"Marco, Polo; I'm Hongry!"

The summer after my senior year of high school, I went on a road trip up the Californian coast with a few friends of mine. Our first stop was Santa Barbara, where my grandmother had a condominium close to the beach that she had offered to us for a night or two. We left the car at the condo and walked to the pier, where we watched the fishermen and the waves for as long as Alyssa could stand it – she’s afraid of birds, you see. Her mother let her see that Alfred Hitchcock movie at a tender age, and she was scarred for life – and we were just about to leave the pier when we were interrupted:

“Marco!”

We turned to see where this non sequitur had come from. A scraggly old man with leathery skin and a face of salt-and-pepper stubble was holding up a fish he had just caught off the end of the pier. I was half-tempted to answer, “Polo!”

“Marco! His name is Marco!” he said again. This is the point where we figured out that he was talking about the fish, not just blurting out his name. “In Japanese, he [the fish] is called ‘saba,’ and in Thai…” At this point, he proceeded to ramble off the name of the fish in several different languages. Sometimes when I tell this story, I mention languages like Click, Spanish, Italian, and so on. I can’t really remember how many different languages he rattled off, but there were more than a few.

Mia cut in, “Oh, yeah! It really is saba!” After this, I allowed myself to be amazed and amused by this crazy old man. I even disregarded all those times my mother told me to never speak to strangers. I was a high school graduate, and I was doing whatever I damn well pleased.

“Yes, yes,” he said. “I know every language in the world except for English. This is because I am diplomatic.” Every time I tell this story, this is one of the key points where people laugh, and I don’t know why. I figured that maybe it’s because I don’t really understand the context of the world “diplomatic” in this sentence, so I looked it up.

Diplomatic means, “Of, pertaining to, or engaged in diplomacy.” Or at least that’s one of the definitions I found, but this did not lead me any closer to the mystery behind this humor of the statement. Then it hit me: people laugh because this is one of those things that it seems like intelligent people would laugh at. From then on, I decided that I would be friends with anyone who didn’t laugh at this point in my story. It gets better after this point, so I wasn’t in any position to get angry at them for not laughing at every part of the story.

By this time, we were tired of our diplomatic friend, and Elisa was being eyed by a particularly large pelican, so we decided to skedaddle (in other words, leave hastily). Before we could get away, the guy put an arm around me and laid a big, sloppy kiss on my cheek. I still have not forgotten the feel of his rough, stubbly face on my cheek. At the time, I was too shocked to do anything but laugh, but in hindsight, I realize now that this was ridiculously creepy.

From here on out, the story gets even more amusing. You may wonder how this is possible. Of that, I am not quite sure, but it is true.

From the pier, my friends and I decided to venture up the main street of Santa Barbara. We took a trolley to get up to the main shopping area and looked around a bit. Waiting for the trolley to carry us back down State Street and closer to my grandmother’s condo, we were met with our second interesting person of the day.

Alyssa and I were sitting on one bench at the trolley stop, with Mia and Veronica directly across from us on another bench, facing us. We were waiting for the trolley for about ten minutes or so when this very homeless-looking man sat down in the cramped space next to Mia. Immediately, her hand flew up to her mouth, and she looked completely disgusted. A few seconds later, the pungent scent of alcohol and bodacious body odor wafted over to where I was sitting. Then, the bum interrupted us again, yet in a different way:

“I’m hooonnnnngrrryyyyyy!” I know this proclamation seems ridiculous, but I swear it’s a direct quote. It’s best to hear me imitate him, in person. Really.

My friends and I didn’t understand him, at first. Hongry? Really? Then it clicked. Oh! He’s hungry. We assumed by his appearance and stench that he was homeless and couldn’t afford food because he spent everything he had on alcohol, as is common for many alcoholics that dress in dirty rags.

“I’m hooonnnnngrrryyyyyy!” he repeated. “I want some foooood! If I give you some mooonnney, with you get me some foooood?” Every word he elongated, he punctuated with a bit of a yelp, which in all honestly made me twitch noticeably, although he didn't seem to care.

I looked around and, seeing no fast food restaurants in the general area, answered, “Well, we can’t miss the trolley. I’m sorry. Why don’t you go buy your own food?” I wasn’t really sorry, but what’s a polite girl to say?

“But I can’t! I’m druuunnnnk!” He swayed a little when he said “drunk,” therefore assuring us of his already-obvious state. His guttural whining continued on after this, and we were enlightened of his opinions on the “Iraq waaarrrrrrr” and how it’s a giant conspiracy about “oooooiiiiiiil,” and that President Bush should be impeached. All the while, I was sitting there, wondering where the fuck the every-fifteen-minute-trolley was.

I still don’t remember exactly how he got to his train of thought, but he suddenly looked over in my general direction and asked, “So, what are you WORTH?”

Alyssa, realizing that I hadn’t quite heard the question, reiterated it frantically: “Yeah, Becky! What are you worth?”

“Well, I’m just a lousy teenager. I’m not worth much, really,” I answered, in an effort to be modest.

“Well, then,” he growled. “I guess you’re not worth kidnapping.” And with that, he moseyed off, leaving my friends in laughter and me in frightened shock.

To this day, I’m still a magnet for suspicious-looking fellows, but I always let them know I’m not worth the trouble.





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Author's Notes: As this story is only one of a series that I plan to bring together (someday, I swear!), constructive criticism is appreciated greatly. Either leave suggestions in a review, or send me an email. Thanks!