RUFFLED FEATHERS

Cancer-industry co-opted Native Americans have never appealed to me. Not even when they were still Cigar-store Indians. Buttocks, buckskin, and cheroots - no thank you. There's just something so unwholesome about a glowering naked man offering smokes.

I realize that that describes every visitor's ideal sexual escapade in San Francisco, but it isn't a very heartwarming view.
Despite the lovely feathers.


Earlier today I was smoking a pipe at the local tobacconist. Which, as a matter of fact, has TWO such figures. Both stand in the window, near enough to each other that they are probably on intimate terms. Postern to postern. One looks in, the other looks out.
While puffing, I became aware of a bearded personage on the other side of the glass gesticulating agitatedly. And soon realized that it was not my attention that he sought, but that of the bigger of the two feathered gentlemen.


NEVER ARGUE WITH A CIGAR STORE INDIAN - YOU WILL LOSE


One of the partners who owns the place had just sat down at the computer, when the conversation outside reached a climax, and the bearded personage slammed his fist against the glass. Something he perceived the Indian to have said was wrong, utterly wrong! Feh!

The Indian merely glared at him. The other Indian didn't even bother to look around, but continued to gaze at the counter. I guess the smaller of the cancer-industry co-opted native Americans was supremely indifferent to the conversation; whatever the bearded personage's opinion was, he was having none of it. Meh, and what----ever.
He was quite placid. Smug, even.


The partner at the computer jumped up and ran outside screaming angrily - "how dare you bang my glass! You oaf!" The bearded personage screamed back, louder. The Indians remained silent.
The screaming continued. Fists were waved. Suggestions of congress with maternal relatives were mooted. Violence was offered in lieu of any conversational satisfaction. So!
The Indians continued to remain silent.


AT LEAST THE INDIANS HAD SENSE ENOUGH TO HOLD THEIR TONGUES


Soon calls were made to involve the police. The bearded personage invaded the store, and screamed incomprehensible insults at all of us - including several clearly invisible people. The invisible people quickly gained the upper hand in the dispute and the bearded personage withdrew.
The police arrived too late to be part of the discussion.

While all this was going on, a customer purchased a cigar, inquired about a place to smoke, and mentioned the weather. The other owner chatted pleasantly with him about this and that, agreed that Indians were troublemakers, and gave him a light.

On his way out the customer volunteered that he was from Brooklyn, and that there were far more crazy people in San Francisco than in the entire New York area. Incredible. Just staggering. How did we put up with it?


New York sounds like a wonderful place.
I really must visit one of these days.
Are there any cigar-store Indians there?