The T.W.U strikes, and all I get are bruises and an offer of a free V.D. (1979 hits)
Category: HumorRating: 1.88 on 11 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Smurfs (View user info) at 2005-12-23 13:17:59 EST
For three days, the Metropolitan Transit Authority was on strike, leaving 7.5 million New Yorkers a day to fend for themselves for travel. I was one of those New Yorkers, and for me that translated into a brisk 5.3 mile walk to work (according to maps.google.com) and a equally brisk 5.3 mile walk home every day over the Williamsburg bridge, down the backstreets of Chinatown, under the Manhattan and Brooklyn bridges, past South Street Seaport and down to the very tip of Manhattan where I work.
Needless to say, I had never been so happy to be crowded into a locally running L train this morning, my nose assaulted by the familiar smells of urine and dirty-hipster.
This is a tale of my travels:
Day 1: "This is kinda neat, I've never walked over the Williamsburg Bridge before... is that lady dead?"
There is something disconcerting about having to step over the prone body of an old woman. It's just not a scenario you ever expect yourself to be in. Never had I thought, 'I'm one day going to be walking over the Williamsburg Bridge along with hundreds of other people in 18 degree weather, jamming to ever so rocking melodies of Schubert and be stepping over an elderly lady.'
She had a sign, 'Protesting Bush! Step for your rights!'
I'm assuming she means the president rather than female genitalia, so I resisted the urge to ask. She's dressed rather well, an imitation Burberry scarf, long black wool coat wrapped around her somewhat ample body, large black hipster frames, she just happens to be lying in the way of the hundreds of people crossing the bridge at 8:30 in the morning on their way to work.
The question as Fight Club put it, turns to one of etiquette... where do I step? Over the feet, the legs, torso, head? Well, there are people to my left, so... the head. My foot lifting over her closed eyes and coming down dangerously close to her ear. I'm safely across and I stop, turning to ask her a question, I mean really... what type of person protests Bush like this. Is she protesting something specific, the renewal of the Patriot Act that's up for a vote, the listening in on American conversations?
However, my short sighted, caffeine-less mind forgot there were dozens of people behind me. One, a small woman, was forced to stop midstride, her feet balancing precariously over the woman's chest. I turned, realizing, the paused woman wavering uncertainly, I reach out to help her... to slowly, her foot comes down on the protester's midsection, causing a jackknife affect, her legs whipping up and taking out a teenager.
They fall, and I'm standing there looking down. I offer my hand, receiving only dirty glares and a mumbled 'fuck you.' I smile limply, 'Down with Bush?'
'Go fuck yourself,' is the only reply, and I thought fat people were supposed to be jolly.
Day 2: "This is okay, I guess... does Jesus have a cat on his head?"
Walking about NYC you are bound to see strange things. I've written about some and held even more as fond memories... on of the more confusing occurred two days ago.
It's not often you see a man dressed as Jesus rollerblading, a backpack over his shoulder, darting past people walking down Madison Street (not Avenue). His robes flapping in the wind, earmuffs hugging the sides of his head, a red scarf trailing behind him like a kite's tail. What made it more interesting was that as he darted past me I noticed, its tiny paws draw red dots of blood blasphemously reminiscent of the crown of thorns; a tiny cat perched upon his head.
It's eyes wide with terror, as they rocketed past me, in search of some destination... I shook my head and cursed my iPod and its battery that only lasts for 45 minutes fully charged now.
Day 3: "No, no, that's okay, you can keep your HPV."
New Yorkers adapt gracefully. It's a skill. 9/11, blackouts, transit strike. All of a sudden a city obsessed with privacy can go about carpooling with strangers and assisting fellow men.
That's how I, watching two young women struggle with their children, decided to offer my services.
'Can I help you out,' I asked? Watching a young boy of about five cry and pull at his mom's leg as she pushed a stroller over the bridge. The ensemble stopped and looked me over; the parallel to a piece of meat crossed my mind and should have set off screaming alarms in my mind.
'Sura,' the one woman nodded. 'Take Jamal.'
I reached my hand out for his, only to dart it make as he venomously bit at my wiggling fingers.
'UP!' he declared, his hands reaching for the sky. I laughed, as he had to be joking. 'UP!' He reiterated, jumping this time.
'Well,' mom asked, 'Are you going to pick him up, or what?'
'I'm sorry, what?' I replied in disbelief, wanting to add, your fat-ass son must way more than I do, can't I just roll him down the fucking street?
'He wants a piggyback ride,' she replied rolling her eyes and I guess pointing out the obvious as he was now rolling about in circles making cow noises.
'Suuuuuure.' I motioned to Hansel, 'Come on up.'
He crawled up my back with the startling ability of a spider monkey, his thick legs wrapping themselves around my neck, 'Ease up a bit killer,' I squeaked out. He responded by kicking his heels into my chest.
'Giddy up!'
The edge of the bridge started to look increasingly appealing.
We walked along the bridge, well, I staggered to-and-fro like a drunken sailor, trying not to topple over and send my charge to the ground, which would surely result in the buckling of the bridge reminiscent of the San Francisco quakes.
Upon reaching the edge of the bridge I set up down gently, empathizing with the plight of Atlas as I rubbed my shoulders. His mother smiled at me, 'Thanks,' she said, 'Any chance you want to meet up after this strike?'
Friend shot her a look and then looked at me, 'Who you kidding bitch, you KNOW you have the genital warts.'
'Sooo,' mom replied, 'Maybe he don't care!'
'You know he will.'
'How do you know?!'
My eyes widened and as they bickered, I gentle raised my hand, 'Um, actually, I do care... a lot... I'm going to have to, uh... pass that up, but it was nice meeting you.' I half nodded, half bowed as I scrambled down the street.
Arriving at work I got a funny look from my co-worker who pointed at my neck, 'Were you playing with a vacuum cleaner?' She handed me a mirror, which showed two large bruises on my neck from where Jamal's legs had been latched around me.
I shook my head, 'Noooo, just being rewarded for good deeds.'
'Huh?'
'I avoided the human papilloma virus on my way to work, what did you do today?'
User Reviews
Submitted by blueboy (user info) at 2006-03-23 02:00:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Come back :'(
Submitted by jagmcmanus (user info) at 2006-01-03 07:57:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
The edge of the bridge started to look increasingly appealing.
Submitted by HighVoltage900 (user info) at 2005-12-23 21:04:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
The end pic knocked it up to the +2. Good story.
Submitted by freebie (user info) at 2005-12-23 15:28:11 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Fat kids, the reason I don't live in a city.
Submitted by cuberat (user info) at 2005-12-23 14:59:37 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by hollygolitely (user info) at 2005-12-23 14:35:16 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
This cracked me up.
Submitted by ruthless (user info) at 2005-12-23 13:46:49 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Smurfs, I love ya, but proofread a little more carefully please. (Is it bad that I had to delete and re-type the word proofread 3 times?)
Submitted by FunnyAsCancer (user info) at 2005-12-23 13:35:55 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I missed mah Smurfs.
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2005-12-23 13:34:13 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
'I avoided the human papilloma virus on my way to work, what did you do today?'
Best sentence EVER.
Submitted by Smurfs (user info) at 2005-12-23 13:28:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
There was this graffiti all over the bridge for 'Sexy Allison' with a phone number, I could post that... but I'm guessing it's just a sex hotline
Submitted by indoninja (user info) at 2005-12-23 13:25:25 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
This is crazy enough to be true.
You should have at least gotten her number to post on Uber.