Wednesday, September 10, 2008

And That, Kids, Is the Story of How I Met Your Dad.

The thing I love about New York and that everyone else in the country probably hates about New York is the personal arsenal of "Only in New York..." stories we all accidentally amass by just doing our daily shit. Yes, they are funny, but yes, they also make us sound like smug assholes who think it's an accomplishment just to get to work.

But, see, when you drive to work alone, in a car, in which you can be reasonably assured no one will be jerking off, the world doesn't seem like quite such a war zone.

Case in point:

I was on the downtown F yesterday at rush hour. I got a seat, I was finishing up the crossword, and there was a garden-variety subway crazy sitting a few seats down and on the other side of the car. He was a mutterer and a several-plastic-bags-haver, if you're familiar with that particular crazy guy jam. He didn't smell and he wasn't pooping or screaming, so no one really paid his muttering much mind.

He muttered the entire way to 7th Avenue, where I get off. He was seated next to the door. As the train neared my station, I stood to gather up my shit and stuff my paper in my bag.

"Daaaaaaaaaamn, girl. DAAAAAAAAAAAAAMN! MAMA!" he said to my boobs.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuck," I remember thinking. (For the record, my boobs have caused me nothing but trouble since, like Cabbage Patch Kid heads from magical soil, they blossomed, large and bulbous and creepy.)

He went back to muttering, though vehemently now and in the direction of my chest. The train slowed down and came to a stop, and, of course, of fucking course, this was one of those times when, no matter how hard you will it to happen, the doors just will not open.

This was when he looked me right in the eye.

"Well," he said. "I wouldn't kill you."

And with that single, terrifying, lucid confession, he turned his attention back toward muttering into the car of people whose lives, sadly for them, were not so blatantly guaranteed.

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

I always liked your columns on Junk -- you are a good writer and have a unique voice -- and I love your sense of humor

Happy Birthday

3:00 PM  

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