On the Alum Rock light rail train, just another glacial morning commute to De Anza college after finishing a frantic overnight shift. By now, as usual, I could already feel the dreaded effects of sleep-deprivation beginning to work its spell on me. Languid eyelids that twitched with every sudden curve the train took, and a racing heartbeat on adrenal overdrive.
But then, something caught my eye. A savage caricature that must’ve been expelled from a 1920’s time warp.There he goes…stumbling through the train like a village drunkard, until taking a seat in the bike storage area.
What a rare spectacle of mankind this creature was. Perhaps one of the last surviving members of the Italian mob, who was overly obsessed with Elvis Presley. He had the full outfit; poufy hair, retro sunglasses, a white suit, and vintage dress shoes.
For the first five minutes, he kept to himself, watching the city streets linger by. Then, he takes out a pair of Apple Earbuds calmly, as all the naive spectators remain unaware of what was about to happen.
With a sudden… “YUH!”, he leaps out of his seat, startling a group of nearby passengers. His arms begin waving like worms and he begins surfing what appears to be an imaginary tide. The train was now his vessel and the rails beneath were the ocean’s magnetic current. As I’m witnessing this unorthodox breakdance, my eyes peer around the train, expecting a flash mob of Elvis impressionists to flock onboard. But no. Based on the mixture of petrified, repulsed, and chuckling expressions from this deviant’s audience, it became obvious that he was surfing this tide alone.
Then, he appears to have a voltaic malfunction, as if the magnetic tide had sent a jolt through his heart. His body begins to seize. Whatever song he was listening to (obviously not a song from Elvis Presley) had seemed to reach its climax, and now this epileptic dance of his appeared to be a buildup for a massive Dubstep drop.
“Mr. Policeman!” he suddenly shouts, as his right-hand takes shape of an imaginary pistol, pointing at the bicycles hanging before him.
“POW POW POW!”
That would be the last words spoken aloud that I would even remotely understand. What came next was a series of grunts and slurs, like a gorilla attempting to rage to a death metal song. It was unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Who knows what kind of drug concoction it would take to give birth to such a surreal performance like this.
I considered making an attempt to record this on my phone by now, but the light rail was already making its arrival at the San Jose Convention Center. As I’m heading out the door I turn back to see him pointing at me. Instinctively I return a hang-loose symbol and see an enthusiastic nod of approval as the doors begin to close.
For a while after that, he became an urban legend among transit dwellers, remaining unseen for the next few weeks.
Then, one morning, I was making my last trip up to San Francisco for the day, just before moving north to Washington State. On the old and raggedy bus route 68, I peer out the window, and there he is on the sidewalk, right in front of the Target on Cottle Road, doing the wave with a microphone in one hand. Once you witness a legendary VTA regular like him, you’ll never fail to recognize them when they reemerge from the shadows.
As route 68 continues on, I realize this will likely be the last time I see this strange creature in action, and as he disappears into the rearview mirror I hear a quote from Fear and Loathing run through my mind: There he goes. One of God’s own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die.
