I was helping my pseudo-boss from my (unpaid) internship pack his life into a UHAUL Truck so he and his girlfriend could make a short cross-town move. I volunteered for this job, because I am an idiot. I thought I'd be able to spend some time with him and ask all sorts of pertinent industry-related questions, but instead, I got to wait outside with the truck.
Specifically, wait in the BACK of the metal-lined truck, in 97-degree weather, while a mountain range burned nearby. It was fairly uncomfortable.
My pseudoboss and his girlfriend and their roommates and his friend and one other intern were loading stuff into the truck from the 12th story of a building with the World's Slowest Elevators, and nobody wanted to wait outside with the truck in this brutal weather. I was staring at the sidewalk, fantasizing that my pseudoboss would buy us lunch (never happened) and gazing jealously at the happy people eating at a taco stand adjacent to my pseudoboss' building. I was alone.
Which is why no one else saw what I saw:
A short south-American-looking man with dark skin and a moustache walked down the sidewalk near where our truck was parked. I noticed him because he had a straw Panama Jack hat, a flowered shirt and khaki shorts and sandals- he looked like a guy in a costume. Kind of like a tour guide through a tropical jungle. He walked, right-to-left, past the truck.
Then he walked left-to-right past the truck, and this time, he stopped to pick up some litter off the sidewalk and throw it away. Now he REALLY had my attention- a costumed do-gooder? Could this guy be some sort of Los Angeles Superhero? Who else picks up random trash off the sidewalk? Nobody, that's who. This guy was awesome.
Then he walked by the truck again, right to left, CARRYING A KNIFE. Not just any knife, either- a wickedly thin curved knife with a slight hook-shape at the tip- a knife meant for gutting... I was a little freaked out at this point. He carried the blade against his inner arm, to conceal it, and walked with a deliberate stride past the truck. "Oh God," I thought- "He's going to go kill whoever threw that trash on the sidewalk!"
I must've been distracted by the arrival of the other moving-people, because there was a flurry of activity in the truck and then I was by myself again. Sure enough, there he was again- walking right-to-left, carrying duct tape. "Jesus Tapdancing Christ," I thought- "He's found the perpetrator, he's gutted him, and now he's gonna tape his pieces up into plastic bags and throw them into different dumpsters around town for sure!"
I was continuously asked for money by the city's shambling homeless, and watched some giant line-backer-sized man literally ricochet from side to side down the street picking fights and hugging people. Another man insisted that I purchase a bottle of marinade from him, so he could spend the night in a shelter. All this while I'm in the back of a U-Haul truck.
We finished the move, unloading the truck in Korea Town while an Independence Day-Style mushroom cloud of smoke and ash loomed over the city. Epic, and scary. My psuedoboss' girlfriend brought me back to his old place to pick up my car, but I was starving at this point and decided to suck it up and spend a little money to eat at the taco stand. (I had my eye on a handmade sign advertising the 99-cent Jr. taco allll day.) Upon entering the taco stand, I was immediately greeted by THE PANAMA HACK!!! HE STILL HAD HIS KNIFE!!! OMIGOD I WAS A GONER!!! ...But instead, he offered to make me a taco as he used the knife and the tape to create another handmade sign.
It was his restaurant, which explains why he cared about the taco trash on the sidewalk outside. Whew. That was a close one- I bought a taco from the pleasant little man, and went on about my day.
Showing posts with label scary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label scary. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
LA Stories: Spacetooth
There's a few different categories of Crazy Homeless People in LA, and most of them are scary. I'm used to the sweet, respectful homeless of Orlando, who would stay behind their little blue panhandling box and say "God Bless You," or some other innocuous slogan.
I could even totally handle the homeless of New York, when I spent my summer there. They were always in the same spot, wearing parkas in the sweltering heat. They would hold a Styrofoam cup out to you as you walked by, and you could donate (or not) at your discretion with no ill-will or untoward pressure other than social conscience.
