Funner Than a Flat Football

In New York City, I once paid $40 for valet parking and the guy left the salvageable end of a joint in my seat crack. I envisioned him giving me the keys, then patting himself down as I drove away and cursing himself for being clumsy. I tipped that guy a few dollars and it was worth it, but in Panama tipping is even more obligatory since everywhere in the City, valet parking is free of charge.

Last night was the first time in my life I didn’t have any money to give the valet parking guy. This was at the Marriott in the banking district. My good friend, Blake, and I had spent the night losing consecutive rounds of poker and, upon realizing the only thing left in my pocket was a twenty dollar bill, I asked the valet boy if he had any small bills.

“Did you just ask for change?” Blake said to me, and I told him yes.

“Man, you’re crazier than a shithouse rat. I bet you ask homeless guys for change too.”

“A shithouse rat is what exactly?” I asked and Blake, who was, by his own standards, very drunk, said not to worry about it. He has this way of saying things that are somehow beyond redneck and seem better suited for some cornfed Texas hillbilly: wild as a peach orchard hog or rough as a cob or limber as a dishrag. Once he told me I was about as fun as a flat football and when I turned to say something back, I half expected to see him in overalls with a pix axe or something. 

There’s a Panamanian man in my neighborhood who, on our way home after the Marriott, approached me and asked, in surprisingly impeccable English, whether I believed in a karma. I say surprisingly not because Panamanians can’t speak English. In fact, many Panamanians speak better English than I do. But this man is homeless, at least that’s how he dresses: as if he’s just emerged from a coal mine or wrestled himself to safety from the jaws of an angry tiger.

While he generally uses Spanish around me, occasionally, he’ll let out something like he did last night.

“I despise you,” he said, as I went to enter the building.

“I’m sorry?”

“No, I really, really, despise you.”

This would sound hurtful coming from anyone else’s mouth, but from him, I smiled and said, “I despise you too,” to which he said, “OK.”

This morning, I saw that 16 people arrived yesterday at Los Cuatro Tulipanes website after searching the exact term “Casco Viejo sexy.”

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