King of the Street

On nearly every street you venture down in this crazy city, there is bound to be a ‘king of the street’, or at least of the block.  This is not counting the kings of the parking lots either.  These assorted representatives of royalty will sure to be anywhere there is pavement and a car.

Don’t get me wrong, this ‘royalty’ I speak of does not require haughty family lineage and blue blood.  It does not require special marriage either, and aside from drug lands, it does not require any sort of battle or fighting.  In some cases though, I would guess there is some family inheritance involved, but not consisting of much…a few simple hand me downs at best.  To be a part of this royalty, all you need is a rag. A red one is preferable, but if not available, any old greasy sort will do.  If you want to go a step further, get a whistle. There, you have all you need and now you are in the club!

After acquiring your necessary equipment, you cannot rule without a kingdom.  You must lay claim to a block or two, or a parking lot.  It is not uncommon to see arguing between kings or even queens.   If there is a suspected piece of prime property, tempers are sure to flair and betrayals that would make Shakespeare blush.  One day I witnessed two street women arguing over turf, the space of about 30 feet.  It was getting ugly and on both sides of the street a small curios crowd was growing.  Someone had definitely tried to cop someone else’s’ turf.  They were yelling at one another.  One would advance towards the foe and the other retreat.  The foe would then advance back on their aggressor, almost like tug of war.  During the whole incident though, it was imperative that who ever was taking the stand at the time, had to wave their rag over head or at least in the direction of the lesser person. 

I suppose it is not so different than the feudal times.  You see a space and as you approach in your car, out of nowhere a king appears, arms held high and waving his red rag.  Whether or not you need it, even if the whole block or parking lot is empty, the king is there to guide you to safety.  Not every one has a coveted whistle, as many manage to do just fine with their God given abilities, using their own lips.  When helping you, they are suddenly a Good Samaritan.  They whistle and wave and guide you little by little into whatever space you are trying to get into.  When the loud stern whistle blows, you know you are safe and secure and the mission has been accomplished.

These kings are not without fault though, there are times when they whistle and wave and get distracted by something else.  It is not their whistle which tells you to stop; it is sometimes the car behind you.  Once you feel the bump and hear the exclamation of your guide, then you know something is wrong.  This is also common place with poles and cement blocks as well.  They are not perfect, no…they are only human like you and I.

I understand it is important for everyone to work, even these guys.  I appreciate the fact that they take the most meager essentials and put them to use, to help earn them some money. Yes, these helping hands do not come for free!  Like I mentioned before, you can walk out into an empty lot or be on an empty street, and lo and behold the guy who rules this turf will show up out of thin air.  He will do his best to guide you, even though there is not another living soul anywhere near you.  These acts, of guidance and help when so unnecessary seem ridiculous to me.  I must confess, when I face situations like these, I just carry on with my journey.  However, on most other instances, one is expected to roll their windows down and pay penance (or ‘tip’) the king for his help and mercy.  This usually adds up to about 3 pesos, if you feel extra generous, maybe 5.

The local 'king'

Regular journeys through familiar territory obvious makes for an easily recognized friendly face for both parties.  The old guy down the street, he greets me with guerro (whitey) every time he sees me.  Obviously, if the street is not busy, he sees me and greets me, gives a simple, lackluster wave, almost like a weakened Matador.  He bows slightly waving the rag towards the open spaces.  He sits and smiles and waves when I do it all my self.  Likewise, when he sees me return, there is no need to break the relaxation.  He will simply nod, as if granting quiet permission, and lets me carry on.  No tip required, none expected.  This particular ‘king’ shares turf with another member of court.  He is a smaller, dark man.  One leg is shorter than the other and he wears one of those platform shoes with a giant sole to help even out his stance.  His eyes are always yellow, as if he has been smoking truckloads of dope.  His hair stands on end and his voice is quite gruff for his size.  There is no beef between us, as he too greets me with guerro and waves me on when his work is not needed.  Many times, even if busy, by the time he hobbles to where he needs to be, he has missed his money.  Still, limping as he does, he patrols this small square with great prowess.  In fact, I have noticed he even lets a new guy sleep in the square.  It may be a family member or brother, because he has a wild eyed look to match is unruly mess of hair that he has.  When he strides by, it is always with some sort of wild intent, usually with his sleeping bag wadded up across his shoulders.

If you take the first turn past the square, Tonya insists that the king of this block built a dislike form me just shortly after I arrived.  He is a skinny man that always wears a greasy baseball cap.  His pants are always too short for him and too big, as he always has them cinched up tight around his waist.  His face is always twisted and many times he’s grimacing and you can see that he is missing several teeth.  Personally, I wonder if he loosened his belt a bit, it may away with the constant grimace on his face.  He wonders up and down the street behind the market, and every time he sees me he will turn his back, or stare right past me as if I didn’t exist.  I think Tonya likes this guy, because every time we see him and he disses me, she loves to say, “That guy obviously doesn’t like you”  I do not understand why, as I have never done any wrong to this man with the high-water pants.

The old king.

Across the way, past the big monument and just before the block full of small cafes and restaurants lies the most intriguing bit of turf I have yet to witness.  This block is chaos during lunch time and the guy who patrols it must make a mint.  Mind you, this is all just my perception, because in reality I do not see how it is possible.  The king of this block is an old, ancient ruler.  He too, is small, in fact if you do not know what to look for, you will miss him.  If it is not busy, he waits up on the sidewalk in a door way.  What I do not understand is how he gets to where he needs to be in time to do anything.  He is old and slow.  I wonder if he is actually arthritic because he barely moves at all.  He moves like Charlie Chaplin, but not in a humorous way.  His old feet barely move as he waddles back and forth.  I have yet to see any real movement in his legs, as they seem as if they are welded tight at the hips.  The same could almost be said for his arms. When he patrols the street, he moves at such a pace you wonder if he is moving or is it the traffic around him that makes it look as if he is moving.  His head is to one side and his old wrinkled arms hang rigidly at his side.  When he waves his flag, his old hand tries its best to twirl it.  It just kind of waves at his side, with his arm never raising his hand higher than his belt.  You would never know this guy is waving you in or out unless you knew this old guy was the king.  It is amazing that I have yet to see anyone challenge this old guy.  He has a prime stretch and yet I have never seen him challenged. 

Across the street from the old man, is a real aggressive king.  I have seen him wave frantically and even get in the traffic to stop cars and direct him.  Obviously, these guys must get some sort of   inspiration from watching bull fights, as is evident in this guy.  Just the other day I saw this young ‘gun’ step out and stop two lanes of traffic just to get the attention of a single person looking for a place to park!

It is an odd amusement I have now when I drive.  I am always curious to see what kind of king I will encounter.  Admittedly too, I always like trying my hand at getting away before he officially grants me leave.  Still, as in the days of old, I am comfortable in the kingdom I am in, and respect my rulers and in return, they respect me.