm always surprised by the sudden change of texture with a filled longjohn, like I had bitten through an uncooked portion of the pancake, er, donut. These are very fine questions, though, and I'm talking off the top of my head. I'm sure I'll regret it all in the morning.
Let me just say my first reaction was, "Are we still talking about donuts?"....
More seriously though -- why when I hear about you being "surprised by the sudden change of texture" in a donut, and knowing you as I do, can I picture you suddenly shrieking and throwing the donut to the floor, and spitting it out?...
Just goes to show you: know your donut. Don't be afraid to ask questions about it.
I know my donut all right.
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