Freaky Friday
Apparently when the weather changes out here, people do crazy things…or maybe I’m just a sponge for weirdos.
Quick rundown of the events that transpired last night:
Event 1
6:00 p.m.
I, in a blue knee-length (not butt, but knee) jersey knit dress, a vintage men’s cardigan sweater, a vintage brown leather jacket (I wore and extra layer because I was taking the subway and wanted to cover up), and clunky brown Frye motorcycle boots, headed to the subway. Six people made lewd comments at me, one of which came from a seven year-old boy.
6:10 p.m.
(As the C subway stops at Canal, the driver announces on the P.A.) : Ladies and gentleman, please get a police officer down here, we have a disorderly passenger.
(As with most announcements, it is ignored. 15 seconds pass.)
(Again the Subway Driver makes an announcement, but this time with a sense of urgency) : Somebody get an officer down here now!!! There’s a man with a knife.
(Instantly the entire train cleares out and sprints across the platform to catch the E.)
(Doors aren’t shutting.)
(Doors still aren’t shutting. My heart is racing.)
(Subway Driver of the E train screams on the P.A). GET THIS GUY OFF THE TRAIN NOWWWWWWWWWWW…….
(Frantic people run back and forth across the platform from the C to the E. This lasts a good three minutes, the Subway Drivers in both trains continue to make announcements. The doors finally shut.)
Then I make a mistake. I make eye contact with a person. A group of sweaty men look at me in my “provocative” outfit and belch out with, “it’s the girl in the blue, someone frisk her she has the knife.” They hackle me until I get off. The other women in the subway stare at me as if to say, “uhh look at her she loves it.” I start to sweat a lot. I want them to stop talking to me.
I’m grossed out, and get off at the next stop and meet Mariel for dinner. We wait outside the congested and club-like Bar Pitti. They don’t take reservations, and they also don’t take names. You just have to stand there and hover over sidewalk patrons like a reject until you make eye contact with a fast-moving busboy. He waves a dishrag in your face that reeks of Olive Oil. This is a good sign. We get seated pretty quickly but have the worst seat in the house. We don’t dare complain even though we are soffocated by the screaming and disruptive families, and impatient ladies at the bar (who incidentally left their parties outside to “show them how to get a table” but instead were waved off with a soup ladle and went to the bar to save face). One lady bangs me unknowingly with her knock-off purse — it doesn’t even feel like leather. I give her a mean look. If she says something, I will bang her with my YSL. Then I will….(I’m not that mean, it’s this New Yorker vibe, it makes me snappy.)
Event 2
After dinner we make a pit stop at Tasti Delight and then walk through the LES. Five minutes into our stroll a correctional bus (yes, one that transports felons) drives by. An animal (or to be PC: a man), screams out the window,” You in the blue I would [redacted] you so hard; damn you in the BLUEEEE, [redacted] you have no idea.”
Again I am startled. A disgusting, and convicted criminal hand-selected me to look at and I don’t trust the bus driver or the bars on the windows. I grab Mariel tightly and say ,”were leaving.”
We speed walk up to Houston and grab cabs.
Lessons learned:
1. No matter what time of day, if I take the subway I should hide behind an Egyptian Cotton bathrobe (although I imagine that to be a hot commodity around the subway dwellers).
2. Never wear blue. Not pastel, not baby, not periwinkle and especially not electric blue. I can write about vibrant spring colors trends all I want, but I just cannot partake. I guess I will never be featured on the Sartorialist. Waaaah.
3. Never ever ever make eye contact with anyone or anything.
