Although Oakland is infected with hipsters, they're harmless, and if they do happen to bother you, all you is put some PBRs next to them and run as fast as you can. Since I had my hipster vaccination already, I was enjoying a crazy-person-free trip-until the last night.
My brother and I went to a local spot to enjoy some adult beverages on my last night on the West Coast. We'd been there many, many times. But this night was special. Maybe the most special of my life.
Out of the corner of my eye, like a diamond in the sky, I saw a man advancing towards us. He was selling something. DVDs? Weed? Uggs? (yes I did buy a pair of bootleg Uggs when I was getting my hair did) None of the above. He was selling tamales-out of his pocket.
I went to the bar to get another seltzer water, and Tamale man was waiting for me, ready to swoop down like a predator. I amused myself a little by "conversatin" with him, and in his broken English, he told me "I go to Brooklyn with you". Hmmm, then I wouldn't need to go to the taco truck. His attention was quickly taken away by an inebriated man looking to purchase a pocket tamale. So sad.
Feeling dejected, I sat back down. With another swoop, a man appeared next to me and immediately put his fingers in my hair. "I had to check to see if it was a weave," he informed me. I don't know what was worse, the fact that he thought it was ok to touch a black woman's hair, or the fact that he thought the 1.5 inches of hair I have might possibly be a weave.
We "conversated" for a few minutes--the Weave checker was actually a 40 year old male nurse. Wait, I am mistaken. He was a 40 year old male nursing student.
My heart was torn in two. Tamale Pocket vs. Weave Inspector. Who would you choose?
