The first time I came across one of these things was in Hollywood. It was 2001, if memory serves me correct, and I was visiting friends down there for a few days. One night the lot of us, I’d say around 4 or 5 maybe, were bar hopping and by midnight we were all pretty toasty and ready to head back. My buddy Kevin lived just a block up from the famous Mann’s Chinese Theater so that was our beginning and ending safehouse where we would passout watching “Fire and Ice” and consuming just a few more unneeded beers.
We were on Hollywood Blvd., fresh from a stinky dive where a large black man tried to start a fight because I wished him a “good night”, and jumping around like a pack of wild morons. Suddenly...I see it
In the center of what looked like some cheap television set, under blinding klieg lights and swaying in the smoggy night air, was this nylon tube man thing. It danced and mocked me with a silly frozen grin and advertising some kind of gel or cream or ointment or whatever. To be honest with you, at that time and stage of beer-ocrity, it scared the living crap out of me.
“Oh no ”, I shouted. “Not now Quick before it gets us all ”
With that I jumped over the slung chain that separated the sidewalk from the weird astroturfed diorama with this monster rollicking in a wind assisted death challenge and tackled the thing. In an instant I was running across the scene, lept up with whatever stored might I had and took the bastard down with one drunken grab and sack attack. Before I knew it, I was on the ground, arms locked around its synthetic disco apparel textured body, staring deep into those dead, oh so dead, goofy button eyes. It was still grinning too.
“Stop laughing at me This is for your own good ”
My friends were in shocked hysterics, some stood laughing while others showed concern that the authorities might not find this amusing.
“Dude you broke it,” Greg announced. “Let’s get out of here ”
When I stood up and tossed the deflated body onto the floor, I had discovered that my fevered strike had dislodged it from the massive fan that created the movement simulation in the thing. It hummed massively and was tossing my hair to and fro when I bent over to inspect the damage.
“Good work buddy,” giggled Mike.
“Are you okay?” asked Jason.
“What the heck was that all about?” inquired Kevin.
As I walked back over to them, brushing myself off and stepping over the chain, I just had one question to ask them.
“What the heck is that anyway?”
After that encounter, those things seemed to spring up on every corner where used cars are sold, crappy furniture is being pandered, insurance is offered at a low low price and a spooky parking lot carnival is setting up. These jiggling wind sock men seem to attract attention. But at what cost? Are we to think that just because a flailing multicolored wind clown is distracting us from driving or walking that we are going to go into said store and go, “Hey, now THAT’S a god awful piece of crap out there. Scared the pants offa me. So...what are you sellin’? Where do I sign up?” I say no.
It’s not like I really hate these things, it’s not. It’s just that I really don’t like them. Same goes for telephones for me. Sure I need them but I really could live without them. Thing is, we don’t need these air puppets. Why? Because they freak me the fxxk out, that’s why.
“Say Mark. How come you’re so opposed to those things? I think they’re neat. Why it looks like a happy fun way of getting some business don’t you think?”
Um...no. You want me to buy your cheap broke ass car? Then sell it to me for dirt cheap and put an ad in the paper. You want to do my taxes for me at an affordable rate? Then promise that you’ll get me a fat return and make sure your coffee isn’t burnt while I sit there and go over my receipts and documents. That billowing hate jester outside? Yeah, it not only makes me wanna sick up right here on your desk but it makes me think that you only cater to A) circus folk and B) the mentally challenged.
Sometimes these things aren’t even used to advertise useless businesses. I went to a fair once and there was one, just bopping around next to the funnel cake stand and rip off game where you toss a ping pong ball into a milk jug (they don’t work, ball is bigger than the opening). As I stood there contemplating a rematch of taking it down with all of my brute and fearful force, I had to ask a guy that was selling balloons.
“Hey, lemme ask you something,” I said to the toothless carny, “what’s the big deal about those things? How come they’re so popular right now?”
The man scratched his unwashed head and huffed, “Beats me. I think it looks like a god damn condom on steroids. But what do I know? I’ve been smoking weed all day. Say, uh...you wanna buy a balloon?”
The mystery of these “dancing tube men” came to a head during road travel. In the blurry oppressive summer heat on California’s I-5 I saw one basking and baking in the sun. It literally looked like it was just standing alone on the side of the highway, taunting and scoffing at passers by.
“Dear god,” I shouted. “This has got to end!”
I slammed on the brakes and skidded to a halt just shy of ramming the thing down. I got out of the car, walked up to it, got on my knees and outstretched my arms.
“Please! I beg of you,” I pleaded, “what is it that you want? Why do you haunt me so oh grinning sock of doom? If you have any mercy, you will leave me alone and let me live in peace! Oh the humanity...”
“Hey!”, cried a voice. “You alright?”
Looking to my right I then noticed a truck stop. A stout man stood by the front door looking at me with general concern.
“Uh...I think so,” I answered. “I just...you know. I mean... I just want the truth!”
The man’s gaze turned from concern to confused.
“Well son that’s just a dumb old windsock character,” he said with down home aplomb. “Aint gonna hurt ‘cha. Why don’t you come inside and have a cup of coffee and pie.”
Defeated, broken and sweaty, I followed the man into the truck stop, sat at the counter and did as he suggested. Man that apple pie hit the spot.
Years later I came to accept the fact that these aren’t spindling artifacts of the devil’s work. In fact, I’ve grown kind of fond of them, much like cheap beer and Steven Segal movies. It’s just another part of the everyday here in Urbanville. Much like the dreaded billboard or even a blimp scanning some cola or cell phone ad, those zany nylon wind moppets are now considered to be part of the family. Sure, they still creep me out and, yes, I still have the urge to tackle them now and then but, hey, live and let live.
So the next time you see one of these things, don’t be afraid. Just say “Hey buddy. Nice to see ya. But if you terrorize me in my dreams tonight...I’ll come back tomorrow and fxxk you up real bad.”
Now about those guys that dress up in gorilla suits and stand outside business waving you in. That’s another grumble...
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