Beezer and the Homeless Guy

October 18, 2013, 2:52 am
Filed under: Misc. Humor, Travel | Tags: adulthood, beaches, Florida, Fort Lauderdale, homeless, humor, south, southern, subourbonmom, travel

Last weekend I was lucky enough to be able to escape for a last-minute, family-free trip to Fort Lauderdale. I arranged for a small village to take care of the family, and after feeling guilty for about 10 minutes, I decided to just enjoy the fact that I didn’t have to drive anybody around, I didn’t have to find yet another edible crockpot recipe for soccer carpool nights, and I didn’t have to figure out how two people can create so much laundry and then ignore it for weeks at a time–yeah, that’s right, I’m calling out Daughters 1&2 right here, right now. Your laundry isn’t going to do itself!

While I was there, I spent a few minutes camped out on the steps of a colonnade containing several bars and restaurants. I quickly became aware of two things at once: someone had sat next to me, and he REEKED of B.O.

Homeless Guy

I looked up, and of course, there was Homeless Guy, sitting right next to me.

This is not unusual. I’m the creepy old guy magnet. (Of course, this doesn’t include Hubby.)

Whenever I go out to clubs with friends where we can dance, my friends always gets a kick out of the fact that the local Creepy Old Guy always finds me. Creepy Old Guy sidles up and dances next to me; usually, my friends are laughing, and one will mouth to me, “Are you ok?” I nod yes, because Creepy Old Guys usually just wants a dance and then he moves on.

This time was no different. Homeless Guy and I exchanged hellos, and while I played Candy Crush, he informed me he was from Baltimore. This was in fact, true. I could tell, because he said Ball-mer. Maybe it was because of this opening honesty that I was predisposed to think he was truthful.

Thinking of you, my loyal readers, I asked Homeless Guy if I could take his picture. He agreed. As you can see, he was really close. My sinuses were clearing.

“Since you took my picture can I have a dollar?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said.

I dug around, but didn’t have one. Just then the friend I was waiting for walked up. As we began rummaging around for the dollar, a commotion broke out involving Homeless Guy and a Beezer (a.k.a. Beach Geezer—older man who hangs around the beach scoping out young women).

The deeply tanned Beezer stalked up to Homeless Guy and demanded, “Did you pick up my glasses?”

Homeless Guy shook his head (he had a pair of reading glasses with the tag still on them hanging from his neck). “You mean these?” he asked. “…’Cause they’re readin’ glasses.”

Beezer shook his head, agitated. “Somebody said a homeless guy wearing a red shirt picked them up. I need them—they’re prescription.”

Homeless Guy shook his head again and said, “They’re readin’ glasses, man.”

“But mine were prescription! I can’t see without them!” Beezer was clearly agitated.

“But they’re readin’ glasses,” Homeless Guy said again.

Seriously. That was the conversation…and it kept going. It was like listening to Daughters 1 & 2 argue about changing the cat litter—pointless and accomplishing nothing.

As the argument escalated, Homeless Guy had clearly forgotten about my dollar, so my friend and I bolted to the beach. However, I couldn’t help being just a little annoyed at the Beezer. Yes, Homeless Guy in all likelihood had taken his glasses; but in Homeless Guy’s defense, Beezer shouldn’t have put them down anyway, especially in a bar. He probably took them off to put beer goggles on–and if that’s the case, he’s not going to want see clearly in the morning anyway.

Shame on you, Beezer. Shame.

So here’s the best I could do for you, Homeless Guy. I never gave you that dollar, but I can give you the benefit of the doubt in my blog. I hope someday you get some glasses to see your way to a better life.