The Crossroads of My World or How Elton John Ruined My Day

The crossroad of 355 and Shady Grove Road is a major area of Gaithersburg. If you go straight on 355, you go either to Gaithersburg proper and Germantown:if you're going the opposite direction, to the dreaded Rockville. If you go down Shady Grove Road, you end up in either Darnestown or the boonies. Whenever I'm driving on 355, it's usually to turn left onto Shady Grove Road, where the major post office for the area is. Where my netflix movies go when I send them back. So why wait for the movies to filter into the Shady Grove Post Office when I can just bring them there myself, right? The sooner netflix gets them, the sooner I get more movies.

So the thing about the 355-Shady Grove Road crossroad is that it's also bum central. Not so much bum central like a bus depot at Lakeforest Mall, but more of a place that the homeless people of the Gaithersburg area hang out and ask for change. I don't look down on these people because obviously they're battling with some heavy shit that, hopefully, I'll never understand. I'll usually hand them a couple of bucks (if I have it) because if they're willing to swallow their pride and put the abject poverty they're living with on full display by standing at the side of the road with a cardboard sign, they've earned a couple of my non-earned dollars, or at the very least, my respect. What if they're using it for drugs or booze, you ask? That's not for me to judge. They need the money more than I do. But this post isn't meant to be a lecture on the ethics of giving to the poor or a display of my preeminent magnanimity (the queue forms to the left, ladies).

Yesterday I was driving to the post office to drop off my netflix movies. I decided it would be a fine day to roll down the windows, damning the air conditioning and those who need it. Before I go on, I should also mention that I'm one of those assholes who plays his music loud when he's driving with his windows down. I don't offer any excuses for it, nor do I make any apologies: it's just part of who I am. If people don't want to hear Rachmaninoff or Robyn or RZA or any of the other hip R musicians, they can go climb a tree. So I'm driving around, windows down, listening to Honky Chateau by Elton John. As I'm nearing the 355-Shady Grove crossroads, the last seconds of "Amy" are dying down and one of my favorite Elton John songs comes on: "Mona Lisas and Madhatters". For the benefit of the story, give it a listen here.



Did ya do it? No?

Well listen! Here's another link to a non-Mandy Moore cover of the song. If you're too lazy for that, here are the lyrics. Trust me. You need to know the song to get the story.

And now I know
Spanish Harlem are not just pretty words to say
I thought I knew
But now I know that rose trees never grow in New York City

Until you've seen this trash can dream come true
You stand at the edge while people run you through
And I thank the Lord there's people out there like you
I thank the Lord there's people out there like you

While Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters
Sons of bankers, sons of lawyers
Turn around and say good morning to the night
For unless they see the sky
But they can't and that is why
They know not if it's dark outside or light

This Broadway's got
It's got a lot of songs to sing
If I knew the tunes I might join in
I'll go my way alone
Grow my own, my own seeds shall be sown in New York City

Subway's no way for a good man to go down
Rich man can ride and the hobo he can drown
And I thank the Lord for the people I have found
I thank the Lord for the people I have found

You get the point. It's about generosity in the face of selfishness and consumerism. That's a bit of an over-simplification, but you get it. Back to the story.


I stop at the red light, waiting for the turn arrow grant me passage to Shady Grove Road, while the first verse of the song ends. There is a homeless man standing right next to my car. It's clear that he can hear and is listening to the song. By the end of the chorus, another homeless man had joined the other next to my car. Then another. Then another. Just like those birds in that movie about the scary birds (Labyrinth?). The leader of the pack looks at me bashfully, puppy-dog eyes and all. I stare back, scared, and shrug my shoulders while giving them the international sign for "Sorry, I'm Broke." It's all Elton's fault. I' was sitting there at the stop light with the hoi polloi of Gaithersburg glaring at me because I didn't have any money to give them.

So I rolled up my window, turned on my air conditioning and waited until the light changed. I felt like such an asshole.