The Check

“You’re not going to do anything?”

Miguel was right behind me making eye contact with our new friend.

No.

“En Serio, you’re not going to do anything?”

No.

My answers were being made from the side of my mouth while I stared right ahead.

“Do you want me to do something? CAN I do SOMETHING?”

No. No.

Every man in the entire world has experienced what I experienced today.

Miguel and I were at a local crowded bar here in DC having a couple of drinks after a long day. It was one of those days that make your eyes vibrate from your pulse. But hey, after a long day, there are very few things that are better than a drink with friends. That’s all I wanted to do. I wanted to drink beer, hear a couple of Miguel’s recent adventures and go home. That’s it.

I was walking, crab-like, through the bar area to get two beers when it happened. I got shoulder checked. A stocky, buzz-cut, tight blue polo shirt, 75-inch necked, cargo khaki blonde guy really shoulder checked me. This was no mistake. This neck model was in Alpha male mode.

Maybe he was having a bad day as well. I mean, his frosted bangs were hanging a little bit to the side. His skin was reddened from going out in the sun after falling asleep in his garage tanning bed. He had pennies in his loafers. Oh Santo Alfredo, he's the Penny in the loafer guy.

The thing is, when I was 18, 19, 20, I dreamed of moments like this. Actually having something like this happen to me back then was like a dream come true. You see, I was what they call a pugilist back in the day. I’m Guatemalan. I’m not tall. I’m not bulky. Other than being extremely guapo, I’m not intimidating. I was just always able to take a punch better than the other guy. Si, I know, it's yet another Guatemalan gift. We can take punches.

Ten years ago would have caused a Zidane-like headbutt to his face, but not now. Not anymore.

I felt sorry for this guy. I looked at his frosted tips and imagined the Vanilla Ice CD that he rocks out to in his car with the windows up or when he gets ready in the morning. I looked at his cargo pants and imagined him shopping through an Abercrombie and Fitch catalog secretly admiring the models and wanting to look like them. Ten bucks says his wallet was in the side, lower pocket. Then I thought about the pennies in his loafers and I…well, that is just tacky. Come on, now, pennies?

So as I felt Miguel behind me wishing that I would do something I pushed him back without turning around. I tilted my head and bit my bottom lip while making eye contact with the penny saver. Then, I smiled.

I am sorry. I am a clumsy walker.

“Yep. Watch where you’re going man.”

Yes. I will. Please, my apologies.

I held both of my hands to my heart asking for “forgiveness”. What he didn’t know was that my friend Miguel had yet to give up his pugilistic ways.

Besides, he had pennies in his shoes. I just felt sorry for him. I just wanted a beer.

All of a sudden I realized that I was a mature, guapo Guatemalan and the guy, well, he had frosted tips and pennies in his shoes. I win.

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo