I Can Explain About The Tranny

Two posts ago, I mentioned propositions from a tranny crack addict. Now, I was certainly aiming for some humor, but I certainly did intend to create the wrong impression with the title. I have been propositioned by a transvestite, but to be fair to said tranny I do not know with any certainty that he/she was indeed a crack addict. Maybe he/she was just happy a lot.

Allow me to explain.

Some years ago, I worked in the upper reaches of downtown Baltimore, Maryland (official slogans: Charm City, The City That Reads. Unofficial slogans: Harm City, The City That Bleeds/Breeds*). I commuted from my outpost in the ‘burbs and my daily route took me through some, uh, interesting (in the Chinese proverb sort of way) parts of the city. Some of the neighborhoods were “emerging” or in need of “revitalization” as they were euphemized (is that a word) in the local newsrags. About five or six blocks from the building where I earned my daily bread, there was a corner where entrepreneurs and tradespersons of the underground economy were known to set up shop. At least, that was the buzz; hey, people talk, ya hear things. Most often by the time I would drive by about 8-ish in the mornings, the corner was mostly deserted. Some school kids or a few worried looking individuals hurrying back to their cars. Sometimes there might even be a squad car with two of Mobtown’s finest conducting a survey of the block.

There was also him. Or her. He/she was an African-American type person, decked out in an orange leaf-print sarong and drugstore-type rubber flip-flops. He/she was tall, taller than me at least, and crowned with a dazzling blond wig all done up in curls or in waves. I dubbed him/her “Sarongia”. The very first time I saw Sarongia he/she was carrying some grocery bags, full like coming back from a shopping trip. Sarongia was usually on the corner about once or twice a week, leaning against a sign post or sashaying down the sidewalk waving and blowing kisses to the people driving by. In my daily trips into Baltimore, I never talked to him/her, although I did get a few waves.

That changed one day when I had to stop at the intersection longer than usual. There was a either a stop sign or a traffic light, I don’t recall which, and there were two or three cars ahead of me. I stopped, and saw Sarongia was up ahead. Goofy grin in place, he/she was saying something to the drivers in front of me as he/she walked down the sidewalk. I was hoping the cars would start moving before Sarongia got to my car, but a fire truck and ambulance were coming down the cross street, and the cars had to halt.

Sarongia was next to my car. That goofy grin on his/her face, wagging the hips.

“Hey, bay-bee, how you doin’ this mohnin’?” I grinned weakly, and waved. Manners, you know.

“Whatchoo need, bay-bee?” Uh, for traffic to start moving? Another hip wag. I shook my head.

“That’s all right, honey, I likes you anyway!” Great, yeah, uh, I’ll be going now.

Traffic started moving and I pulled away, heading for the office. In the side view mirror, I could see Sarongia catwalking down the street and swinging a grocery bag like it was a purse. All things considered, Sarongia was one of the nicer folks I encountered on the streets around my old office; there were some scary characters there. I only saw him/her a few times more after that, and the last time, he/she was not looking so good. I found myself hoping that Sarongia was okay, maybe had only moved somewhere else. I actually missed that little bit of street corner sunshine. Good luck, Sarongia, wherever you are.

*Before any Baltimore folks get all up in my grille, please know that I wrote those with tongue in cheek, and with a lot of exasperated love for my adopted (almost) hometown. Spread the love, people, spread the love.