ONE SHOE ON, ONE SHOE OFF
By: Don Grubbs aka Nite-Riter
This morning I decided to go to get some breakfast at a fairly expensive restaurant in down town Ventura, California. It wasn't a real fancy restaurant, but a 50's style place that was fairly new at the time, and the waitresses wore the short skirts and saddle oxfords of the 50's. I enjoyed watching them serve the costumers, especially when they wiped the tables.
But I am getting off track. Since I am writing this I guess that's ok, but I do have a story to tell you and it really wasn't about me liking to watch the waitresses frilly little underpants with all that white lace sewed to them. Don't think I'm a pervert, because they were designed to be seen. The skirts were too short not to be.
I had a small business and made good money, there wasn't even a thought about going out for breakfast and spending $10.00. I did it as often as I wanted.
I parked in back of the restaurant, just off the alley, and locked the truck doors, and checked the back door to be sure it was locked. There was a large parking area off the alley that would park about ten or so cars. But not many used it so I knew I could always find a spot there. Like most alleys this one was dirty and the parking lot was full of wind blown trash and around the back doors there was boxes and discarded chairs, old sinks and such.
It was hard to find a spot on main street to park if you didn't get there till later in the morning. The shops along main street were an assortment of Artie little places, carrying men and women's cloths, both new and used, mostly women's, and the other stuff women love to look at. Sometimes window shopping for most of the day, so finding a parking place there was a real trick. The woman's shops were mixed in with quite a few antique shops that looked to me to be glorified junk dealers, but were also popular places to go if you were into that sort of thing.
There was a small park near the restaurant that had several benches, and a cement path winding thru it with grass on both sides. There was two short walls of decorative stone painted stucco brown running along the front with a break that let you go down the path. Not that I saw a lot of people using it because of the street bums siting all over the benches with their back packs and bags of stuff. Asking almost every passer- by for money. Most of the bums were men and I think it scared the women shoppers to walk by them that close.
Some with beer cans and others with bags of food. The street people weren't careful about their trash, and the city workers spent a lot of time cleaning up after them. The police watched them close, but never seemed to get rid of them. It seemed to me that something should be done.
I walked to the back door. It wasn't fancy, the blue paint was chipped, and there were scratches on the door too. There were a lot of street people in Ventura, and they must have discovered this door, and the bath room just up the hall inside on the left. The owners had put up a sign saying the bathrooms were for customers only, and must of had to enforce it to keep the bathrooms from being used for baths, and god knows what all.
The hall was long, and the off white paint was fingerprinted and stained. The linoleum on the floor was worn and dirty, and of a pattern that indicated it was old. For some reason it was not repaired as the rest of the restaurant was. The dirty hall was in sharp contrast to the dinning room that you entered from it. The floors of the dinning room were covered with a new carpet, the walls well decorated with plants and nice pictures hung over fresh paint. The tables were new wood, oak I think, with fancy chairs to match.
The lighting was dimmed and there was a low mummer of voices from the other business people that were talking and eating. The dinning room was more contemporary than the front of the restaurant that was decorated with old 8 x 10 black and white pictures of all the old movie stars. A fake grill of an old 49 ford, tee shirts, pictures of Elvis and all sorts of things from the fifties. The tile on the floor was small black and white squares. The bar stools were supported by chrome pedestals and the top's were bright orange. The line of booths on the wall looked the same, the seats orange and the table top also bright orange Formica with bright aluminum trim around the edges.
The juke box was always playing music from the fifties and it seemed most of it was Elvis. There were those little juke box things on the table, with the lists of songs on them that you could flip thru and choose your songs from. Every one enjoyed doing that. I some times wondered if the owners didn't care more about the decor than the costumers. But I still came back, enjoying the food, which was good, and watching the waitresses, which was better.
There was a booth open towards the front and I hurried to it before it was gone. All the other booths were full as well as the bar stools, except in the front up near the cash register. There were people coming in and waiting in front for a seat. There was chairs up front for the over flow, and they were filling up fast. I knew I was in for a wait, but that suited me fine.
The waitresses were hurrying around flipping their skirts side to side as they passed and most were singing to the music, smiling and enjoying the show they were putting on. I thought that they must make damn good tips.
I love to watch people and I was enjoying my self. My waitress brought water and a menu, set down the silverware on my napkin, gave me a big knowing smile, and said she would get back as soon as she could. I thanked her and watched her leave.
