Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Why I Love New York, #4


Picture it. New York City, 2009.  My friend Lil Chrissy and I are on our way back to Brooklyn after having a lovely dinner with friends and our chosen mode of transportation is the B Train. We're waiting at West 4th Street, along with all the other freaks and weirdoes, and the B comes a-trundling along. We board, discussing such important topics as 'The Sensuous Black Woman' and 'Dirty Dancing.'  

We stop at Broadway / Lafayette, and Chrissy's back is to the door so he doesn't see the elderly gentleman who's trying to get past him. I gently prod Chrissy to move aside so the gentleman can pass us and get to the only seat that's available in this particular car, when I hear him whisper under his breath, "Fuckin' faggots." 

Aghast, I immediately shove Lil Chrissy over to a different section of the train, although I do manage to call the guy a "fat-gutted piece of shit" within earshot. 

It never pays to do the "I wish I had," thing - you know, stuff like "What I should have said was 'Excuse me, what did you just say, you geriatric mound of shit?' or "I really should have just spat right in his face" - because if you do that and you replay the situation over and over in your head, reenacting the horrid and bigoted actions of an obviously deranged mind, you just get madder and madder, and what's the point in that?

So I'm just writing about it here, getting it out of my system, and letting the world know that even in New York City in the year 2009, people are still just a-hankerin' to bash them some motherfuckin' faggots.