by Nathan Spooner
So there I am riding on the city bus with tear drop dark glasses, long flowing blond hair, loose clothes, electric guitar in black case, on my way to a practice session.
At the bus stop on Shattuck Avenue going north just past Ashby, two beautiful young ladies get on and walk by to sit behind me. Black kinky hair, bright wild beautiful African color clothes and looking soo good. Hey, I just have to turn my head to see what’s happening and maybe say something.
Turn my head slowly now, be cool. Just as I’m looking in their direction, the right lens of my designer glasses pops out of the socket and lands on the seat beside me.
Oh yes, I make an impression all right. They burst out laughing so hard, hysterically almost. One of them tries to muffle her laughter by placing her hand over her mouth, but she just couldn’t stop. The two of them do not hold back from the spontaneous outrageous outlandish scene: this suave white guy, so in control, and so much on his game, completely losing it with the lens popping out, totally devastating the moment.
As a capsule in time, as a Mel Brooks movie moment, the scene played out as if planned: funny, absurd, slap-stick humor and just so real. All I could do was retrieve the lens and get off at the next stop.
That was years ago and I just know they’re still laughing about it, especially when they see a caucasian guy, so laid back, so together and so in his own world.
I can still see that Berkeley City bus going north on Shattuck with those two young ladies cracking up with laughter and holding their sides as they see me walking away from the situation.
Later I told my friend Annie about it. She looked at me and said nothing, but I did detect the faint hint of a smirk, not a smile, just a slight curl on her lips.
When I related the event to Esther, one of the ladies in our house on Fulton Street, she looked at me the way you look at a puppy that just bit it’s own tail.
Some much for Nathan being the happening guy.
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