Champagne Coolie - Just a guy we’d see at work sometimes that kinda looked like actor Patrick Bristow. Yeah, I know, kinda obscure, but we’re pretty big Seinfeld freaks and he played “The Wig Master” in one episode. His nickname primarily sprung out of Jerry’s line, “How do you know we’re not together? Two guys, sittin’, laughin’, drinking Champagne Coolies.”
In my home town, we did have siren man. A 40-50 something guy with Downs syndrome who rode around town in a police hat (UK Bobby style, which is an odd hat for the North Shore of NEW England), making the siren sound.
We also had Coupon Dan, who would, on Wednesday nights come into the supermarket about 4 PM, park a shopping cart (which he took to and from his residence to the market) at the end of aisle 4, then item by item go to get it, and put it in his cart. Every item he purchased had a coupon for it. No coupon, no item. Most coupons were expired, so much product went back to the shelf. We usually pulled his basket to the front about 8:30PM, and tried to herd him towards it, and the register. It was harsh duty to ring him up, as he stunk, and argued about the expiration dates of his coupons.
In college, we had Everywhere Man. Anyplace you went on campus, there he was. You couldn’t escape him, and everyone seemed to have had the same experience with him. Every day in the dorm, we’d have a rundown of where everyone saw Everywhere Man. I think he moved at light speed, because he seemed as though he could be in 2 places at once… cut through a building, and there he was on the other side. Go to the other campus, and he’d ride right past on his bicycle. Started to make me paranoid, until I found out that I wasn’t alone in seeing him EVERYWHERE!!!
Sad Girl is frequently at the supermarket when I am. Skinny, dresses very sort of ethereally in above-the-knee light-colored sleeveless dresses with lace-ish trim and black stockings, long semi-unkempt black hair, very pale. Always looks just on the verge of tears. Noticed one day when we checked out at the same time and coincidentally parked near each other that she has a uncased cello in the back of her hatchback. May well be the ultimate Goth.
Thick McRunsFast is the generic nickname for any of the bulgy wide-shouldered frat guys who go jogging in shoes, no socks, tiny shorts, and a baseball cap around my college town.
And in keeping with that, the proper group name for a clump of Greek females in clubbing garb is a misdemeanor of sorority girls.
Vitamin Boy was a guy that rode my bus in junior high. He smelled like vitamin pills. Vitamins do not smell good. This dude smelled like he took a whole bottle every morning and it was coming out of his pores. For all I know know, he had some sort of problem, but when my friends and I were 13 he just stunk like vitamins. We never spoke to him, we just gagged when him and his buddy would sit near us or walk by us on the bus.
Mrs Purple Dented Car used to live across the street from me.
There’s a middle-aged woman who often shops at my favorite grocery store who runs amuck with facial makeup, particularly lipstick. Not only does she use wayyyy too much greasy, shiny lipstick, but she applies it so that some of it extends far beyond her lips. She reminds me of Heath Ledger as the Joker. I don’t know her name, but in my mind she will always be Lipstick Lady.
Mashed Potato Girl. There was this girl I used to see whizzing by on her bike when I was driving home from work. There was always some white stuff all over her face–not like clown paint and not like zinc oxide, and I could never get a close enough look at her to see what it might be.
Then one day I went into a local grocery store and she turned up ahead of me in line. It looked exactly as though she had taken a small handfull of thinnish mashed potatoes, smeared it all over her face, and let it dry in streaks and peaks.
I still have no idea what it really was.
The Gesticulator: Tall, lanky, middle-aged owner of the property adjoining my job site which they have been sloooowly developing for about the last millenia or two ( a very slight exagerration ). Me and my co-worker sometimes watch with horrified and slightly amused fascination the slipshod and frankly illogical progression of comstruction on one of our security cameras. The Gesticulator makes frequent appearances in an apparent high state of agitation, obviously berating his stunningly inept, troglodytic workers with much swooping of the arms, jerking of the head and other entertaining physical flailings.
T-Bone and Babyback: The attractive ( and genuinely friendly ) young couple at an earlier residence, much prone to REALLY LOUD and cliched-sounding sex.
The Muttonchop Brothers: A relic of my teen years, two incredibly tall and skinny slacker brothers in their twenties with gigantic sideburns that could be seen loping around town in a bouncing, swaying hipster stride. They rather reminded me of a cross between 1970’s hipsters and the scary dude in the movie Phantasm
Shagnasty the Witch: Typical harmless old lady in a scary home that was the source of some exaggerated alarm to local youngsters.
Many others, including nicknames varied and broad for various co-workers, both affectionate and insulting. My two cats frequently go by “retard” or “rambunctor” ( the one ) or “bitey” ( the other ).
Meanwhile some choice names I’ve acquired myself over the years include Nick the Drug Addict ( sleep-deprived snoozing with my head lolling back in High School ), Gomez ( for my gloomy dismissal of sunshine as a source of skin-cancer during my “graveyard” years ) and Snake-Eye ( after a snake bit me in the eye - probably my favorite ).
