• Brian D. Hinson

The Naked Guy

It was about one in the morning and I was pinged for a ride on the east side, an apartment complex around Spain/Juan Tabo. Before I logged a mile in that direction, the rider called me.

“Okay, I just wanted to let you know, give you a heads-up, before you got here, that I don’t have any clothes on. I’m sort of in trouble. I’m working on the situation. Can you help me out?”

“All right. Keep me posted. I’m still headed your way.”

“Thanks man!”

It was nine minutes before I would arrive at the complex. Of course, I could have canceled the ride. But he really sounded like this was an hour of need. And, this might be interesting. I mentally braced for some Albuquerque weirdness.

With four minutes to go, he called me again.

“I found a pillow case in a dumpster. I’m trying to make shorts out of it.”

I told him I was still on my way.

I pulled into the lot, he called me for the final time. He had to direct me to his hiding spot between two cars. He popped out, a twenty-something guy sandwiched between two car floor mats. As for the rest of him--no shoes, no clothes, not even a hat. He dropped the rear floor mat to show me that he had fashioned a thong out of that red pillow case.

“All right. Get in.”

Once in the back seat and us heading to his destination, he told me what had happened. Him and his husband got into a huge fight. The quarrel was over, so he thought, so he took a nap on the sofa. Naked, as some people do, I suppose. But his husband was still seething. He was picked up from the sofa and bodily thrown out. His husband chucked his phone at him and locked the door. He told me he pleaded at the door for half an hour. First, to be allowed back in. Later, just for some pants to be handed out. He got nothing. So there he was: naked, outside with nothing but his phone.

Three doors down, some girls were having a party on their balcony. Covering his package with his hands, he asked for a towel to be thrown down. They laughed at him, and no towel was given.

His last option was to call an Uber and trust that a stranger might ferry him to a friend’s house. That’s where I came in.

We pull up to the destination address. His friend was having a party: lots of cars along the street, flashing lights spilling out onto the lawn from the bay window. The naked guy leaves with his car floor mats as privacy screens, and enters the house.

I shake my head and pull away, laughing at the weirdest call I had received to date.

Hardly five blocks down, my phone pings for another ride—the same address I had just left the naked guy. What happened to him now?

I go back and wait a minute. It’s not him that comes out, it’s a party guest. The bearded gent sits hard in the backseat and complains, “You won’t believe what happened in there! Some naked guy walks in and starts some drama with the host!”

This guy, clothed, just needed a ride home. But he was the first to hear the story of the The Naked Guy.

With reflection, I have thoughts about the naked guy. Between his husband, his neighbors, the fact that he didn’t have someone willing to give him a lift, and whatever that drama was with his friend throwing a party—the naked guy must have been an asshole. Considering all the data, that’s my conclusion.

What do you think? If you think differently (or agree), feel free to post in the comments.

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