Tag: overheard


OVERHEARD

Scenario: Ten college guys waiting at the 2nd Street Station.

Guy 1: (Extending a hunk of beef jerky to his friend.) Bite my big sausage.

Guy 2: No.

Guy 3: Bite it!

Guy 2: No, I’m not gonna.

Guy 4: C’mon, bite it!

Guy 5: Bite it! Bite it.

All: (General bite-it-related jeering).

Guy 2: No way.

Guy 1: C’mon, bite my big sausage.

Guy 2: No, man.

Guy 1: I’ll put in $20 if you bite my big sausage.

Guy3: Me too.

All: Me too.

Guy 1: That’s like a hundred bucks if you bite my big sausage.

Guy4: No way, he has to take two bites for a hundred bucks.

Guy 1: OK, two bites of my big sausage for a hundred bucks.

Guy 2: Cut it out.


DADA ON 58TH

The Hudson is a hip hotel, the kind of place where the bar floor is lit from below and the showers look like they could beam you up. After checking out, I turn to see a firefighter ascending the escalator in full fight-me-some-fire gear. He’s followed by another, and another… and so on. Suddenly, there are five men with oxygen tanks searching for smoke to a saucy Latin beat. No one seems to notice. I think, “Um, the building’s on fire.” I look at the guys in flame-retardant suits, I look at the counter people quacking pleasant counter banter. No one is curious, no one is ruffled, the speakers continue to coo “Oye Como Va.” An Asian woman admires the leopard-skin pillow on a lobby chair, her friend approves. To her right, a firefighter unfastens his pickaxe and peers into a suspect stairwell. I think, “Um, hey? Guys? Is the building on fire?” The firefighters’ search takes on less urgency, and a few guests begin to notice them. These people gather around the firemen with coffee table books on New York… and request autographs.

1:28 p.m.


HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ERNIE

OVERHEARD

Characters: Two girls standing above the dance floor

Girl 1: I’ll go over.

Girl 2: WAIT! We have to make sure he sees you first. Does he see you?

Girl 1: STOP LOOKING!

Characters: Friends on the balcony

Her: How’s the trolling?

Him: Eh. It doesn’t matter anyway. All these people are from Oakland, I’m never going to see them again.

Her: What? San Francisco is, like, 20 minutes outside Oakland.

Him: Yeah…

1:29 p.m.


THEY CALL YOU WHAT?

Do you live in the Bay Area? Go see Harmon Leon in “They Call Me Shitshoes!” It is a laff riot! Well, about three quarters of it is a laff riot, the rest is better if you’ve had a beer. Anyway, it’s a one-man show by this writer (his work has appeared in Salon, Details, and Maxim) who travels around and goes to weird conventions. My favorite bit is about a Christian ventriloquist convention in San Diego, which he visits with his dummy “Mr. Cocksucker.” It amused me greatly, you will like it:

Friday, November 30th

10 p.m.

$7

Spanganga Performance Gallery

3376 19th St @ Mission

San Francisco

415-821-1102

5:07 p.m.


OVERHEARD: EXASPERATION ON THE J-CHURCH

Situation: After arguing with his father for a few minutes, a three-year-old boy is finally allowed to hold onto the pole instead of sitting down next to dad. Then Enthusiastic Drunken Bum takes an interest.

Enthusastic Drunken Bum: (Yells teasingly.) You’d better hold on!

Boy: (Glances in EDB’s general direction, pretends not to hear.)

EDB: I say, you better hold on!

Boy: (Turns back to EDB.)

EDB: You better hold on, there!

Boy: (Ignores him.)

EDB: You better hold on!

Boy: IAMHOLDINGON!!!!!!

11:13 a.m.

Me: I still haven’t gotten a ticket from that time I accidentally drove through the Fast Track toll lane in Indiana.

Him: You will.

Me: You think? It’s been awhile.

Him: Yep. They’ll contact the rental car company to figure out it was you, and then send it to you.

Me: That pisses me off, the signs weren’t lit at all. I had no idea I was in the wrong lane until I was right up on it; it’s not like I could turn around. Maybe I could write an “I’m from out of state” letter.

Him: Right. “I’m from California and I was STOH-ONED. Maybe if you light the signs and make them flash, then maybe I’ll notice them.”

Me: Shut up.

Me: Whoa! Check that out.

Him: Somebody needs to give that girl a sandwich.

Me: What’s up, Halter Top? She’s definitely wearing last night’s clothes. Walk of shame, baby.

Him: That’s a total walk of shame. She’s even walking sore.

Me: I think her clogs are bugging her.

Him: Or she just stopped having sex twenty minutes ago. Now she has to go to work wearing that. She’s looking for a company T-shirt anywhere she can find one.

10:21 a.m.

Overheard: Somebody done somebody wrong.

Characters: Two teenage girls on the bus.

Girl 1: You got to call her.

Girl 2: Well, she say she saw her leave with some man.

Girl 1: Call her.

Girl 2: If she didn’t see up close, how she know it was Amid?

Girl 1: Uh-uh! You got to call her.

3:16 p.m.

Overheard: My neighborhood (Noe Valley) in a nutshell.

Characters: Three thirty-somethings shift indecisively in the street.

Woman 1: That doesn’t make sense, we’ll have to double back.

Man: Well, what do you want to do?

Woman 3: Let’s go get the dog, then go to Starbucks.

3:55 p.m.

p.s. Go see The Others. Great, great movie. Karma gods were paying me back for Original Sin.

3:57 p.m.

Someone once said that Toledo sounds like something winged monkeys would sing. And it does, “Toh-lee-DOH, weeeoh-WHUM.” Every corner that doesn’t have an Applebees or a Perkins has a funeral parlor. Two brief Ohio related conversations I had with Fred, who is a certifiable Toledo resident:

Me: Rudy’s Hot Dogs. Oh, my God. That place only serves hot dogs?

Fred: No, they also have omlettes.

Fred: So I’ve already taken some hassling because the new truck’s an import.

Me: What? Please. [I look around the restaurant and whisper:] American cars are crap.

Fred: You know you’re in the Midwest when you have to say that in hushed tones.

Now I’m in Chicago. The humidity is such that I don’t need to rewet my contacts. It’s like heaven, except with more toll booths.

10:30 a.m.

Brief conversation with a girl whose name is a noun:

Me: Hi, I’m Maggie.

Her: I’m Jubilee.

Me: What a happy name.

Her: You think so?

Me: Yeah, like, celebration, party…

Her: Huh. I guess I never thought about it that way.

10:21 a.m.

Overheard: Theological discussion at Firefly.

Scenario: Two characters from a Woody Allen movie swap neurosis at the next table.

Him: I’m just worried that I’ll never taste the joyous nectar of true Dharma. Because I’m fucked up. And I know I’m fucked up! And there’s nothing I can do about that.

Her: Yeah.

11:16 a.m.

Ladies night conversation turns to travel:

-Wait, I missed the story. What’s the story?

-She’s wondering whether to go out with the guy again. She slept with him for the first time and it was pretty bad.

-How bad?

-He didn’t visit the Netherlands.

-Wouldn’t go South?

-Nope. I don’t get it. It’s so much warmer down there.

3:43 p.m.