Another Friday...another drama

Friday, I think, is just the day for weird things to happen on the Subway. I'm not really sure why, but I'm noticing a pattern emerge here on Fridays. Though this time the weird experience was a little less on the "scam" end of the spectrum, and more on the downright heart-racing side.

First off, I must issue a disclaimer; I am not and have not been threatened. That being said, this was a weird Friday subway experience. I think it goes something like this:



"I got cursed out for being white today. First time in my life. I've been cursed at for being other things: Mormon, Yankee, an American, and probably a few other things that I don't remember, but never for being white...or rather Caucasian. That's a new one.

It wasn't directed at me personally, per-se, but I was one of the closer white guys to the bellicose badmouth, so, for all I know, he was talking to me directly.

The seething soul boarded the subway train, made eye contact with me, and continued his long-held scowl (which I can only assume had been there since he awoke to find lemurs eating his bedbugs, a most horrific discovery for one to make in the morning). The powerful penetration of his acerbic attention (which, clearly, originated when discovered not only had his shoes been tied together before he left home (monkeys can be rather devious), but that his belt had been torn from his pants by a rather hungry polar bear) me a little uncomfortable, but I shifted forward to allow him to pass behind me.

Of course the surly spectator (who must have grown weary of the continual penguin squaks from his bathroom) should be suspicious. I kept looking around at all different sorts of things, most of which included passing subway posts and grey concrete slabs. I was clearly planning a verbal assault on him, which would dishonour his family, his ancestors, and worst of all, his mother. Yes, this was the state of things as the subway train rattled, shook, and rolled along its predetermined course.

The tension in the air tightened with each rickety rock, subtle (and not so subtle) sway. The grumpy gentleman (who found his apartment lease had been given to the Bronx Zoo) eyed me warily; there stood 6 feet of impassible impediment, complete with bulging backpack, which surely must have been filled full of literature on why he was the cause of all the world's problems.

As the slowed and we approached the next station, I remembered that the angry alderman (whose office was just inundated, certainly, with all of the city's lost puppies) with stood behind me and, given that his earlier walk from his house to the train station, must have been overcrowded with festive fools, looked behind me to see how much out of his way I needed to go. I couldn't go too far out of his way, however, without greatly inconveniencing everyone else around me. I would have ended up in a saintly old lady's lap, or fondly embracing venture or vulture capitalists, or thoroughly inspecting the student's papers due to be returned in an hour.

A lady, who, for all intents and purposes, looked very sweet and unassuming, had the very bad misfortune of standing up to get to the door seconds before the train stopped. (She also had the misfortune, of being the doppelganger of the lady who had informed him that his hot water had been shut off, per the Zoo's officials, who felt that penguins were in danger of burning themselves as they tried to bathe in his tub, but that's a story for another day). Incensed that such a lady would have the gall to stand up in front of him twice and tell him (or infer) that he shouldn't have his way was far too much. He brushed brusquely past her, and me, and stood, enraged, by the doubting doors.

I had the misfortune of making eye contact with him just as he pushed past the sweet lady, unfortunate doppelganger. The outburst of motion, from which I had the good sense to move forward slightly, and propelled him forward to await the sought after relief of the groaning gates. This eye-contact proved to be the confirmation he was waiting for.

To make eye contact twice in the same subway ride with this immense, yellow backpack-wearing, scheming, conniving, man descended invariably from the Caucasus Mountains themselves, confirmed that I was indeed the child of Beelzebub and his minions and would, if he waited any longer, surely denounce him, which he didn't need after his lengthy week with the co-tenants of his Bronx apartment.

To my surprise, shock and horror, he began his boisterous batterings in a vociferous (and I quote [almost] verbatim)

"[Curse] all you devil Caucasians!"

(I wonder if the Bronx Zoo is run by a bunch of white people...)

This country is [cursed] up because of all you devil Caucasians!

(Did the Bronx Zoo president start buying up subleases in other cities too? Man they really need to get that fixed)

Giving me  your crazy looks! [Curse] you all!"

(Oh rats, I looked at him again, I really have to stop that. Note to self: learn how to determine when someone needs an eye kept on them or not)

The dutiful doors finally opened, and the grumpy gentleman, who was after all the victim here, steamed out onto the platform and up the stairs.

I looked at the school-teacher (presumably) sitting in front of me, and she gave me an eye roll, a scared but now relieved eye roll.
The gentleman (most likely a venture, or perhaps vulture, capitalist) to my left said, "sheesh, that was scary."

I nodded, laughed nervously and, after the train began towards its next stop, decided to check my pulse. To my great relief, I found that a miracle had been performed! I must have been clinically dead for the few moments the sour soul ranted about the Caucasian caramba, because I didn't feel my heart beat until the train pulled into the next station.

Friday continues to get weirder.

How was your week?