The Lizard King of the Salvation Army

I was running errands on the South Side and decided to stop in at the Salvation Army to do a little scrounging. They have a rack next to the register that I think they think would be labeled as "stylish." I would not recommend aforementioned rack for men as it is usually Sean John, Wu Wear, and Ecko, but a few items did catch my eye, namely 5 pairs of leather pants. It is items like these that make thrifting fun. Thinking of the history and love bestowed up something as intimate as leather pants is hard thing to ignore on a rack. Upon closer inspection they ranged in waist size from 28 to 42. What sort of man with a 42 waist thinks he can pull off leather pants is either brave, stupid, or has a biting sense of irony. My co-worker Brian said he likes to think of it as a skinny man that got progressively fatter and finally decided to give up once he ballooned 14 inches around the gut.

My amusing thought of a 42" waisted man with leather pants was interrupted by a rather tall man reaching across me for the 34 waist leather pants. As I'm holding the 28s (my assumed size in leather pants) up to my face for inspection he asks me, "Hey man, did you see these leather pants?" I told him that in fact did see the leather pants that I was holding and described them as "rock star". Apparently he took this not as benign comment about pants but more as stage direction in a comedy of errors. He gripped the leather pants to his chest and started softly "Try to run, try to hide..." I said, "Sir?" Apparently this was the fuse to set of his rock star powderkeg. He throws his head back and thrusts the leather pants above his head now yelling, "Break on through to the other side, break on through to the other side, Break on through-oh," and he takes off running, swinging the pants around like a Terrible Towel, "Oh yeah" and repeating at naseum "Break on through, break on through, break on through."

Now, my simple proximity to the Lizard King and short exchange with him was enough for the other shoppers to assume that I was either his friend, or social worker. By the time he had switched over to singing "Sweet Child of Mine" everyone was looking at me to control this outburst. I simply made eye contact with a few people and just shrugged my shoulder. I figured this was ambiguous enough to either say, "I don't know him" or "I know him all too well." He finally stopped when it came to the solo part of "Sweet Child of Mine."

He took a bow, and I gave a slow clap.