My 1st evening in Dunedin for Memorial Day weekend was filled with many characters; all of which I observed from afar. First, there was the Frisbee phenom I saw on the beach of Honeymoon Island. He was trying so hard to gain attention from the gaggle of young ladies on the beach with his assortment of Frisbee juggling skills. Later that day, I witnessed a Hula-Hoop master at the tiki bar. I was impressed with what I saw, but I wanted more. I kept thinking to myself, “Yeah yeah, that's okay but it would be better if the hoop was set on fire.” I guess, I'm tough to please.
Another man who was tough to please was a certain gentleman at the Mexican restaurant I went to that evening. He was having dinner with his father, and they were having a very intense heart-to-heart discussion about love, life and the influences of the current downturn in the US economy on his personal finances. The guy doing most (if not all) of the talking was the son. He was a mid to late thirties “dude” whose every comment or insight was lessened by the fact that he was wearing a tuxedo t-shirt. His father could not get a word in, and when he did, it was muffled and inaudible to my ears. Tuxedo Tim went on and on about his own issues, and occasionally tried to tie them back to his father's relationship with a younger woman. According to Tim, this woman was none too bright, was unable to comprehend his father's jokes and also did not contribute financially to their collective existence.
Tim shifted back and forth from his inability to find a job in the tough economy to his father's relationship with this woman. He seemed as if he was slightly tipsy, but I think his incoherence was based more on his lack of social skills. The conversation he was hogging was one that should have been conducted at a whisper or at least in a more private locale, but he felt comfortable belting it out in public and at a consistent exhalation. He said things like, “Mom always says she sees a little of you in me, and she loves me, so I think that means she still loves you.” His argument was full of conjecture and void of tact. He was obviously attempting to sabotage his father's relationship with the young bartender harlot, so his parents could reconcile and live happily ever after. From what I witnessed, his father was not in the mood.
There were many long diatribes in which Tim tried to explain to his father that both he and his less direct sister thought their father's current relationship was that of co-dependence rather than unequated love. Each time, his father would mumble something that would attempt to subside his son's angst. Each time, he would fail miserably. After one final utterance from the father, Tim sat back in his chair and exclaimed, “I guess that's why I don't have any friends.”
His father spoke occasionally, at which time Tim would take the opportunity to breathe and concoct his next retort. This time, his father has said something so profound that Tim was forced to look inward and search his soul for the real reason his father had to seek the company of a younger woman. I assumed it was because his family was a bunch of whiny blabbermouths (I was probably right).
I wondered to myself, what had his father said to him. Was it something scholarly that caused introspection? Did he reply so curtly that Tim was caught off guard? I was not sure what would have garnered the “I guess that's why I don't have any friends” response.
I had only been in Tuxedo Tim's immediate surroundings for 40 minutes at that time, and I was quite sure there was no way I would have been his friend (ever). I'm pretty sure this beer-gutted imbecile couldn't do any Hula Hoop trick or even juggle a Frisbee, so his list of amiable traits was getting slimmer by the minute.
I couldn't stand to listen to him speak, and I could only imagine the hurt one must feel to have contributed 50% of their DNA to his existence. I would be a mumbling bumbling bartender sugardaddy too if it meant spending less time in his acquaintance.
I imagined Tuxedo Tim Sr. as a man of influence and importance in the Dunedin community. He was sure to be a member of the Chamber of Commerce or at least the Elks' Lodge. His marriage to Mrs. Tuxedo Tim was a memory he was ready to file under “Mistakes of the Clinton Era”, but no, Tuxedo Tim Jr. had to bring it up whilst they munched on chips and salsa. His first marriage produced two children, hundreds of headaches and at least one ulcer.
Why would he go back to that when he had his young hussy at home waiting to show him what she learned in Yoga class earlier that day? It would be an easy decision for him. Why wold he swallow his pride and reconcile with Mrs. Tuxedo, just so he could spend the remainder of his existence with the woman who contributed the egg that spawned such an annoying human being? No, he should smile and nod at his son for 40 minutes while they ate Americanized Mexican food, and hurry home to his new girlfriend that was eagerly awaiting to show him the upside to the downward facing dog.