How can these things happen when I'm not around??

Although nothing can compare to The One train, strange things have also been known to happen on the cross-town bus in Harlem. Last spring, I bore witness to two eccentric characters engaging in a drawn-out conversation about one of them having been mugged the night before. The man who had been mugged was probably in his 50's, white, tall, with long, thin, wiry gray hair. He was wearing a wife beater and large white, square-shaped sunglasses to cover his black eye. The other man was of a slightly darker complexion, also around 50 but with some meat on his bones, wearing a gray fedora decorated with colored feathers and the rim turned up. Skinny and Fedora were long-time friends who had just run into each other on the bus that morning by chance, and Fedora seemed deeply distressed upon hearing of his friend's misfortune. In fact, for a long stretch of the conversation he seemed on the verge of tears. Skinny, on the other hand, was clearly uncomfortable with his misfortune being discussed for so long and so loudly. After awhile, I realized that there was too much good material in this conversation to hold in my mind all at once, so I naturally began taking notes. Here are some clips from the conversation:

Fedora: Man, I can't believe that happened to you, man. I just can't believe that. God, why do these things happen when I'm not there? You shoulda called me, man! Why didn't you call me?
Skinny: Nah, don't worry about it. I couldn't call, they were holdin me down. I woulda if I coulda.
Fedora: How can these things happen when I'm not around? You shoulda called me man, seriously, I woulda brought the [makes gun symbol with hand].

Fedora: Wait until my mother hears about this. She's gonna be so upset, I tell ya, she's gonna be so upset.
Skinny: Yeah, don't tell her, just don't tell her.
Fedora: Yeah, she's gonna be real upset. She's probably gonna start cryin.
Skinny: Don't tell her, man. Don't upset her.
Fedora: You know who else is gonna be really upset? George. George is gonna be real upset.
Skinny: Yeah, I know.
Fedora: George is gonna be so upset. Because me and you and George, we're like this... [makes "tight" symbol with fingers]

Fedora: Where did this happen to you?
Skinny: Right by C-Town, on Broadway, three youngsters.
Fedora: You mean it was a group of 'em? Aw, man, I can't believe it. I can't believe this could happen. What were they, were they black guys or somethin?
Skinny: Nah, three white guys.
Fedora: I can't believe that! I can't believe they were white guys! Why would white guys want to beat up a white guy? I could see if they were black, or Spanish.
Skinny: It don't matter to them.

Fedora: Man, your eye looks awful bad. Real bad. I can't believe they did that to you!
Skinny: Look at it this way, man. Shit happens. And it coulda been worse. This ain't nuttin.
Fedora: They probably got one good shot in. That's probably what happened. They got one good shot. And that's why your eye's red.
Skinny: Maybe. I think they kicked me.
Fedora: It looks bad, man. It looks real bad.
Skinny: It looks worse than it is. It don't hurt or anything.
Fedora: Oh, did you trim your beard? It looks jazzy.
Skinny: Thanks.
Fedora: I like it like that, you did a good job. It looks real jazzy.

Fedora: Sometimes I wonder about God. Why does he let these things happen?
Skinny: It don't have nothin to do with God.
Fedora: You know what I hope? You know what I hope happens to them?
Skinny: What?
Fedora: I hope their mother dies! And I usually don't say that. But I hope their mother dies. I really do.

Fedora: They might have been drug addicts, right? Crack addicts?
Skinny: Yeah, crack addicts, probably.
Fedora: They young kids?
Skinny: Yeah, they was pretty young.
Fedora: One of these days they gonna get what's comin to 'em. What goes around comes around. They gonna go up on the wrong person, and they gonna get it.

Fedora: George is gonna be upset. I can hear George right now. Cuz me and you and George is real tight. George is not gonna be happy. He's gonna say the same thing I did, let's go over there. But you're right, what am I talking about? They're not gonna be there.

Fedora: Oh, I know what happened. Cuz yesterday I gave you all those things, and you probably took 'em all, and you were like drunk right?
Skinny: No, no...
Fedora: Like, woozy, you know what I mean?
Skinny: Yeah. No, not really.

The Marker of Books

You may not be aware that there is a mysterious woman who roams the cars of The One train, making it her mission to assure that no book that enters ever leaves un-bookmarked. My first and only encounter with this woman, whose face I cannot even recall, took place a few weeks ago when I was sitting and reading a textbook on my way downtown.

