Tuesday, April 12, 2005

Things I would have handled differently

if I’d been given the script a couple days in advance (and if my life were an action movie where violence was always the answer)

ONE
It’s a cold March evening on a packed 146 bus. The ebbing and flowing crowds have pushed me toward the front door, where I stand pressed against a pole with my nose buried in a Newsweek, trying—as is my usual custom—not to let my bag or my bulky coat or my elbows or my ass be in people’s way as they enter and leave the bus.

We reach a stop not too far from mine when suddenly I realize an angry old lady is yelling at me.

“It’s a DISGRACE the way you’re blocking the doorway. People have to get OFF, you know.”

I look up to see the wrinkly face of a self-righteous old biddy I’d voluntarily given my seat to about five stops earlier when she boarded the bus.

My response at the time: Stunned silence.

What I should have done: A helpful push down the bus stairs. A swift kick in the vagina.


TWO
I’m at Sidetrack on a cool spring evening. I haven’t run into anyone I know, so I’m standing against the brick wall in the glass bar, watching the boys cruise each other.

Suddenly, a wispy little Prada queen drifts up to me—dressed, coiffed and polished to the point he’s obviously trying to overcompensate for something (a lack of personality, perhaps?). As he gets closer, I realize his eyebrows have been so overtweezed and overshaped and overpenciled that they look like little felt cutouts perched above his soulless eyes.

“You are so brave,” he intones to me with all the masculinity sincerity he can muster, “to wear frames in a gay bar.”

(Frames? Who says frames? I look around, though, and—oddly enough—I really am the only guy in the bar wearing glasses.)

The man-girl starts to drift away, leaving an effluvium of expensive cologne, hair product and social desperation in his wake.

My response at the time: Stunned silence.

What I should have done: An uppercut to the jaw. A cruel smear of the well-blended concealer. A swift kick in the vagina.

8 comments:

Spider said...

Your response to #3 - you should have turned to your friend and said, "See, I told you the inside of the house was as tacky as the outside."

It just goes to show that money can't buy class...

Jake said...

Jere -- unfortunately, it's very hard to avoid these dolts in Chicago. But I've had fun passing along this story to people I trusted to spread it around like the juicy gossip it is.

Spider -- that's PERFECT! Where the hell were you when I needed you?

(And the house was tacky, IMHO.)

Jeffrey Ricker said...

Regarding #3: You mean to tell me that people who are not characters in Henry James novels actually behave like that?

Regarding #2: appropriate response? "You are so brave to come out where people might actually see you."

Thank you for reminding why I love my dog so much -- because he's not people.

Brechi said...

hahahaha...snickering at #2. Ya know, I bet he thought you were cute. If he hangs out with people like him all the time he was probably admiring your testosterone.

Brechi said...

BTW, "A swift kick in the vagina" is hysterical. thanks for a good evening chuckle.

Rick Aiello said...

Good stuff Jake. And... um... do I know the said "A"-List couple in #3? Cause somehow I vaguely remember either hearing this story before, or actually BEING there when it happened. Yikes. Hello RUDE.

Alina said...

I don't know how this goes in Chicago, but when in Bucharest, never even look back to older people! Even if you're right, stunned silence is far better than having ten other of them appearing out of nowhere and lecturing about what a disrespectful young man/woman you are! The best way here is to take the subway, not the bus or tram, they hate going under ground!

David said...

Be NICE to insecure, mincing, Prada wearing queens. Even when they have bad waxings. Not that I am one, I just sometimes feel like, well, I don't know, just be nice to them!