Dear semi-toothless man in Central Square who leered at me while swigging out of a brown paper bag:
Oh, hi there. I almost didn’t notice you until you shoved your shopping cart full of women’s underwear, empty beer cans and boombox circa 1989 in front of me as I made my way to Starbucks in search of a caffeinated euphoria. This was no ordinary traffic stop, though. You eyed me up and down as if I were a cherry popsicle from the ice cream truck on the corner of Mass Ave, licking your cracked lips, tongue waging between the gaps where your teeth presumably once were.
“No diggity, no DOUBT!”
Say what?
I turned around to confirm that I was, indeed, the intended recipient of such a warm welcome to the ‘hood and found that the only other conscious people within a 10 foot radius were a rather, ahem, robust blonde woman with a Tweety Bird tattoo on her left arm who was yelling loudly into her mobile phone about her “mother$%#!ing custody rights” and a meek Asian girl likely off to biochemistry class at MIT and emotionally scarred by the scene that was unfolding in front of her bespectacled eyes.
I turned back around and fixed my gaze on the Starbucks store that was a mere 50 yards from the crosswalk I was stationed at, praying I hadn’t made accidental eye contact in the interim, but it was no use. You, mistaking me for an impromptu American Idol judge, broke into full rap.
“No diggity, baby! NO DIGGITY NO DOUBT NO DIGGITY!”
I wanted to correct you on the lyrics - No Diggity is actually one of my favorite jams and brings me back to my high school days of flared jeans, clogs and braces - but feared retribution by way of soiled panties tossed at my head. And so I nodded politely, half smiled, and proceeded to run into traffic before the light turned to Walk, figuring that getting hit by a car would be less painful than a stray bullet of saliva that may or may not have ejected from your mouth during the chrous.
Play on, player,
knp
I love that this is MY ‘hood! How come I never get serenaded by any bums?