just another weirdo

I left for work this morning without eating breakfast. I was running behind and on my way out to a men's bible study at our church, which will itself be the subject of a future post that I will never write. At 8:30, I decided the cheese danish I'd stolen from our snack shop at work wasn't going to hold me until lunch, and so I went to visit Mi. Mi runs a small store out of the cafeteria in the other building on our campus here. She's Korean and works with a Korean friend of hers who's name is - seriously - Yu. Mi and Yu have a wonderful breakfast special. They made me 2 pancakes, 2 eggs over easy, and a big sausage cut in half because they think it's more pleasing to the eye that way. I agreed, so I tipped them an extra dollar and all of my change.

I headed back to my office approaching my building from the side. On the way in I saw a man walking in the same direction dressed exactly like a cowboy. The standard black Stetson was perched just right atop his thinning grey hair. Small wire rimmed glasses framed eyes above a perfectly waxed and pointed moustache. His body was adorned in a plaid button down and tight black leather vest which lead to tight black pants fastened with a black leather belt over black leather boots. He looked like he might be auditioning for the part of an extra on Bonanza or Tombstone 2: Legend of the other Black Pearl. I've seen this guy around before, but last time I figured it was "Western Day" or something and figured he was probably the only guy in the building who read the notices sent out by HR. It appears I was wrong: for him, this is normal. Wyatt Earp is the new Ralph Lauren.

I tried to keep my distance. People who's clothes have more personality than the entire cast of the muppet show worry me: if they're crazy enough to go out in costume, they're capable of anything. He was heading for the front entrance, so I went for the back. Both entrances lead to the same lobby, from which one must pass the same guard desk on the way to the same door to the deeper parts of the building. We entered the lobby at the same time, which meant chances were good that I'd be sharing a walk up two flights of stairs with this man. I did, letting him go first and slowing down to keep a good and healthy distance between my face and his tight, tight pants.

I considered his outfit again, and thought about how strange it was that some people could listen to so much Kenny Chesney and Garth Brooks that they really decided this was an acceptable way to dress. Trekkies and other lesser geeks dress up in all sorts of costumes, but they general limit this behavior to comic conventions and movie lines, rarely venturing to disturb the public. Goths and punks dress weird, but they're usually kids or teenagers who are expected grow out of it by the time they're 20 or live in a van and play "music" for a "living."

The only thing this guy was missing was a pistol slung low across hip, which I consider quite a shame. A gun would give him some real style - add some real machismo to his attire. A cowboy with a gun is a man to be reckoned with. Maybe he's the law, or a desperado, or maybe just a quiet guy who keeps to himself while he drives his lil' dogies up to Wyoming. The gun completes his outfit, makes him legit, and it's his license to dress like the old west didn't die 90 years ago. Without a gun, a cowboy is just another weirdo in tight pants.