In LA, naturally, it's different. There's SO MANY people here living on the streets, because the weather's pretty awesome all year round. LA has a massive homeless population. I watched a documentary about it, and many of the people who run the local shelters said that lots of LA's homeless are homeless by choice. (Try renting here and you'll see why this is not surprising.)
However, theft and violence against the homeless frequently goes unreported, and this city seems to be Mecca for Serial Killers. There's no easier target for Serial Killers than someone who won't be missed for a couple of days.
There's the regulars on my block. I have created some callously-named categories in which I place the homeless people I see.
I am going to hell for this, but if I can categorize someone, it makes me less afraid of them. Here's what I see:
Mutterers- they shuffle around and mutter and pretty much don't bother anyone.
ScreenWriters- the bitter angry people who make up fully-fleshed-out stories about why they need an exact dollar/change amount, complete with names and locations. ("Hey, can you loan me $1.65- I'm serious- my friend Stacey is stranded at the bus stop in Santa Fill-in-the-blank, and I've gotta bring her the money so she can get her baby home.")
Musicians- 'nuff said.
Golgathas- these folks have clear walking patterns up and down the street. They are covered in vomit and poop. (Both their own and that of others.) I so wish I was exaggerating, but I'm not. They carry caked on layers of this along Hollywood Blvd. like dung beetles. I'm so sad for these people but it really doesn't seem to bother them. They are oblivious extremely stinky, and tend to walk close to people and brush against them, creating bio-transfer. Nasty.
Dementias- these are the abandoned LA elderly who people forgot about. They sing to things, and ask you to give them a ride back to Detriot, or vehemently insist that you call Carl so the police will leave them alone and let them sleep in the bushes! My friend Jenn recently rescued one of these people, because she's awesome.
The Snails- these people have shopping carts or strollers in which they pack sooooo much random stuff, it billows out in a huge snail-shell shape. Like the psuedopods they are named for, "they carry their house with them."
The Eskimo- these folks pile on layer after layer of hoodie, sweater, scarf, gloves, ski hats, etc, and huddle under a bus stop like it was an igloo. They mostly sleep all day, because night for them can last 4 months.
and, drumroll please for my personal most-frightening:
The Ranters- these people scare the crap out of me. They will be silent for the most part, and then, while you're walking past them, suddenly cry out or scream or wail at the top of their lungs, launching into a completely incoherent stream of aggressive-sounding threats, profanity, or just raging. It's startling and ultimately very very scary, because I have no idea what they're so upset about and if they're just telling their story or they're about to truly rip into some passerby. I have been startled to the point of dropping everything I had in my arms because the guy leaning against the CVS wall just started screaming, seemingly for no reason.
After not knowing how to cope with the Ranters, and being followed for 3 blocks by a fast-walking guy yelling at the top of his lungs about "that god-damned border collie knows what's going on, and I'm gonna tell him what for!," I made a discovery!
You know how BlueTooth Technology makes it look like people are talking to themselves when they're really just on an earpiece and talking on the phone?
Well, Ranters have special "SpaceTooth Technology." It's a tiny earpiece that no one can see (because it's from Space, duh) and it's connected to Beings in Space who are overseeing our every thought and action.
These Supreme OverLords are aware of, for example, the fact that my 3-block follower-gentleman is having a quarrel with another sentient being, (in this case, a dog) and are listening to him as he vents his frustrations. It's a 2-way conversation, where these people can explain what's going on to the Beings in Space... We just can't hear the other end of the conversation, becaue we don't have this special earpiece.
Sometimes, the Space People talk and talk, and then abruptly place their Earth Friends on hold, and it's the crappy Space Hold-Music that makes people suddenly scream and wail out and startle the s*#t out of everyone else.
"SpaceTooth Technology. It's awesome, it's invisible." (TM)
So, maybe from now on, the Ranters won't scare me so badly anymore. They probably won't pull out a shard of broken bottle and stab me because I'm near them. After all, it's not me they're upset with- it's the Goddamn Border Collie.
