love in this club...and everywhere

So tonight I was driving from work to Mike's. As I stopped for the light at the corner of Gilbert and MLK, I glanced over at the corner store there because someone was blasting that Usher song at full volume, specifically the romantic keyboard part at the end (in the back, in the side, in the front...). And then I saw him, and the memories came flooding back.

It was September of 2005, and I was a green, innocent field organizer. One of my jobs was to register people to vote in the West End. I was on Dayton Street. Once called Millionaire's Row, it's a grand, tree-lined residential street where, you guessed it, millionaires lived back in the day. And back in the day, it was a way bigger deal to be a millionaire. It is now home to lower-income, mostly African-American renters, as well as a handful of higher income, mostly white homeowners who hide from the poor folk inside their beautifully restored 19th century Italianate row houses, and plan West End Gentrifiers' Club meetings. But I digress.

This older, white Santa Claus-looking man was sitting on the steps outside his apartment. Or maybe it was someone else's apartment, in which case he was loitering. I approached him enthusiastically and, after ascertaining that he'd moved since the last time he voted, got him registered to vote. As he was filling it out, he seemed to be smiling at me a bit oddly, but I was like, whatever, he's Santa Claus. He signed the card, still leering at me. I looked at it. And then down. At. His balls. Hanging. Out of. His shorts. His short shorts. They were very red. The balls were. And very...long. They were practically touching the pavement, people.

"Thankyouverymuchyouwillreceiveyourcardfromtheboardofelectionsinfourto sixweeks," I blurted and ran away. Not really ran - you should never run from a rotund old man with exposed testicles, much like you should never run from a stray dog. I walked fast. I guess I sort of trotted. He stayed put. Those nuts were like anchors. They weighed him down. He was still smiling though. Wouldn't you be, if you were feeling a nice, gentle breeze on your scrotum while watching an earnest organizer skip off to get you registered to vote?

So I saw him again today at the corner store, as the bass line of romance was reverberating in the air. I only got to gaze upon him for a moment (the light changed). He looked the same, except he was wearing pants. Ah, memories. Perhaps I shouldn't have been so quick to leave him. But now we've both moved on. Or something.

Perhaps this story makes you sad for things that could have been. No. Do not be sad. Instead, view this link.