Who can turn the world on with her smile? I can, so it seems. I've just moved into a fab new neighborhood, have a wonderful new job, and I'm feeling a little bit like Mary Tyler Moore. Good times. I have a few stories for you all. Let me recount to you my first 'holla'd at' occurrence in my new neighborhood. It came unbidden yesterday afternoon.Now, back in Washington Heights, one can be expected to be mildly sexually harassed at least once a week, or once an outing if you're walking greater than or equal to five blocks. Recently, I was walking from the library on W. 145th St. to my apartment on W. 162nd St., and got hollered at no less than FIVE TIMES! I am not boasting, ladies and gentlemen. I wouldn't be surprised if female dogs get hit on by some drunken residents. Nor shall we assume their intentions are honorable. I doubt they're thinking, "Wow! What a fair young lady! She appears to be interesting! She bears signs of nobility! I admire her inner and outer beauty, therefore, I shall exclaim, 'Ay Mami!'." Nope. I usually try to look as unappealing as possible if I have to walk places. On the library occasion, I was wearing my old Beatles t-shirt that I usually wear only under things because of the obvious yellow pit stains. Even so, I was waiting to cross the street at a corner when the driver of an SUV (also waiting) looks over at me and says, "Yo the Beatles is sexy...so are you!" Yikes. Did I mention the girlfriend glaring at me from the passenger seat? Awkarder. (Hopefully it was just a pimp/prostitute relationship. Otherwise, that's just rude) I used to hate walking around up there.
So I'm working nights at my new job (I'm very happy there, thanks for asking!), and my sleep schedule is still wonky. I rolled out of bed sometime in the afternoon yesterday and I had a hankering for a New York slice, so I walked to the corner to a local pizzeria I spotted a few days ago (no cat calls!). In fact, I had walked into the place last week and realized I was too poor to buy anything so I pretended to go get money and that I'd be back. The young Italian pizza immigrant goes, "I'll be here!" in a "I'll-be-waiting-wink-wink" kind of way. Yeah, yeah whatever, Pizza Guy. Well, yesterday, I walk in (mind you I'm rocking serious bedhead, a big blue t-shirt that is about three sizes too big in a man size - picture the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka, and unbrushed teeth; I literally did three things between sleep and pizza: bra, pants, shoes & purse) and the same dude is there working. Here we go.
Pizza Dude: "It's you! What can I get you, babe?"
Me: "Hm I didn't realize we were dating..." (I didn't actually say this, but my sassy brain was thinking it)
Me, for real: "Two cheese please."
Pizza Dude: "Ipad."
Me: "Huh?"
Pizza Dude: "Ipad...where do you keep all your buttons?
Me: "Oh...Ipads don't have any buttons." (Trying real hard to will the pizza to warm up faster with my mind)
Pizza Perv: "What do they have?"
Me: "They have touch screens."
Ballzy Pizza Perv: "Can I touch you then?"
Me: "NOOOOO." (Said in the same manner as a little girl would say it, had her brother just asked if he could spit in her hair)
By this point I've paid and am trying to get the hell out of there.
Bally Pizza Guy as I rush out: "Stay pretty!"
I leave clutching my pizza, trying to figure out what just happened. I told one of my best friends this story, and he 1. laughed way too hard and 2. told me to take it as a compliment and live in the moment. He's probably right, but I just don't handle these things well. I just get confused and uncomfortable, and make a list of places never to visit again. Maybe it's a crazy girl thing. When I don't put any effort into my appearance, I assume I look like Will Ferrell's version of Harry Caray, therefore anyone hitting on me at any time immediately becomes some sort of weirdo pervert. But I know a lot of girls who like the attention no matter what, so maybe they're the crazy ones. I dunno. Only in New York. Besides the one Italian dude, I no longer walk my neighborhood in fear (or in 'homeless drag' to avoid harassment, barring first-meal hankerings)!
Here are a couple of good NYC MTA bus stories. All of them feature a different large black women. All the buses I take seem to be run by said women. They don't drive the bus, but we are all subject to them. One time I got on and the only spot open to sit down was in between a petite woman to the left and a large black woman on the right. I sat just barely on the edge of the seat, not wanting to cramp any one's style. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the lady on my right scooching over to her right. Naturally, I think she's doing this for me! So I ease my way back until I hear, from my right, "Where you goin'?!" I look up at her, smiling, thinking she was starting friendly banter. I quickly realized she didn't really want to know what was my ultimate destination. What she meant to ask was, "Do you really think I'm going to allow your leg to touch any part of my leg for the duration of this voyage? If you do, I'm afraid you are mistaken (Move your white ass back over)." Naturally, I did what I could, and also I found whatever I was reading for the rest of the trip just rapturous.
Word to the wise, try to stay out of the way of people who like to walk around/stand on a bus when they don't have to. They're probably a little bit off their rocker. Avert your eyes, pretend to text someone, sleep, etc. I was on my way home one morning when this bossy old LBW (large black woman) was standing up front by the driver, ranting and raving. I looked up once to see what she was talking about, caught her icy gaze and my blood stood still for a minute. Pretend you were looking around at everyone! You're life is at risk, Cardon! It was sort of hard to not hear what she was saying. We had a crying infant about halfway back on the bus, and at one point crazy LBW yells out to the mom, "That baby's cold! Put a blanket on it, it's freezing! C'mon now!" Oh. no. she. di'int. Mothering a stranger's baby! That's not allowed, is it?!?! I looked over, aghast, at the mom. She was calmly ignoring LBW. Incidentally, the baby was all bundled up already. LBW kept talking until she got off. Probably telling the driver how to drive better. Some people can get away with anything!
My last story isn't really a story. I was riding home from work the other day and was real tired and had a headache, and this CBW (crazy black woman) with a long black trench coat kept walking up and down the aisle. Sitting down, standing up, sitting somewhere else. That's the whole story, except she wreaked strongly of urine and something sour, like rotting flesh. I was so angry that she was making me smell her. So angry that she was stinky. Why are people so stinky sometimes?
I wonder if Mary Tyler Moore ever had to smell a CBW on a bus.
Holler back,
Kassie