I could even totally handle the homeless of New York, when I spent my summer there. They were always in the same spot, wearing parkas in the sweltering heat. They would hold a Styrofoam cup out to you as you walked by, and you could donate (or not) at your discretion with no ill-will or untoward pressure other than social conscience.
In LA, naturally, it's different. There's SO MANY people here living on the streets, because the weather's pretty awesome all year round. LA has a massive homeless population. I watched a documentary about it, and many of the people who run the local shelters said that lots of LA's homeless are homeless by choice. (Try renting here and you'll see why this is not surprising.)
However, theft and violence against the homeless frequently goes unreported, and this city seems to be Mecca for Serial Killers. There's no easier target for Serial Killers than someone who won't be missed for a couple of days.
There's the regulars on my block. I have created some callously-named categories in which I place the homeless people I see.
I am going to hell for this, but if I can categorize someone, it makes me less afraid of them. Here's what I see:
Mutterers- they shuffle around and mutter and pretty much don't bother anyone.
ScreenWriters- the bitter angry people who make up fully-fleshed-out stories about why they need an exact dollar/change amount, complete with names and locations. ("Hey, can you loan me $1.65- I'm serious- my friend Stacey is stranded at the bus stop in Santa Fill-in-the-blank, and I've gotta bring her the money so she can get her baby home.")
Musicians- 'nuff said.
Golgathas- these folks have clear walking patterns up and down the street. They are covered in vomit and poop. (Both their own and that of others.) I so wish I was exaggerating, but I'm not. They carry caked on layers of this along Hollywood Blvd. like dung beetles. I'm so sad for these people but it really doesn't seem to bother them. They are oblivious extremely stinky, and tend to walk close to people and brush against them, creating bio-transfer. Nasty.
Dementias- these are the abandoned LA elderly who people forgot about. They sing to things, and ask you to give them a ride back to Detriot, or vehemently insist that you call Carl so the police will leave them alone and let them sleep in the bushes! My friend Jenn recently rescued one of these people, because she's awesome.
The Snails- these people have shopping carts or strollers in which they pack sooooo much random stuff, it billows out in a huge snail-shell shape. Like the psuedopods they are named for, "they carry their house with them."
The Eskimo- these folks pile on layer after layer of hoodie, sweater, scarf, gloves, ski hats, etc, and huddle under a bus stop like it was an igloo. They mostly sleep all day, because night for them can last 4 months.
and, drumroll please for my personal most-frightening:
The Ranters- these people scare the crap out of me. They will be silent for the most part, and then, while you're walking past them, suddenly cry out or scream or wail at the top of their lungs, launching into a completely incoherent stream of aggressive-sounding threats, profanity, or just raging. It's startling and ultimately very very scary, because I have no idea what they're so upset about and if they're just telling their story or they're about to truly rip into some passerby. I have been startled to the point of dropping everything I had in my arms because the guy leaning against the CVS wall just started screaming, seemingly for no reason.
After not knowing how to cope with the Ranters, and being followed for 3 blocks by a fast-walking guy yelling at the top of his lungs about "that god-damned border collie knows what's going on, and I'm gonna tell him what for!," I made a discovery!
You know how BlueTooth Technology makes it look like people are talking to themselves when they're really just on an earpiece and talking on the phone?
Well, Ranters have special "SpaceTooth Technology." It's a tiny earpiece that no one can see (because it's from Space, duh) and it's connected to Beings in Space who are overseeing our every thought and action.
These Supreme OverLords are aware of, for example, the fact that my 3-block follower-gentleman is having a quarrel with another sentient being, (in this case, a dog) and are listening to him as he vents his frustrations. It's a 2-way conversation, where these people can explain what's going on to the Beings in Space... We just can't hear the other end of the conversation, becaue we don't have this special earpiece.
Sometimes, the Space People talk and talk, and then abruptly place their Earth Friends on hold, and it's the crappy Space Hold-Music that makes people suddenly scream and wail out and startle the s*#t out of everyone else.
