Run in with the Ex-Pat

Okay, ex-pats can be some pretty weird ass people. The other day in Pana I was walking around, desperately trying to find a bathroom, I had just been on a bus ride for over an hour and a half on cobblestone runs, so I was reaching the critical stage of if I am not sure I can walk right now, when suddenly I was approached by this guy who looks remarkably like my Grandpa Ronnie, except he had a few more teeth (to be fair I don’t think Grandpa has any), way more tattoos and he tried to sell me weed (generally other family member’s do that, grandpa just sticks to his Budweiser). Anyway this guy, his name was Ham, also he told me his name then said he isn’t anti-Semitic which at the time seemed random and like superfluous information, but later it makes more sense. Ham then starts in on this conversation informing me that I looked lost and confused and then he offered to help me find the way. At that point I was ready to start walking away, but I realized I had waited just long enough that if I took a step I would most certainly start to pee, so I chose to wait for the moment to pass and listen to Ham, or whatever. He begins to tell me about prison and how they are only institutions to make money for so and so, I agree with him and try and talk about the privatization of prison and how problematic it is. I am pretty sure by now I was sweating and I know I was making weird jerking movements, there had to be a bathroom near. Ham, however, must have thought I was tweeking out because I hadn’t had any drugs in too long, luckily he offered to sell me some. Lots of kinds, at this point I decided it was time to make a break for it. Just as I am planning my escape route he says these things in succession to me: the homosexual agenda and the holocaust isn’t real. It’s like this line was tailored specifically for me…the dyke history buff. Magically I forget all about my bursting bladder and stop Ham mid-shit slinging (talking) and explain to him that I am a giant homosexual who majored in history and gender studies and that he really couldn’t have found a less receptive audience for his spiel. I felt really good about this walking away, quickly, with purpose, then I remembered I had to pee again and started swaying all weird, and was slightly less prideful, but for about 6 whole steps I was feeling good. *mental note while walking away, “I am a giant homosexual” who says that, you’re a weirdo. And that’s the story of Ham, the anti-Semetic Ex-Pat, and Sam, the giant homosexual. I should consider writing children’s stories.