This notorious character stealthily crept up to me, laid the bookmark in the crease of my book, said, "Here, have this for your book," and slid out the car door faster than I could say "Thank you."

How do you know if you have had an encounter with the Marker of Books, and not just any old bookmarker? Well, the bookmarks left by the Marker of Books are not just any bookmarks. They tend to be decorated with ribbons (in my case, a purple one) and are printed with a year-long calendar (pretty impressive for a small bookmark). Though the woman's race is unidentified, she evidently gets her bookmarks from the Italian American Causus (stamped on the back of mine), which in turn buys them orientaltrading.com (printed on the back). She is also known to contribute to world happiness by recommending babysitters through her bookmarking. If on your bookmark is hand-written the name and number of an expert babysitter, that means you were lucky enough to be visited by the Marker of Books.

Thanks to her, if I ever need a babysitter, I will most certainly call Lebiram.

Good Night, Fabulous Straight People

The most entertaining place to be in the wee hours of the morning on a weekend in Manhattan is The One train, and this tale, my friends, is proof.

Picture it: two young men board the train, one fabulous looking and the other fabulously drunk. The latter young man poses the question to his fellow passengers: "Are there ANY good-looking guys in this train car?"

All the women began scanning the scene. The men looked down at their hands and shook their heads. In truth, the situation was dire. There weren't any good-looking guys in sight. Playing the game I sometimes play with myself on the subway, called "Who in this car would I totally do if the world were ending right now", would have resulted in utter failure. That is, unless you counted the questioner's companion, who, as previously mentioned, was quite fabulous looking. I decided against voicing this opinion out loud.

No one volunteered an answer, so the drunken guy motioned toward a girl sitting on his left, who had until now been chattering away to her friend, and asked again: "Seriously, now. Are there ANY hot guys on this train? Do you see any?"

The girl looked around, raised her eyebrows, and shook her head, confirming Drunky's observation. "See that?? NO hot guys at all. I mean, I just want to take someone home. Not him"--he gestured toward his companion-- "I take him home every day." At this point, the fabulous-looking guy glared at Drunky and said something to him in a whisper.

"Come on, Miguel!" Drunky protested. "The other night you got drunk and acted stupid, and now I'm not allowed to be drunk and act stupid? Chill out. It's just that there are NO hot guys in here now. It's a sad situation, I'm serious. I have another question too. Does anybody in here like penis?? I know I like penis. I know somebody else in here must like penis."

Suddenly almost everyone in the train car became very interested in the pattern of the veins on their hands. "I mean, I like penis. I don't understand why nobody else in here is willing to admit that they like penis." At this point Miguel seemed somewhere in between laughing, trying to shut up his boyfriend using brain waves, and trying to disappear.

This scene somehow dragged on for several more minutes, until the young men arrived at their stop. Sadly, no one had been willing to take a stand for penis, but Drunky was not bitter, only merry. "Good night, fabulous straight people!" he cried as his boyfriend dragged him off the train. He watched the train pull away from outside the car, looking through the window and waving at us, his new-found straight people.

The Case of the Errant Tag

After a party one night, I was riding then train home with two friends. Completely unaware of the perilous situation we were in, we conversed in a lively manner about college days, boys, various goings on of the night, and the like, as any group of young ladies might do on a late-night One train. But upon arriving at 116th St, my friends dismounted, leaving me all by my lonesome.

Well, not literally, of course; there were a few other people on the train. I suddenly noticed I was being stared at by the woman across from me, who had a horrified expression on her face. Once she saw that she had my attention, she blurted out, "Were you with those two ALL NIGHT?"

I wasn't sure quite how to respond. Were my friends really that irritating? "Um, yes," I said. "Why?"

"That woman's tag was totally hanging out."

Again, I was at an utter loss for an answer. "Oh," I said somberly. "I didn't even notice."

"Well, it was. It was hanging all the way out."

At that moment I realized not only that I was being subtly accused of an utterly inconsequential crime, but also that this woman was completely insane.

But, as soon as I had stepped off the train, after bursting into hysterical laughter, I called my friend to let her know that her tag was hanging out. I believe she tucked it in. Another small miracle on The One train.