So I wanted to do so many things when the young man in the strange outfit saddled up next to me on the Metro on Saturday, asking with a finger extended just this much too close to my skin if I'd ever thought of getting extensions heeeeeere (while outlining the crown of my head, that portion of the scalp that I've been worried needed Miracle Grow ever since in the 7th grade Jacquie What-was-her-last-name-anyway? pointed out my impending baldness), but I simply said "no", and stifled my urge to ask why someone would get a cross tattooed on their forehead just so, so Mansonish, so that even with a wool cap pulled low there was no mistaking the shape plunging down between the eyes.
But then I figured that he'd probably heard that three more times than I'd been asked about my thinning hair, and decided instead to listen to his tales of hopping that morning from one congregation to the next, and how the church really is so valuable to life, and how if I wanted his styrofoam carton of "vegetarian meal" I was welcome to it.
Because despite the harshness I display, I really do think about the presence of God and Oprah, and since we all know that even Oprah is listening most of the time, I thought it best to just play it safe.
But then I figured that he'd probably heard that three more times than I'd been asked about my thinning hair, and decided instead to listen to his tales of hopping that morning from one congregation to the next, and how the church really is so valuable to life, and how if I wanted his styrofoam carton of "vegetarian meal" I was welcome to it.
Because despite the harshness I display, I really do think about the presence of God and Oprah, and since we all know that even Oprah is listening most of the time, I thought it best to just play it safe.
18 Comments:
Wow. Rule 1: Immediately disregard grooming advice from someone with a tattoo on his face.
(no offense to your more hardcore readers).
I admire your serenity in the face of inappropriacy.
Are you f-ing kidding me?!?! Oh, Kris. You handled that so well!!!
Wow. I really need to get my phone number to you...he's just the kind of guy I need to be dating.
that's AWESOME!!! i heart fun, random people.
You need to talk more about Satan in your conversations with strangers.
Really, you do.
I can't believe someone actually asked you that. What a douche! I probably would've cried; you handled that like a champ!
"Vegitarian meal"? That sounds so disgusting to me. I want a hamburger now.
I thought I had random , bizarre conversations with total strangers...I think you have officially won the battle.
Good call. If nothing else, it will build good karma.
for ed, it was the very beginning of a late-winter saturday. he'd stepped out of his apartment, sure he'd double and tripple and even four times checked that he'd locked the door, put his wallet in the back left-side pocket of his carefully and fashionably torn jeans, and that he'd grabbed his wool cap from the coat rack.
he stood in the hallway, running through this checklist in his head (door . . . wallet . . . hat . . .). hearing tomwaits, his cat, faintly and furiously scratching at the bottom of the door he looked down. one paw, sometimes both made itself small enough to fit through the space between the door and floor. ed wondered if tomwaits wished for his quick return, or to run out with him into the mysterious world outside the apartment. was tomwaits on the other side of the door wondering if would it be a world of sunshine and mousing; or of laying snuggled against ed's chest in a field of long, soft grass; tomwaits didn't and soon realized he wouldn't know, and stomped away from the door.
ed boarded the elevator and pulled the wool cap low over his brow.
outside his building, he tried and failed to get a cab. he looked up at the sky around him, then down at his feet. were this mere months and 12 steps earlier, he'd have had the comfort of a cool, perspiring metal flask pressing almost osmotically against his chest through the inner pocket of his jacket. now, however, he was alone. he looked back up at the sky and pushed a finger over his brow and under the edge of the wool cap. he feigned a smile and walked toward the metro, mustering more and more strength with each step.
the train pulled into the station so quickly, the rush of air as it went past nearly knocked him over. his eyes were glazed over. he seemed unphased. he boarded the metro and sat by the door. again he pushed a finger over his brow and up under the edge of his cap. he stared down at his feet, remembering the steps. the steps. he looked up and right, pointing a finger at the woman sitting next to him.
extensions, he thought.
I like how he offered you the vegetarian "meal."
What about that song, What if G-d was one of us?
Or its sequel, What if -prah gave up her show?
OMG, GENIUS!
Just found your blog & enjoying it! Thanks for the laughs!
~Your fellow wine lover, Alli
I just read your profile and got SO. EXCITED. About the book Are You my Mother? Because that was actually the first book I ever read all by myself. I read it out loud to a second cousin, and I don't even remember what his name was. Or if he was indeed, a male. I probably wasn't even related to him. But! I remember that book.
Also, I love wine. And my cats.
I'm excited about Indie Blogger!
That is just a little bit crazy. Extensions huh? I think this is why you are not supposed to make eye-contact. Especially with men. :)
I am a frequest vistor to your fair city, enough so that I have Metro stories too - but nothing as disturbing as this one. There was this one time that someone was actually nice to me on the Metro - and that is about the weirdest story I have so far....
Just found your blog by accident - so happy I did. I used to live in DC, so I can appreciate any type of metro story - whether it be hilarious or disgusting. I'm also a huge fan of wine - I have been known to go on random photography sprees after drinking too much wine and then posting them on my blog.
So glad I found you!
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