Christmas with Marvin the Hobo

Everyone loves Christmas. I enjoy it as well, in spite of the fact that I am such a hater. However, after spending so much time with my family I am ready to drink, and drink heavily. My parents abhor alcohol abuse and I was raised in not only a dry household, but a puritanical one that condemns gambling, sexual promiscuity, and alcohol in any form. And yet, look at me now – let this be a lesson to helicopter parents who instill their draconian principles on their offspring. Your children could one day have a blog entailing all the immoral things they do.

This Christmas I went out in Midtown in Memphis, the area of the city notorious for indie bands and men in tight jeans. All the bars were packed. One even had a sign that said, “Sick of your family? No cover tonight til 12.” Obviously, I wasn’t the only one who wanted out of the house.

I was going to meet some of my friends at this place called Hi-Tone featuring an event titled, “Snowglobe Christmas Party with the Pirates.” I had no idea what this meant and still don’t. I think it was a reference to the band.

Immediately upon entering I was engulfed into the hipster scene. Skinny pants with tennis shoes, hair that hadn’t been combed in months and horn rimmed glasses were everywhere. If there is a woman in the city of Memphis who needed motivation for a New Year’s resolution to be celibate, this was the place. However, several of the guys had their own girls with them complete with dyke haircuts, facial piercings and hippie purses. I knew I stuck out. I think I even had on a blazer.

My friends that came were Shit Show (a girl) and RBG and Bob. It was RBG’s idea to go to the band, which is amusing since he was so drunk the entire time he was there I don’t think he remembered a damn thing they sang.

Unlike the rest of the bar, RBG and Bob had shown up in glorious Christmas sweaters. RBG’s had a Christmas tree on it with little white balls hanging off of its limbs. The balls were 3D and very fun to play with. It was a very advanced Christmas shirt. However, this allowed him to go up to every woman at the bar and ask her to play with his Christmas balls. Oh, who am I kidding? That never got old.

Bob, one of the craziest friends I have ever had, wore a sweater with a giant Santa head on it mouthing the word “ho” presumably as in “ho ho ho.” Presumably. He was drunk the entire time as well and continuously went to the bar to get two beers. One for himself, the other, he always told me, was for Santa.

The high light of this traditional Christmas evening came when Bob decided to get some pot. After he grew a beard, Bob smoked pot a lot. He decided to procure this illegal substance with a plan of “going outside and finding the first bum within earshot and asking him for some green.”

And that is just what he did. There was this lovely hobo named Marvin out by the side of the road calling all of us fascists. So Bob started talking to him. I was just an innocent bystander when Bob waved me to come over to where he was. Because I was drunk and I just typically exercise poor judgment on a regular basis, I went to see what he wanted.

Marvin the hobo gave me his “Obama for President” hat and said he would take Bob to get some marijuana if I rode in the car with them, because Marvin didn’t trust this “crazy white boy” by himself. Marvin the Hobo was scared of Bob. The bum was questioning the sanity of my friend. Probably a good call on Marvin’s part.

TCH: There is no way I am going anywhere with the two of you.

MARVIN THE HOBO: I get yo’ friend a good deal. We gonna go to Orange Mound.

If there are two words to utter in the City of Memphis that has white suburbanites disgusted and afraid, they are the words Orange and Mound put together. I avoid the Orange Mound location in the daytime. And there was no way I was going on a joy ride to one of the most dangerous areas of Memphis at 2 a.m., even if it was Christmas. I don’t think gangs and drug dealers get together for the holidays (even if they did, can’t you picture it? All the hood rats sitting around a big table with their colors on eating turkey?).

After I made it obvious I wasn’t going, Bob left in his car with Marvin the Hobo, probably on their way to a crack house. At first, I was afraid I might never see my friend again, but Bob has done much crazier shit and gotten out of it. He might even come back with friends.

Two hours later, RBG was incredibly drunk and throwing snowballs at people in the parking lot with no jacket on. He spent the better part of the evening talking about how he was going to nail some girl in the corner of the bar. I am pretty sure the girl heard him saying it too. Neither of them cared. This bitch was so wasted I am sure she would have thought RBG was the kindest gentleman in the world if he promised to buy her the most expensive Plan B at Walgreens the next day.

In the middle of this I got a text from Bob saying, “LOL. What the hell am I doing? You wouldn’t believe who I just met.”

Bob was Shit Show’s ride home. I told her I was sorry, our friend Bob was probably dead, and I would have to take her home. But he did come back and took my newly acquired Obama hat and wore it around for the rest of the night.
None of us remember saying goodbye to each other and I have no idea how anyone got home that night, including myself. Two days later I talked to Shit Show to make sure she was alive. She told me this.

SHIT SHOW: On the way home, I was so drunk I kept falling asleep in the car. I just remember Bob and I went to some gas station in the ghetto and he bought a blunt or something and there were all these bums outside the car laughing at me. THEY were laughing at ME. I think Bob told them I was this crackhead prostitute passed out in his car. I don’t know. Then when we finally got home I went inside and he sat in front of my house smoking the rest of his weed. I found my bar tab the next day, though, and I only spent like $10 because I was drinking PBR tall boys all night. What a great way to spend Christmas.

What a great Christmas, indeed.