Crazy Doesn't Mean Cheap

I had parked only 3 blocks from Coors Field and the walk was a safe one. The game was in the 8th inning and there was no way the Rockies were going to win so I decided to leave the gluttony of the suite and head home.

Once out of the ballpark, I headed down Blake Street towards the parking garage. The sun had gone down but the streets were crowded with the other people who had resigned themselves to the fact that the Rockies were going to lose…again.

I looked around and saw a father carrying his young sleeping son; a baseball glove hanging precariously from his small right hand. A little southpaw. I saw a young mother with two kids in a stroller walking on the other side of the street, both of the kids’ faces covered with cotton candy remenents. I could hear the people on the rooftop bar, where I had been a few hours before, enjoying the perfect summer night. I walked along enjoying the slight breeze and the sight of the nearly full moon hanging in the eastern sky.

I was in the middle of enjoying my walk when…

“You owe me $10.”

I looked around a little, hoping he wasn’t talking to me. He was.

“You owe me $10!”
“Excuse me?”
“I bought you that corndog and you owe me $10.”

I didn’t remember any corndog and I’m certain even if he did buy me a corndog, the going rate for one these days is not $10. I tried to walk around him but he walked with me. I started to get a little nervous and picked up the pace a little. He kept up.

“What about that corndog?” he asked again.
“You never bought me a corndog!” I shot back.

I knew he was homeless and given his tone he was either drunk, high, mentally ill or a combination thereof. Either way, arguing with him wasn’t going to get me anywhere but I did it anyway.

Why did I insist on walking to the parking garage by myself? The guys had offered to walk me the entire way but I told them I would be fine. When they pressed I said, “It’s Denver, not Compton. I’ll be fine.” And with that and a wave goodbye, I headed my own way. And now I was regretting my bullheaded independence.

I started walking faster hoping that would deter Mr. Corndog. It did not. He was walking right next to me and grunting something. My stomach tightened. I could smell him and it freaked me out even more. We came to an intersection and he was standing so close to me that our shoulders were touching. The light changed and I took off across the street and he followed me, the whole time yelling about the corndog and his $10.

I don’t know exactly what happened next but suddenly, I was pissed. Why was I letting this guy freak me out? I decided I would try a different approach.

Halfway down the next block I spotted a hot dog vendor. I walked up and ordered one. This seemed to throw Mr. Corndog a bit. He stood silently and watched as the hot dog was handed over to me. I turned and offered it to him, thinking this would make us even for the corndog he never bought me. He took it out of my hands and asked the vendor for some mustard. As I put the change in my wallet, Mr. Corndog touched my arm. Expecting a Thank You or an apology for being a total freak, I turned around and smiled.

“I didn’t forget about my $10,” he said between bites.

I laughed and reached into my purse. I only had a $20 but I handed it to him anyway.

“This is $20”, he barked.

“I know ", I said as I swelled with pride for being so generous.

“I don’t like twenty dollar bills. Andrew Jackson scares me.” And with that, he folded it up into a tiny square, put it in his mouth and walked away.

The hotdog vendor and I burst out laughing.

Later at home, I was laughing about the whole scene as I got ready for bed. I grabbed my purse and pulled out a $20. You know what?





Andrew Jackson is kinda scary.




But for the record, I never got a corndog.