"SpaceTooth Technology. It's awesome, it's invisible." (TM)
So, maybe from now on, the Ranters won't scare me so badly anymore. They probably won't pull out a shard of broken bottle and stab me because I'm near them. After all, it's not me they're upset with- it's the Goddamn Border Collie.
LA Stories: The Korea-Town Spaceman
Jay and I were visiting Carlos, Keith, and Keia in Korea Town, which is an incredibly alliterative thing to do. We took the train.
DISCLAIMER: There is indeed public transportation in LA; it just blows. The buses are slow and terrifying, and incredibly unreliable. We constantly see signs posted about bus routes being changed or closed, and the one person I met who has taken the bus describes it as a nightmare.
The train is called The Metro, and whereas it seems foolhardy to ride a subway in the Land of Earthquakes, (helloooo, they base theme park attractions off of it) it is cheap and somewhat reasonable in terms of navigation and reliability.
Unlike real cities, where there are multiple Subway trains that run frequently, LA has a sorta-system. Even on a Saturday night at 9:40PM, there was a 20-minute gap in between trains at every station. It took us an hour and a half to get home from what would've been a 15 minute drive. (The difference is paying to park in Korea Town, and again in Hollywood when we got home.) It sucks but it's a good alternative if you hate spending $30 to park. Which I totally hate.
I also hate the Subway, because it's noisy and dirty and the seats are stinky like B.O. and I hate being underground and crowds make me nervous and the first time I rode it, a homeless guy stumbled off the car without pants or underwear. Some awesome good Samaritans held him upright while another kind-hearted soul tried to tie his pants up for him. All this while "Security" did a routine safety check of the car and mopped up most of the ejaculate.
But enough about ejaculate- this is a story about The Spaceman.
We'd just missed the train, so Jay and I sat on a large marble slab and prepared to wait 20 minutes for the next one. Other Metro-ers joined us, each with varying degrees of hygiene and consciousness of the concept of personal space. There was half of a seat left on the marble tuffet, next to Jay, when the Spaceman approached.
He was a Korean man, with short-cropped (science lab) hair, wearing a green flightsuit. His flightsuit bore no insignia; there was no name patch or squadron assignment. It was G.I., but not Government-Issued-to-him. He had loosely tied black combat boots on his feet, and carried a plastic bag containing a 6-pack of Korean purple soda (maybe?) in glass bottles.
The first odd thing about the Spaceman is that when he sat down next to Jay, he swung the bag with the bottles in a weird, jerky fashion, and in my mind I had a crystal clear vision of the bag of bottles slamming into Jay's face. The image was so fast and vivid that I reacted on instinct and thrust my arm out to try and protect Jay's face, but the bag merely followed its peaceful gravitational arc and landed harmlessly against the ground. Somehow, the image was beamed into my head, and it made me extremely uncomfortable. I lowered my arm with a sick feeling in my stomach.
The next thing I noticed about the Spaceman was that he was sweating. A LOT. Big, bulbous, cloudy-milky sweatdrops were formed and hovering on his face, neck, and hands. Any part of him I could see was... oozing....
And then we heard the noise:
"ehhhhhhhhhhhhhh... (pause)... ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhh... (pause) ...ehhhhhhhhhhhhhh"
Some sort of electronic space-croaking sound was coming from this man, but he wasn't moving or opening his mouth. He was right next to Jay, practically on his lap, but we couldn't tell how he was making this sound- it seemed to be coming from his chest cavity.
That's when we noticed that he was pulsing.
His chest (or "thorax") was ever-so-subtly gently pulsing in and out, like a balloon being inflated and deflated with air.
Convinced that at any moment, his Alien Host would pop out of his chest and eat us all, we high-tailed it for the train, which, Thank God, appeared at just that instant.
We never saw the Korea Town Spaceman again after that, but I am convinced that he was some sort of space traveller in human form with an Alien Host who enjoys grape soda and implanting violent thoughts in people's heads.
