I have seen 3 mullets on BART in the last two days. One was attached to a pudgy, denim-clad Mexican with a fu-manchu moustache and round sunglasses like the pair worn by Jean Reno in The Professional. I see him everytime I catch the 8:46 train. He sits immediately to the left of the double doors in the seats designated for the elderly, the blind, the pregnant, and the obese. There is nothing really remarkable about him. He usually just sits there stalk-still with his eyes closed and his hands resting, palms up, on his thighs. He's like a little Mexican buddha, except with a mullet and an overstuffed laptop bag.
On the platform, five minutes earlier, I was nearly knocked onto the tracks by a very tall white woman with a very tall mullet. She too had a fu-manchu moustache, but I am going to operate under the assumption that hers was not intentional. She was covered in corduroy and draped in sterling silver jewelery that was either purchased out of pity at a street faire or given as a gift by a special needs child after "Craft Day" at The Group Home. As disturbing as any part of that visual could be, the most disconcerting part for me was the fact that, at 8:40 on a crisp breezy early spring morning, I could smell her before she even bumped into me.
I saw the Third Mulletketeer the night before as I was exiting the station on my way home. His mullet was, undoubtedly, the envy of mullets throughout the greater San Francisco Bay Area. It hung effortlessly down to the small of his back; an attribute made all the more remarkable when one considers that a) no one has taken a pair of pruning shears to it and b) its owner stood at least 6'9." More specifically, its owner looked like Jar Jar Binks if Jar Jar Binks was a vulgar 6'9" Vietnamese bike messenger who was losing his patience with the BART agent on duty because she wouldn't do anything to help him after his ticket demagnetized. Vietnamese is not normally considered an attractive language, but when it comes pouring out of an angry bike messenger laced with the entire lexicon of American profanity it can be a beautiful, beautiful thing.
Posted by nils at 8:42 PM