2 posts tagged “nyc”

It just occurred to me that I have a very intimate relationship with my corner bodega.  And when I say intimate I don't mean INTIMATE, just that the Arabic dudes there only really get to see me in my weakest, most vulnerable moments.

The first time we met, really, was the night I moved into my apartment and was robbed.  Yeah.  Like the purses in the front seat of the rental van were stolen out of the rental van in a moment of horrible, bitchy confusion and exhaustion.  One of the guys there said, oh yeah we've seen him (the crook) hanging around on this corner before.  He's on drugs.  I remember screaming at them a lot.  I remember standing on the corner on the payphone outside the bodega in my bathrobe, because for some reason after tossing and turning until near dawn I had to call collect to wake my dad up and give him the full inventory of things in the bag.

*sobbing*  $80.  cell phone.  old keys.  *hyperventilating*  friends' apartment keys.  30G 3rd generation iPod.  *wailing*  credit cards.  driver's license.  library book.  Jack Gomme *voice cracking* purse.  favorite discontinued lip balm.  ...etc.

The bodega guys have also gotten to know me through a few bouts of food poisoning and other maladies.  They've sold me Pepto and cold medicine and Gatorade and saltines and those teething biscuits, which I had to return since they were WAY expired.  I haven't bought any food items from them since then.  The rule of thumb is don't purchase anything with a visible layer of dust on it.

The bodega guys have sold me pack upon pack of cigarettes and tubs of Ben and Jerry's, bought in fits of madness, usually as a result of boy or work troubles.  They've seen me hung over, and drunk, and morning after'ed.  I guess the logical next step is to become one of those regulars who stands inside scratching lotto ticket after lotto ticket.

I love you, bodega men.  I have no idea what you are saying to each other when you see me stumble in every so often, but I feel a special fondness for you all the same.

Let me tell you a little something about myself.  I am completely, utterly, wholly irresistible to a large fraction of a percentage of the male subway riding public.  Each line, each stop of the MTA New York City Transit is imbued with the fond remembrance of a copped feel, the whiff of C.S.D. b.o. perfuming the air, the flash of genitalia that could never, ever show its face in the light of day.  This love, this forbidden underground love, is one that never ceases to haunt me in my daily travels.  I know you're dying to know how I do it, how I so effortlessly attract such a wide range of creeptastic weirdos.  But I'm sure you do too... you just need to pay more attention to the signs to know that he's into you.

The creepy subway dude knows what he wants, and he will stare at it from 207th street all the way downtown.  Do not be alarmed, for this is simply how the creepy subway dude shows his affection.  If you scowl or pretend to fall asleep or put on dark glasses, this will only interest him more.  In the most extreme cases, he will get up from where he is already sitting in a nearly empty train to sit next to you, and then turn and whisper a single, horrifically dirty sweet nothing in your ear before you get up and run out of the car.  It might be 4 a.m. and you might be tired, but it's probably a good idea to take a long, hot shower, then exfoliate and dispose of your entire outer layer of skin when you get home.

But the creepy subway dude does not always stare, so don't let that fool you into thinking he's not interested.  There are times when he will deliberately look away from you.  Sometimes he is playing hard to get.  More often he is looking to see if there are any cops nearby, because he has his junk hanging out of his pants.

The creepy subway dude is oftentimes indecisive about choosing a subway car or a seat, which is why he will wait for you to pick one and then follow your lead.  Because the C.S.D. is nothing if not loyal.  He will walk through three empty cars just to get to yours, and then he'll pretend it was just a marvelous coincidence.  In that event, you should probably play it cool and wait until the next stop.  Just as the doors signal that they are about to close, bolt.  You can blow him a kiss romantically from the other side of the scratchitti'd glass if you want, and then wait the twenty-five minutes for the next train.

In the serendipitous event you yourself walk into the same car as a creepy subway dude every morning on your way to work because you idiotically wait in the same spot at the same time in your pre-coffee stupor, and he sees you again and starts laughing really creepily to himself, you might want to run to the other side of the car, even if there are no empty seats.  And wait at the front of the platform next time.  Just to keep him guessing.

Believe it or not, there is another type of creepy subway dude that thrives on the caffeine-deprived morning commute.  He especially loves the crowded trains at rush hour going downtown, because he wants to stand as close to you as possible.  And by "you" I mean "your ass."  In the event that he has a little extra elbow room, he might take the opportunity to multitask on the way to the office.  Sometimes this means drinking Starbucks while reading AM New York.  But mostly it means stare at you while treating himself to a personal massage.  Don't bother trying to alert the conductor; at this point you'd be fortunate if a few of the other forty passengers who got on at 59th Street could help a girl out and bodysurf you over to the furthest pole.  But this is New York, and these people could really give a shit that your eyeballs have been violated this early in the morning.  Oh, boo hoo.  No one can be a C.S.D. virgin forever.

As you can see, some creepy subway dudes are morning people, others are night owls.  Some are deformed, and some are merely homely. As long as you keep your mind and your heart open, you can find a creepy subway dude to call your very own. There is at least one for every taste and every predilection, sometimes more.  In fact, each one of these stories is true, and each one has a happy ending: that is, eventually I got the hell out of the subway.