And I'ma ginnit! I won't tolerate Spacemen, their weird noises, their electro-pulsing or their evil brain neuro-trickery.
So I will take my car from now on.
Screw you, environment.
Spacemen.
DISCLAIMER: There is indeed public transportation in LA; it just blows. The buses are slow and terrifying, and incredibly unreliable. We constantly see signs posted about bus routes being changed or closed, and the one person I met who has taken the bus describes it as a nightmare.
The train is called The Metro, and whereas it seems foolhardy to ride a subway in the Land of Earthquakes, (helloooo, they base theme park attractions off of it) it is cheap and somewhat reasonable in terms of navigation and reliability.
Unlike real cities, where there are multiple Subway trains that run frequently, LA has a sorta-system. Even on a Saturday night at 9:40PM, there was a 20-minute gap in between trains at every station. It took us an hour and a half to get home from what would've been a 15 minute drive. (The difference is paying to park in Korea Town, and again in Hollywood when we got home.) It sucks but it's a good alternative if you hate spending $30 to park. Which I totally hate.
I also hate the Subway, because it's noisy and dirty and the seats are stinky like B.O. and I hate being underground and crowds make me nervous and the first time I rode it, a homeless guy stumbled off the car without pants or underwear. Some awesome good Samaritans held him upright while another kind-hearted soul tried to tie his pants up for him. All this while "Security" did a routine safety check of the car and mopped up most of the ejaculate.
But enough about ejaculate- this is a story about The Spaceman.
We'd just missed the train, so Jay and I sat on a large marble slab and prepared to wait 20 minutes for the next one. Other Metro-ers joined us, each with varying degrees of hygiene and consciousness of the concept of personal space. There was half of a seat left on the marble tuffet, next to Jay, when the Spaceman approached.
He was a Korean man, with short-cropped (science lab) hair, wearing a green flightsuit. His flightsuit bore no insignia; there was no name patch or squadron assignment. It was G.I., but not Government-Issued-to-him. He had loosely tied black combat boots on his feet, and carried a plastic bag containing a 6-pack of Korean purple soda (maybe?) in glass bottles.
The first odd thing about the Spaceman is that when he sat down next to Jay, he swung the bag with the bottles in a weird, jerky fashion, and in my mind I had a crystal clear vision of the bag of bottles slamming into Jay's face. The image was so fast and vivid that I reacted on instinct and thrust my arm out to try and protect Jay's face, but the bag merely followed its peaceful gravitational arc and landed harmlessly against the ground. Somehow, the image was beamed into my head, and it made me extremely uncomfortable. I lowered my arm with a sick feeling in my stomach.
The next thing I noticed about the Spaceman was that he was sweating. A LOT. Big, bulbous, cloudy-milky sweatdrops were formed and hovering on his face, neck, and hands. Any part of him I could see was... oozing....
And then we heard the noise:
"ehhhhhhhhhhhhhh... (pause)... ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhh... (pause) ...ehhhhhhhhhhhhhh"
Some sort of electronic space-croaking sound was coming from this man, but he wasn't moving or opening his mouth. He was right next to Jay, practically on his lap, but we couldn't tell how he was making this sound- it seemed to be coming from his chest cavity.
That's when we noticed that he was pulsing.
His chest (or "thorax") was ever-so-subtly gently pulsing in and out, like a balloon being inflated and deflated with air.
Convinced that at any moment, his Alien Host would pop out of his chest and eat us all, we high-tailed it for the train, which, Thank God, appeared at just that instant.
We never saw the Korea Town Spaceman again after that, but I am convinced that he was some sort of space traveller in human form with an Alien Host who enjoys grape soda and implanting violent thoughts in people's heads.
And I'ma ginnit! I won't tolerate Spacemen, their weird noises, their electro-pulsing or their evil brain neuro-trickery.
So I will take my car from now on.
Screw you, environment.
Spacemen.
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