I decided I would have a denver omelet, country potatoes, a side of bacon, biscuits and gravy, and a large milk. And coffee. It was almost noon and I was starved.
I took a drink of water and looked around. There on a bar stool down from the cash register sat a street bum. His back was to me and I stared at him, looking at the way he was dressed. His cloths were dirty and wrinkled. I knew he must have been sleeping in them for a long time. The stools on both sides of him were empty and the ones on the other side of those were too.
I noticed that he had on three coats. I could see the collars of them. He must have smelled pretty bad. He was hunched over the bar with his arms and hands in front of him. I think he was in his fifties, and he looked tall, and was skinny, except for all the clothes he had on.
I got to thinking about how it felt to him, sitting there with all the other people walking circles around him, and wondered why he came in here any way. I don't think I would do that. How do people get them selves in that shape any way. I noticed him watching the waitresses as they fluttered by with their trays, turning his head from side to side, following their movement. Occasionally I saw him take a sip of coffee raising the cup with his elbow tight against his body, and I saw that the sleeve of the outer coat was torn out at the elbow.
Was that why he was keeping his elbow so tight to his body? Or was he trying to be as inconspicious as he could? Was he trying to be invisible in here, where he was so out of place? It seemed obvious that he wasn't welcome. Where did he get the money to be here?
I saw his hand, the hand that held the cup. It was tanned a dark brown. All the ligaments in the back of his hand stood out sharply, with deep valleys between them. The veins on the back of his hand stood tall and the skin was riddled with creases and old age spots. The bones looked large. His hand looked big, like a workers hand. His wrist and the part of his arm that I could see was a grayish white. It looked as tho he was never with out his coat. There seemed to be a line showing where he had washed his hands and neglected his arms. At least he washed his hands.
My waitress came and took my order, and I watcher her leave. Damn she had nice legs. I kept seeing him there, drinking his coffee, moving his elbow up and down. That torn sleeve catching my eye, like a damn light blinking on and off. Damn.
My food came, and for a moment I got my mind off of this guy. I started eating and was trying to enjoy my self and watch the waitresses. I had been working hard and I wanted this time to relax. I didn't want to think how close I could come to being where he was. Or how close in the past I had come to being there if not for friends. Just a few things could shift, go bad, and it could happen to me too. I didn't come here to think these thoughts. I was getting depressed, damn it.
But I keep seeing him there drinking his coffee, moving that elbow slowly up and down. By now I had been there for about an hour and I was not really enjoying me self. The food was good, but I decided I'd had enough. I pushed the plate away, finished my milk, sat the glass back, and got my coffee cup, and lit a cigarette. The waitress came by, and filled my cup when she saw me take it up, gave me a big smile, and swished her little butt down the walk way, singing to an Elvis song from the juke box. It was a cold day in Ventura. We didn't get a lot of them, but this was one, and I wasn't anxious to go back to work.
They must have filled his cup several times by now, but I had failed to notice. He was right beside my booth, and not more than three or four feet from me. I hadn't seen his face, just the scraggly whiskers that were gray, mixed with some black, and long gray hair sticking out from under his hat. I saw this when he would turn his head, watching the waitresses. And that damn sleeve, that frayed hole, with the other sleeve showing thru.
I finished my cigarette, drained my coffee. Took out my wallet and thru three dollars on the table, and got my coat. I slid out, stood there, and started putting on my coat. I lined up the sleeve and started my arm in it, and as I pushed it all the way in I hit the bum right in the head, knocking his hat to the floor. He jumped like he was ready to defend his self, then turned quickly to look for his hat. It was an old fedora type hat with a brim all the way around it, with sweat stains, and oily spots. I mumbled an apology for hitting him, and reached to pick up the dirty hat.
I don't think he wanted me to touch his hat. I could see that he was nervous and some mad about this disturbance that caused him to be noticed even more that he had. He had made a startled sound when I hit him and people looked our way. It seemed like every one was watching to see what happened and I wondered if they were hoping he would leave now. He wanted to get his hat and get it on his head again. He was trying to turn his stool around to pick up his hat and I was in his way. I backed towards the cash register, and looked at him to be sure I had given him room.
