Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Hollercore

Usually I hate the street holler. Like, more than anything. More than getting up in the morning, more than coffee grinds in the bottom of my cup, more than losing a bobby pin in my bigass hair, more than fingerprints on my glasses, more than ill-fitting underwear, more than loud chewers on the subway, more than Joan Jett hates herself for loving you and can't break free from the things that you do. I'm in no way a ten or anything, yet I've been hollered at by cops, firemen, garbage collectors who stop the truck in the middle of the intersection at Myrtle and Marcy until I'm in the subway, a dude who swore to Allah he would buy me contacts and better nails while smoking on the G train, and, once, a short bus. I hate it.

Except I just got the all time holler of hollers and it actually was so absurdly charming it made my day.

I was walking down the street during my lunch just to get out of the office for a bit and passed some crusties with a dog. This is like my kryptonite. I can't not give them the contents of my pocket when they ask me for money. So, as usual, when the dude asked me for change I gave him a buck and kept walking.

Halfway down the block he yells, "WAIIIIIT!"

And I'm all, "Yeah?"

And he's all, "Lemme get your number! I'm serious!"

And I'm all, you have a phone?

And he's all, "Come onnn, I'm serious! You're so pretty! I'll buy you pizza and we can sneak into the movies!"

He kept hollering until I turned the corner at which point I realized that this is the best offer I've gotten recently. I'm not sure what that says about me, or the world, or you dudes in general as a species, but right about now sneaking into a horror movie and eating some misappropriated popcorn with someone who could conceivably give me scabies is actually sort of tempting.

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