Leaving Oakland for Vegas

With a layover in downtown Santa Barbara between the two

Straight away, you should know that my phone has been recovered. Possibly, it wasn’t stolen. I apologize to Oakland for implying it has a crime problem.

Of all the places on this extended West Coast trip, Oakland is the place I find most comfortable. The people are humble and compelling. Sorry LA. Sorry Sandusky, Ohio. Northern California is my home.

The Town is wild though.

The other day at the gym this guy came in tight from behind my right shoulder, lingering nearly naked and forcing his blubbery grossness all up on me. His breasts were loose and undulating. He was wearing his undersized towel like a cape.

I ducked away to charge my ear buds, looked up from the plug and there he was again, offering superfluous assistance. I urged him away without giving the satisfaction of eye contact. Regrettably, I did catch a glimpse of his midsection, the gelatinous brown belly and the loosest thighs you’ve ever seen on an ambulatory human. He clearly had not come to 24-Hour Fitness to work out.

The perv slipped off and seconds later I heard a dust-up on the other side of the wall.

“Bro, I told you: Do NOT talk to me.”

What the brown perv said next was inaudible. The sound that followed it was unmistakable. If you’ve ever experienced a one-sided schoolyard fight, you know the sound.

If you’ve ever been jumped into a gang, you know the sound.

The first three-to-five blows to the head I only heard. The rest I ran in to see. Another brown guy was punching the fat perv nearly naked across the room. The one unclothed landed by his locker next to mine.

He started pointing at all of us who hadn’t been whuppin that ass.

“You’re a witness! You’re a witness.”

I ducked back to the wall’s other side before that exhibitionist could get to me.

Through my workout I wondered what the ass-whupped guy’s end game might have been. Was he collecting our reactions for a day’s end stroke sesh? Was the conflict part of the thrill? A couple of times I saw him at the counter, waiting for the cops to arrive.

When I finished and dressed and made my way toward the door I stopped at the front desk and told a couple of employees:

“That dude who got his ass whupped? I mean, you shouldn’t take justice into your own hands, but that dude’s lewd. His presence in the locker room is very problematic.” Then I bounced.

My earbuds were fully charged, and I could faintly hear them calling “Sir!” as I walked out.

I took the train to Santa Barbara a little after that, had coffee and such downtown just long enough to appreciate the vast differences between it and The Town. A twentysomething Asian woman told me my hair is fly, making my morning. Now I’m in Las Vegas, hanging with The Last Person in America with a Good Media Job. There’s a lot going on here this week.