I'm trying to think of stories. Hmm.
This was actually a stage door story. I have to preface it by saying I know I'm describing stereotypical people, but trust me, they were.
It was at Phantom's most recent stop in SF, in the summer of 2003. Lisa Vroman came out and everyone was oohing and aahing and getting autographs. As always, she was dressed elegantly, in a nice jacket and scarf. Three people walked by who I swear if you put in a movie now, the NAACP would boycott.
All three were black. The one I remember most was a thin lady in a torn up black leather jacket. She had possibly two real teeth and the rest were gold. They were all eating sunflower seeds and passing the bag around, and she was talking to the two men as seeds flew from her mouth (and theirs, too).
"Hey, who is she? He, she somebody important! Get her to sign somethin'!"
The two men were completely stumped.
"Hey, you gotta get one of those books." (Souvenir brochures.) "Where you get those?"
They eventually gave up because the crowd was so large and they had no idea how to get a brochure.
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The other day I was stuck on a BART train with about 15 drunken A's fans, and this was BEFORE the game. I swear half of them were underage, too.
They were all hooting and hollering and the rest of us were just rolling our eyes. Now, I can sleep through most anything and I figured I could manage this. This was even a challenge. They started clapping in rhythm and chanting, "Let's go A's!" "Let's go A's!"
They had to get off before I did, since they had to transfer trains. Except they didn't know what to do so one guy yelled, "HEY, A'S FANS! A'S FANS! WHERE DO WE TRANSFER?!"
They got their answer and kept on chanting.
They got to their stop. One of the guys patted my shoulder (AND I WAS ALMOST ASLEEP!) and said, "Hey, take it easy!" I flipped him off and his ho said to me, "You don't have to be a bitch!" as they exited, except it came out, "Y'don haffta beuh bish!"
"This thread reads like a series of White House memos." — Mister Matt
