Saturday Evening (True Story)

I love Panda Express. For my money, fast food doesn't come any better than a two entree plate of Orange Chicken, Beijing Beef, and chow mein.

Unfortunately, the closest Panda to my place is at Dodger Stadium. The second closest is down town. The last time I went to Panda down town I ended up paying as much for parking as I did for the meal, so last Saturday I decided to take the bus.

I got to the Panda at 7:00, in a food court at the bottom of a shopping center, and was devastated to discover it had closed at 6. I grabbed some Subway across the street, and hopped on a bus I was told would take me home.

While laid over between busses, two Latinos came and sat next to me at the stop, and started asking me questions in Spanish. To say I know porquito Spanish isn't fair to porquito, so trying to be a standup guy, I decided to call a translator. My first two bilingual friends did not answer, but my friend Elizabeth did, and I gave my phone to the guy asking the questions.

However, rather than asking her and handing me the phone, he began a long conversation with her. In fact, he was still talking to her when the bus came. With no idea what he was saying, I sat across from him on the bus as he continued talking to Elizabeth. He handed the phone back to me at the corner of Third Street & Alvarado, and started talking to me again. Still unable to understand Spanish, I told him my stop was further down the road both orally and hand-gesturally.

But then, one of the other passengers told me he was inviting me to come with him. He didn't seem gay from the way he had enjoyed talking to Elizabeth and struck me as energetically weird and interesting but harmless. Since my afternoon had been a bust up until that point, and I enjoy random adventures with interesting people even more than Orange Chicken, I decided why not. So I got off the bus with him. He told me his name was Brian, and he bought me a Pepsi, and I did my best to understand him even though I only caught one word out of 20. We sat in the grass in front of Burger King, and he kept mentioning "communicacion" and "my lady." I pegged him as a lonely dude who enjoyed talking to my friend Elizabeth.

He said something about "mi casa" which I understood as him inviting me to his place. My survival instincts told me not to go, but my amusement at the situation, curiosity, and love of randomness won, so I went back to his place with him. He had a stark one room apartment with a twin mattress, two televisions, a poster of Our Lady of Guadalupe, and empty two liters of Squirt all over the place. He told me to sit down, so I sat on the foot of his bed, wondering where this was all going and sipped my Pepsi.

Brian put a CD in and indicated for me to be quiet, and when Little Richard started singing "Tooty Fruity," the man lost it and started dancing like a mad man in the middle of the room. He wanted me to call Elizabeth again. Her being the sort of girl who enjoys interesting things who wouldn't mind talking to a lonely guy, I finally consented. Once again, I was no longer a part of the conversation as this (there was a flag on his finger nail clippers) Guatemalan talked in Spanish to my friend while dancing to Bill Haley. He put the phone to the TV so she could enjoy the music. I sat on the bed and sipped my Pepsi, not without a sense that I might be about to be murdered, but still enjoying the experience too much to leave until he sprayed me in the face with his cologne. That was when I decided maybe I should go.

There was a knock on the door to the apartment, and it was Brian's sister who, when I smiled friendlily, looked at me like I was a ghost. I tried to think how to get the phone away from him without yanking it from his hand, and thankfully my roommate called, interrupting his heart to heart. I told him I was going to leave, and I think he thought I wasn't enjoying the music so he took out the bizarre mix and put in Madonna, saying "uno mas."

When "Like a Prayer" started, he held out his hands to me, and I slapped him five. This was, however, not the response he was looking for. He pulled me off the bed, buried his head in my chest, and started dancing with me.

As unbelievably amazingly hilarious as I thought this was, I decided it was definitely time to go. I was so relieved when once again there was a knock on his door, and the sister was back with a little girl who walked right up to me and said in English, "You should not be here. He is on drugs. You must go. You can come back tomorrow."

Obviously, I peaced out. He chased me out of the apartment babbling in Spanish, and I told him it was fun, but I had to go. He stood on the corner with a very sad expression as I walked away and whistled to me once. I turned around and he just shrugged at me, and I waved goodbye to Brian.

I feel like if you're going to live in LA, there should be more days like that.