Culture Shock

People were so callous, Robby thought sadly as he gazed out of the Starbucks’ window into the busy street. He had watched the confused man for quite a while now. The poor chap was standing smack in the middle of the road, turning slowly in circles, an expression of heartbreaking bewilderment on his face. Cars were carefully steering around him and he flinched every time someone honked a horn at him. Nobody was helping.

It wasn’t all that unusual to find befuddled people staggering in the streets of San Francisco, but something about this fellow was different. Robby was pretty sure he was neither hammered nor stoned, just confused and probably scared. And how about that outfit. Admittedly, some of the other ladies went for the cowboy look these days, but even they didn’t have the nerve to pull it off all in black. But this guy was most assuredly no drag queen. He looked authentic. He even had dust all over his seat, as if he’d just fallen off his horse. Most excitingly, there was a very business-looking six-shooter strapped to his thigh. And Robby’s appraising eye had not missed the fact that the fellow was very nicely muscled in all the right places. Oh yeah, he could imagine him up on a real-life horse.

Even so, it was obvious the poor man was having some kind of mental episode and needed help. It was only a matter of time when he was going to be run over by a semi. Unfortunately, Robby knew from bitter experience that guys in cowboy hats – authentic ones – weren’t likely to appreciate being led across the street by guys in silk stockings and blonde wigs. But redneck or not, Robby’s heart went out to the man, and since none of the good citizens of San Francisco seemed to care one iota, he decided to act. He adjusted his wig, paid his coffee and went outside.

“Can I help you, sir?” he asked politely in his best masculine voice.

The man whirled around. “I’m…I don’t….” He stared at Robby, looking him up and down, taking in the heels, the fake fur scarf, the stuffed bra, everything. His eyes first widened, then narrowed. “You’re not…you’re not…”

Robby shrugged. “No, I’m not.”

“Huh.”

“Are you lost, Sir?” Robby now noticed that the man was clutching a small metal object in one hand.

The man gestured lamely at the traffic. “Yeah, I… no. I was… and then…huh. I wasn’t.”

“I see. Shall we get you out of the traffic then?”  Robby reached carefully for the man’s elbow, but the fellow jumped back as if burned and with one lightning quick movement, that big gun was in his hand, pointing.

“Oh my goodness!” Robby squealed and his hand flew to his chest. “I was only trying to help here! Come now, put your pistol away and be a sweetheart and come to the sidewalk with me.”

The man stared at him savagely. Robby felt his heart pound through his chest wall. Definitely insane. Maybe dangerous. Why did he always get himself into trouble, just by wanting to be good citizen? Robby sighed dramatically.

Slowly, the stranger’s features relaxed. “Fine,” he grunted and slipped the gun back into the holster. He frowned. “Sorry there. Bit jumpy. I’ll be right behind you.”

Robby just nodded. No sense in aggravating a disturbed man with a pistol. He wove his way through the traffic to the sidewalk in front of  the Starbucks, the stranger following. Robby turned and spoke gently.

“Now, you look ready for some caffeine, friend. Why don’t I get you a cuppa, if you’ll just wait a sec.”

But the guy wasn’t hearing him. Something had taken his interest up in the sky, and he stared blankly, jaw dropping. Robby looked up. A stately 747 was laboriously rising into the clouds after lift-off from the nearby airport.

“Oh dear, aren’t those noisy suckers,” Robby laughed nervously, but he received no answer. “Okay, I’ll be right back, you be a darling and stay right here, now.” He quickly slipped into the Starbucks, and when he came out few minutes later, holding a cup, the poor fellow was still standing there, gawking at the large electronic billboard across the street.

“Now trust me on this. Tall Latte Grande with a shot of hazelnut. Will make your peptides sing in your ears.” He pressed the cup into the man’s hand. “Here you go.”

The man didn’t move. He was still staring at the billboard, mesmerized by its loudly flashing message above the image of an intimately kissing couple.

“Who on earth is Viagra?” he asked dully.

Robby carefully clapped him on the shoulder. “Honey, Mr. Viagra is someone I’m sure you won’t need. Now why don’t you try your coffee?”

The man glared darkly at Robby. He took a careful sip from the paper cup and then studied it in wonder. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. After a while, he looked up with a piercing dark-eyed stare that made Robby’s knees quiver. “All right then, I need some answers. Who are you, why are you done up like a hussy and where the hell am I?”

Robby sniffled indignantly. “Well, for starters, my name is Robert, I’m not a hussy and you’re in San Francisco.”

“Poppycock! This ain’t San Francisco! That’s where I was when…” He frowned and looked at the small metal object in his left hand. Something dawned in his eyes. “Time?” He whispered in amazement. “Is this all about time?”

“What’s about time?” Robby asked carefully.

The man’s eyes shot up. “What year is this?”

Oh dear, Robby thought. This fellow was even more confused than he had feared. “Well, friend, it’s Friday, October 15^th, 2004,” he said gently.

The man stared. “Two thousand….I gotta sit down.” And so he did, right there on the sidewalk. The Starbucks cup and the metal object cluttered from his nerveless hands.

Robby looked down at the top of the black cowboy hat. Deeply saddened, he got out his cell phone and made the necessary phone call to the Psychiatric Emergency Hotline. They’d be here in a few minutes, and Robby would stay and keep watch until their arrival. Intrigued, he picked up the small metal object the man had dropped and studied it.

It looked a bit like a calculator, but instead of numbers there were strange symbols on the buttons, and there was a circular dial at the top. What might a thing like that do? And why would a mentally disturbed redneck carry it around?

Curious, Robby pressed the large blue button.

“Don’t touch that!” the stranger shouted.

Too late. The world shook like a great pudding and disappeared. When it came back into focus, Robby was staring up the nostrils of the biggest, blackest, meanest looking horse he had ever seen. He screeched and jumped sideways, breaking a heel.

“Shucks, Ma’am, where’d you come from all a sudden!” a booming voice hollered.

A second later, a young man in green jacket and cowboy hat appeared and held Robby by the arm. “Steady, Ma’am, are you hurt? Let me help you…..now what the …. wait a minute!” The voice dropped a note. “Hoss, this ain’t no lady.”

A huge man wearing what looked like an upside-down bucket on his head grabbed Robby’s other arm. “Look, Joe, he’s got that thing Adam bought in the curiosity shop. I saw him fumble it when he up and vanished. Dadblame Adam already, I done tol’ him notta touch that blasted thing. Who knows what he’s got hisself into this time!”

“I intend to find out, Hoss.” The young man pulled a mean looking pistol from his hip and leveled it at Robby. “All right mister, let me give you some singing lessons. Who are you, why are you gussied up like that and what have you done to our brother?”

Robby’s world swam. He looked from the young man to the huge one, to the street beyond, filled with a busy throng of passers-by in strange clothes, horse-drawn carriages and riders on tall, mean-looking horses. “I gotta sit down,” he said. And so he did, right there on the sidewalk.

Lily ;)