"Yo man, whatcha'll do for some lost and found?"
Looking up, I took the man in for the first time. Dressed in dirty blue jeans, he wore a leather bomber's jacket but no shirt. It was a glaring lack of wardrobe choice in the smoldering heat and everything on him seemed to sweat accordingly. "Depends on what ya found..." I said, knowing full well what he'd 'found' - even before he reached into his jacket and produced my missing microphone pack. Ever so gently I reached out and took it from him, pretending to examine it to make sure it in fact was mine. It was, of course. I was delighted to have it back too, but I really wasn't up for exchanging e-mail addresses with this exiled stranger. He, however, had other plans. Sensing my unease he moved in even closer, asking what I had in the truck, how much the microphone was worth and what I might do to alleviate his overall plight. About that time, sat truck operator Joe McCloskey ambled up and spotted the aforementioned gadget in my grip. With a slight grin, he put two and two together and joined in our little parking lot bartering session - a move which didn't deter our new friend one iota.
"Dig deep fellas, ya'll need to hook me up!" The man's voice was as gravelly as the blacktop pavement we all stood on, his patter practiced, his tone only slighly annoyed. "Come on now, scrounge! Ya'll got any juice in dat truck?"
What followed was a friendly yet awkward negotiation between a hapless photog, a savvy transient and a chuckling truck op. While we hammered out the terms of our transaction, I found myself wondering just how long my microphone lay unattended before Leather scooped it up, how much he'd enjoyed watching me frantically search for it, and just what other pieces of television he had in that jacket. I'll give him this, though: dude was shrewd. Despite his vaguely predatory demeanor, he painted himself the Good Samaritan with a flourish that would have made the late Johnny Cochran proud... Some might think me callous when it comes to the homeless. Not true. I've done tons of shelter stories over the years, brought distraught families asked-for publicity and have thus developed real empathy for the truly downtrodden. That said, if all your limbs work and you're still looking for a hand-out - I'm probably not your guy. This case, however, was a little different.
In the end, we parted friends. - I with my wireless microphone, the leather-clad stranger with a dollar eighty-five in pocket change and two glistening cold bottled waters from our sat truck cooler. Tucking the frigid bottles into his jacket, he strutted off - but not before bumping fists with me and Joe while imploring us to give the local homeless folk a shout-out during our upcoming Idol coverage. Consider it done.
3 comments:
First the tail gated phone and now this. You are one very fortunate fellow!
I've lost so many things over the years that I now have a routine that looks like the Pepto-Bismol dance.
Wallet - Check
Cell phone - Check
Car Keys - Check
Ass - Check
That last one is always in the last place you looked
ah as long as you don't leave your camera behind...
Chris P
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