Queer Eye For The Black Guy

Ah yes I remember it well. It was 1982 and I was in the 10th grade. I was waiting for the bus with a dozen other people of all walks of life. And each of us was minding his or her own business. A bright ball of misshapen color caught the corner of my eye. Across the street was a very tall man. He went about 6 ft. 2 inches tall with long black pig tailed hair. A red and white bandanna kept the locks at bay. He wore a multicolored vest over a bright orange long sleeve number. The clash didn't end there. A shocking blue sash held up puffy pants; the kind you see in modern day cirque du soleil. Said pants were brightly pinstriped. I've forgotten the color. But what I'll never forget was the painfully bright multi polka dotted leg warmers. The only thing brighter than his get up was his smile and this was from across a four lane street. I thought,"Hmm that's a bit much but to each their own."
And then...he crossed the street. Not like you or I would cross-he skipped the happy skip of a way too happy gentle-man. Can you guess where this is going? That's right the happy gangly lad skipped right up to me...who was as I said minding his own business.
"Allo, bonjour," he says. "I am Jean Paul and I cherche you."
For those in the dark here. 'Cherche' is French for-to look for or seek out.
He went on to say that he was an artiste!!!!!!!! "And I would very much that you come to my maison (house) so that you I can draw!"
I wanted to sock him in his Pippy Longstalking face for embarrassing me. Remember I was only 15 or 16 for dang sakes and being cool in front of strangers was priority number one.
"Look Pippy or Paul-"
"Jean Paul."
"Whatever. I'm not that guy. I'm not going anywhere except on my bus and-"
"Ah, no mon amie. Come avec moi. You are so athletic.I must draw you tout suite."
This was one time where flattery was gettin' this French bird nowhere.
"No way. Look Pippy, take your leg warmers and skip on down the road. I'm a kid for chrissake. Draw someone your own age."
"Please."
"No."
"Please, just one hour, that is to say 60 minutes."
"What? Get outta here Pippy. Beat it."
Well, Jean Paul dropped his head and bottom lip and slumped away-this time with no skip in his step. I would have felt bad if 11 of the 12 people at the bus stop weren't giggling at me. And if Pippy wasn't borderline pedophilic in nature. But oh well nobody got hurt I suppose. I don't know what happened to old Pippy and quite frankly I couldn't care less but he did make it to this blog anyway. Ah, c'est la vie I suppose c'est la vie.