The two that come to mind are:
Scary Spider Mom - my child’s classmate’s mother who dressed in black, dyed her hair black, wore black glasses and tons of makeup.
Jock Mom - another classmate’s mother who was never seen wearing anything but shorts and oftentimes carrying a basketball.
Don’t take this the wrong way - but have you considered elevator shoes?
Here in my home town we have The Man Who Walks Legs Off Dogs.
He’s always out, always walking - rain, hail or shine. And for a while there, every time we saw him it was with a different dog…always shorter than the first.
He’s kept the nickname even though we’ve seen him with a bigger dog again.
In Adelaide, we have… Johnny. Everyone knows who Johnny is. 
He even has a web page.
http://www.adelaide.citylegends.com/gallery.htm
I notice they’re missing photos of the ‘mankini’ look I saw him in once. This is *definitely *for the best.
Budgie Boy has the same first name as my little parrot and a distinctly avian surname. It would annoy the hell out of him if he knew how well it’s stuck - yay.
Semi-Famous Man used to live across the street from me. Despite seeing each other almost every day for two years, he wouldn’t return any greeting, just walk on as though no-one had spoken to him. My flatmates and friendlier neighbours commented on this as well. It had taken me months to work out that the reason he seemed so familiar was because he was an actor. Even knowing that, I could never remember his name.
One day at my boyfriend’s place, we were watching TV and **SFM **came on in a fairly major role. I told my boyfriend about how **SFM **never spoke to anyone on our street and my boyfriend said “Oh, that’s nothing - I’ve worked with him on three series and he’s never spoken to me either, he’s too bloody famous for the likes of us … What’s his name again?”
Sta-Puft Marshmallow Man is a regular visitor to our store, though we may be changing his name to Camo-Man soon, as he’s started wearing a total camoflague outfit. He’s a big, puffy black man who has several rituals he performs when he stops by…kissing our hands (when we let him…thought at first he wanted to shake hands) asking us if we brush with Colgate, then ordering us to “Smile!” and requesting the boss’s business card.
Drool Girl had some sort of salivation problem, as well as a severe speech impediment. She would be wearing a thick , high turtle neck sweater, and the collar was always soaked with drool. Plus she’d have a tissue she’d dab at her mouth with. When she spoke…oh, even just typing this makes me gag. It was very hard to wait on her.
Mr. Same-Same We never could decide what nationality he was, Greek, Turkish, something. He spoke very little English, was under-going dialysis and would frequently buy blankets from us to give to friends in the dialysis clinic because it got chilly in there. He would spend a lot of time browse our merchandise, asking prices, then picking up a similarly priced item and say, “Same-same?”
Wheelchair Girl because, well, she drive a motorized wheel chair. But she also has a severe speech problem, and we simply cannot understand what she is asking us. Then she gets mad and leaves. We really do try to understand her…it’s frustrating for her and for us.
Back when I used to work in a mall, there was a girl who worked at a cosmetic place that I called Womanequin because she used so much of her own product she looked plastic.
I’m plenty tall enough to have clearance, thanks. I wasn’t standing–I was sitting in one of the sideways seats. He did the stepping, farting thing as he walked by. A gas mask might have come in handy, though.
Where’s the “eyes bulging out of my head” smilie when I need one? 
(I assume you meant “never wore long pants or a skirt” as opposed to “went topless”.)
I’ve seen a beautiful blonde girl riding a bicycle a couple of times around town, and she is now “Bicicleta Chick” (from the Spanish word for “bicycle”, even though she doesn’t look stereotypically Hispanic). I guess my partial inspiration is a memory of reading a reference to a character named Mademoiselle Biciclette (or was her title Madame?) in a review of a French-language film.
According to my regular cashier at the grocery store, I’m known as **The Beard****tm. She made a point of asking me my name the other day so she wouldn’t be so embarrassed. I told her it, and added that surely other customers must have more interesting facial than myself. She agreed but told me that they had been entertained by watching me grow it out over the last 8 months and have a small pool going as to when I would stop, or cut it.
When I lived in Denver: The Cult Litterer.
I never saw this stranger. I only saw what he or she left behind.
Using black magic marker, this person would carefully print out prayers to Jesus and nail them or staplegun them all over central Denver. Sometimes the prayer signs would be accompanied by Watchtower pamphlets.
The prayer signs were made from the tops of used microwave dinners. I have no way of knowing if The Cult Litterer is a man or a woman, though I think he was probably a man because of the handwriting and the fact that some of his prayers were quite high up on telephone poles.
He got his nickname when somebody scrawled “Cult Litter” over one of his signs.
For all I know, he’s still there, leaving his signs.
I don’t miss them.
Mr. Pullover He worked out at my club. He only did the pullover machine even though there are 50 machines. He wore a long sleeve dress shirt . You would have to chase him off the machine to use it. I saw him there every time I went. He developed the weirdest body.