•March 13, 2009 • Leave a Comment
Tonight, on the way home from work, I stepped onto the R train at 49th Street and was overwhelmed by the smell of mayonaisse. At first glance, a seemingly normal guy was devouring a subway sandwich. But then as I sat down, it went down like this…
“Are you okay? Want some sandwich?”
I turn the offer down – obviously. And he says:
“But it’s a Michael Jackson sandwich.”
I’m confused, but that’s before he starts moonwalking as he chomps on the footlong sub, singing: “Michael Jackson saaaandwichhhh.”
Then he puts his face right up to the window and asks me:
“Can you tell me when we get to Michael Jackson’s house? Because that’s when I’m getting off.”
Apparently, Michael Jackson lives near 42nd Street… and loves the mayo.
•May 22, 2008 • 1 Comment
It’s about 12:45 pm. I just get off the R train at 47th Street heading into work. Walking up the stairs, I hear a voice.
“Blow that evil shit up! Blow it up so it’s oozing. That shit needs to be blown up!”
I turn the corner up the stairwell and I am met face to face… with…
We make eye contact and I can’t help myself. I say:
She stares at me and yells:
“Thank you Jesus. Blow it all up!”
I’m kind of freaked out and book out of there. But I saw her again. And it was even scarier the second time.
•April 22, 2008 • Leave a Comment
“Mmmm… Thought that was the N-train over there… Said Uh-oh, I did it again… but it’s not…”
As I’m sitting on the N-train and another train passes by us on our way to 34th Street, those are the words I hear. I turn to my right. Sitting beside me is a black woman holding a cane and some books in a plastic bag.
She says: “Mayor Bloomberg says we’re not friendly people. But we just work hard. You wait until the 4th of July, Memorial Day Weekend… we’ll show you…”
I nod, smile, drink some water. I am so uncomfortable. Other people just stare at me to see my reaction.
She continues: “Enjoy your life. Enjoy it. Don’t let them say that to you. We’ll show them.”
I am staring right into her scary brown eyes. She’s smiling at me. I have no idea what’s going on. She pulls out her work id card from a string around her neck.
“This is me. I work at Morgan Stanley. That big building on 48th Street. My favorite color is red. But sometimes, I like Blue. I’m Peggy Phillips.”
Wow. So, that was Peggy Phillips. We got off the train at the same stop. But I stayed safely behind her so she didn’t notice.
•March 12, 2008 • 1 Comment
I learned this lesson a long time ago – Camp Louemma, 1991.
After taking my “rest hour” shower, I headed out to this grassy area near some woods with some of my B7 boys for a little frisbee toss – all decked out in my brand new Air Jordan’s.
We didn’t really even do too much at camp other than play basketball 24×7, but I was in the frisbee zone – grabbing everything in sight. Until suddeny, I fell in a shit-hole. That’s right, I fell in a hole full of shit and piss… shit and piss from the entire sleepaway camp. Don’t ask me why, but for some reason there was a cesspool hole uncovered hiding on the edge of the woods – and, apparently, everyone knew about it – except me.
Luckily, I threw out my arms and caught myself before being fully submerged in this shit and piss tub. But the damage was done. I fell in up to my midsection. My Jordan’s were ruined. I sprinted to the bunk crying my ass off. And what seemed like the entire camp laughed their own asses off at me. I showered, but I stunk for days… and everyone knew why. To this day, I still think I caught some kind of disease, specifically from this kid, Donnie N., who was a camp legend – he could give himself head.
So, what about the tip? Tourists, and everyone for that matter, watch where you’re going when you stroll the streets of NYC. Don’t abruptly stop or change direction. Don’t walk in a pack of 5 all spread out taking up the entire sidewalk. Don’t take pictures on the sidewalk. Just walk. And keep up with the people around you. And ALWAYS watch where you’re going.
•March 11, 2008 • Leave a Comment
Do NOT stand on metal grates on sidewalks. I learned this the hard way on West 4th Street. Waiting for a friend, I was approached by two hooded men on a street corner asking me to follow them into an alley.
Hooded Man #1: “Hey man, come down this way with us.”
Me: “Ummm… what?”
Hooded Man #2: “You a cop?”
Hooded Man #1: “No man… he cool.”
Okay, right there is where I finally came to my senses and fucking bolted out of there. After mentioning the story to some friends, they asked if I happened to be standing on a metal grate (which I was). Apparently, that’s code for: Sell me some drugs. Crazy.