He looked to be older than I thought, maybe closer to sixty. His face was thin and blotchy, and his eyes were red rimed and bloodshot. Maybe from the cold, or maybe from too much booze. Or it may have been both, or neither, maybe just age. The eye lids seemed to droop further that they should, giving him a strange look. Maybe a haunted look, or fear. But his face showed determination and resolve to stand his ground, and he was going to get that hat.
He moved around on the stool and reached to get his hat. To keep from falling he had to move his legs and stick his foot out in front in the walk way, and bend over.
I was watching. He only had one shoe on, the other foot was bare, no sock, nothing. He'd had his feet crossed and I hadn't seen his other foot. He grabbed his hat off the floor, braced him self with his other hand, and pushed himself back up, and turned back to his coffee.
I could see he wanted nothing to do with me. I had caused him enough trouble and notice by others. I wanted to pay my bill and get out of this restaurant.
I stood by the first empty stool waiting for the cashier, just two stools from him. I thought of that bare foot. I thought of the cold day, and the cold cement out side. And the cold night before. Was that why he had stayed so long? To warm his foot?? Or did he even care where he was?
What had happened to his other shoe? Why in hell didn't he get another?
The cashier finally came and took my check and money. She had seen what I had done, and the way he had responded. she ask me if I was ok! She was trying to be sure I wasn't upset, and was not going to come back. He heard her, I know because I saw him twitch at the remark, and she hadn't tried to say it in a low tone.
He kept staring at his cup, but I noticed he was watching the food going by in front of him, not the waitresses.
I had my wallet in my hand, waiting for my change. Should I give him some money, or should I leave him alone? Did I care if people saw me give him money? How much should I give him? Would it make him mad if I did offer him money? My business was construction, and I'm 6 2" and weigh two hundred and twenty pounds, and I really didn't care if he was mad, but I was sorry I had bothered him. I felt bad about it even tho I didn't mean to hit his damn hat.
I got my change and turned to leave by the front door. As I turned around I saw all the people were still watching me and some of them were shaking their heads, and smiling at me, and a couple of them said, "Isn't that sad". Sympathy for the bum? Or for me for getting in to the confrontation with him.
Then I realized I was going the wrong way. I turned, walked past him, and headed out the back way. The cashier was smiling at me.. I walked to the rear of the restaurant, went thru the fancy dinning room, and opened the door into the dirty hall. I looked at the difference in our two worlds, and thought of the sign on the bathroom door. I stopped right there.
I decided to go back.
I walked up to where he was and sat down by him. I didn't see any one else in the restaurant. I said I was sorry I had knocked his hat off. He said that's ok. I ask him if he would come with me to the thrift store next door. I told him I wanted to see if they had any shoes that would fit him. He looked at me for a long time, and then said ok. I started to the front door with him following me, passed all the somber faces full of questions, and went to the closest used clothing store. I ask where the shoes were, and the clerk showed me.
He was following me. I told him to pick out any pair he wanted. I ask the clerk if he had any socks. I picked up a pack of three pair and went back to where he was trying on shoes. There was a row of new cheap high top lace up boots near him, and I ask if he wanted boots instead of shoes. He said yes, and I told him to find him a pair and put them on, and handed him the socks. I noticed that he kept his one old shoe.
When he was done and we were headed towards the cashier, I saw a rack of coats, pointed to them, and told him to pick out a coat. He did, and he got one that fit over the other three, and left it on . I ask him if he wanted any thing else. He said no. He ask me if I knew any one who had am old shed or barn that he could stay in. He wouldn't be no trouble, and if he had a place he could maybe draw his social security.
I said no I didn't, sorry. I didn't.
I paid the clerk, and the bum followed me out of the store. Back on the side walk I handed him ten dollars, and said "have a good day". He took it with out a word, and stuffed it into his pants pocket, and turned and walked down the street towards the restaurant. I was thinking, 'damn fellow, go to a cheaper place.'
I don't know if he ate there or went on past and got a bottle, then went to the park with the others that hung out there.
I watched him walk away in those brown boots with his old dress pants hiked up over the top's of them. He didn't seem to care one way or the other, and I didn't either.
I never saw him again. I did wonder if he got to keep the boots or if someone took them from him. At least I didn't see that damn hole in his coat, and I felt good about taking the time to do what I did. It didn't hurt me. I wondered what would happen to him, as I walked around the block back to my truck.
The end.
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