Cheeseburger in Paradise

There is a goofy homeless man who amuses first-timers at the Plaza with his shtick, “Good afternoon, I’m trying to raise a down payment on a cheeseburger?”

I’ll admit, when I first moved to KC, I appreciated that he was trying to be original. I even gave him some change. Later, I told Dean about it, and he told me that he’s been doing that line for years. It wasn’t that he was being clever or cutesy—it was the only thing the guy knew how to say.

Within a few weeks of living in KC, I was getting tired of the cheeseburger line. Certain homeless people are like fixtures at the Plaza, conveniently only coming out at times when there are throngs of people about (not unlike the “Repent Now” crew). They have their favorite spots. Cheeseburger, as Dean calls him, usually sits on a milk crate between Barnes & Noble and the adjoining parking garage.

Dean has a source who swears that Cheeseburger was in Las Vegas. It blew our minds, yet we somehow weren’t surprised (he probably made more money pan-handling at the Plaza than I did working at my job at the time). We thought maybe he was just some eccentric, independently wealthy man who was committed to a very long-term sociological experiment. Or maybe there are cells of Cheeseburger Men posted throughout the nation, like Fight Club.

But we didn’t see him at all last weekend, which leads us to believe that he retired. I guess he finally raised enough to buy that Cheeseburger, and now he’s living it up on some tropical island, watching the sunset from the comfort of his milk crate.

“Good afternoon, I’m trying to raise a down payment on a cheeseburger?” Maybe by “cheeseburger” he meant “yacht.” That man will remain among one of the most gnawing unsolved mysteries of my journeys.

Here’s to you, Cheeseburger Man.