Just like Mr. Rogers

I love my neighborhood. I really do. It’s a delightful cross between fabulous gays, hipsters, hippies, and crack heads. While I do not personally fit into any of the aforementioned categories, I do like to think I jive in the ‘hood pretty well. I even “pounded it out” with a dude called Homeless Robert recently at the liquor store. (Please note audience, i.e. my mother, that this phrase indicates a type of modern day handshake despite its confusing implication of a sexual nature).

Moments prior to the so-called pounding, I had been busy buying the finest box of wine Sunset Liquor Store can provide, while Robert seemed to be loitering, or as I prefer to think of it, “community mapping.” He must have noticed what I was buying because Robert said something to me about liking my style, and introduced himself officially. He then gave me a solid fist-pound and at that second I knew I had truly been accepted into the Bloomingdale community.

I was, understandably, flying high by the time I walked up to store’s cash register. I hadn’t felt so accepted by a community since back in Ukraine when the local store started carrying the big jugs of purified water specifically for me.

So at that particular moment I wasn’t all that surprised when the man behind the cash register looked up at me with excitement, and said in a thick Korean accent, “Hey, I know you!”

I practically beamed back at him, “Yeah, you’ve probably seen me walking around the neighborhood.”

The register guy’s brow furrowed with confusion. “No, not it.” He paused, studying my face intently. He seemed to be thinking it over.

“Oh! I know,” he abruptly shouted. “My brother and I…we see you at mall food court, one week ago.”

I smiled and nodded at him. I was momentarily flattered that someone had correctly singled me out amongst such a large crowd.

At my affirmative head nod, the man suddenly began to laugh hysterically.
“You like this!” he said. He then started to demonstrate by stuffing large quantities of invisible food quickly into his mouth.

I stared at him, horrified as he continued laughing while he rang me up for the next few minutes. After paying, I quickly grabbed my box of wine and left the store, shamefaced. Once outside, my new best friend Robert was nowhere to be found, and the memory of our fist pump seemed long forgotten. I looked around at what just a few minutes prior had been the most charming neighborhood and thought, “Man, now I have to move.”

– Lindsay

About Lindsay Golder

Freelance writer, book-fiend, lover of shamefully bad films regularly featured on TBS or TNT.

2 Responses to “Just like Mr. Rogers”

  1. Note to self: Do not read on a full bladder. This was hilarious, and I am terribly, TERRIBLY excited to read the next post. Keep it coming, ladies! ❤

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