So I'm walking to the post office with my snappy little sidekick the other day (I'll bet you didn't think I even had a sidekick, let alone a snappy and/or little one) (and no, she does not look like the Great Gazoo), and we're talking about postage stamps. I'm telling her about the cute fruit ones, and she's oohing and aahing because she wants to get cute ones too instead of the ugly ol' standard American flags she always buys. I'm looking at her in amusement because she's actually getting a little excited about cute stamps, and I'm telling her I hope they have something even cuter. But I'm worrying because I don't know if they've come out with the cute 37-cent stamps yet, given that postage only increased a few months ago.
So we're laughing because we're on 19th Street instead of 18th, and we're making fun of her pregnant stomach (yes, my sidekick is pregnant and just beginning to "show"), and I'm telling her she looks cute, which she does. We're just a coupla crazy kidz on our way to buy cute stamps, strolling around Chelsea and squinting into the sun, when out of nowhere this not so cute/very sweaty 'n' slimy guy passes by and says, "Now there's some niiiice pussy."
What's a girl have to do to get a moment's peace? Can't my sidekick and I just casually stroll down a quiet street on our way to the post office, converse gently about something as innocuous as the miniature flower or fruit portraits we want to press onto our mail, without having our sweet, brief moment invaded?
For five minutes, she and I were feeling like we were in Anytown, U.S.A. circa 1954, passing white picket fence after white picket fence, no concerns looming over our heads other than the stamps we were on our way to buy. Why must the rudenesses of Bigcity, U.S.A. circa 2002 confront us everywhere we go?
So when the guy behind the window at the post office slid me the colorful "LOVE" stamps, I didn't bother telling him I'd rather have fruit. I figured that even if he just passed the LOVE stamps to me without thinking, I'd interpret it symbolically and take whatever innocent little bits o' love someone in the city cared to give me.
(In case you're wondering, my sidekick came away with three large teddy bear stamps, which I actually "awww"d.)
I always wonder if these utterances ever
actually get these pervos laid.
Jodi, I love you! That's not on a stamp that I'm sliding across a counter at you. That's just a plain bold faced truth for you....from me.
Offered by: Joan on September 5, 2002 1:24 AMYou see, there you go again, assuming that everyone is talking to you.
We're going to have to do something about your narcissistic streak, Jodi. I mean, can you imagine if I was walking down the street and every time I heard a wolfwhistle I shouted "Thank you!" at the source of the noise?
Seriously though, that's probably his idea of a fiiiine chatup line. Permission is granted to laugh at him. Though you probably weren't waiting for that.
I'm off to the supermarket. I need something for this bloody mouth ulcer.
Offered by: Pete on September 4, 2002 4:14 PMAnd would you hate me if I crassly agreed with him? ;)
Offered by: Sassy McSmartpants on September 4, 2002 3:28 PMI can't believe you didn't have a go at him! I mean, given your track record for not taking anyone's shit.
Offered by: Max on September 4, 2002 2:36 PMI run into that guy all the time. He says the same thing to me.
Offered by: Daniel on September 4, 2002 2:29 PMAnd that, right there, would be why I *haven't* entirely changed my mind about NYC. In the thirteen months I've lived in Boston, I've lost track of how many people have struck up friendly conversations, and I've been hit on in a nice, non-threatening way at least twice, maybe three times, but I can count on one hand the number of times someone's accosted me for money and I've never had to brush off a slimy unprovoked sexual comment/noise at all. The construction workers don't whistle and the subway passengers don't panhandle.
Arguably, that's the trade-off for having EVERYTHING in the world on your doorstep, which has given me a moment or two of doubt about my opinion of NYC, but I think I'm happier living where sweet, brief moments aren't usually rudely interrupted.
Offered by: revolution9 on September 4, 2002 2:19 PMPerhaps he is one of the five remaining english-language speakers in this country who still use that term to refer to animals of the feline persuasion.
Perhaps he understood that it's not what's outside...but what's on the inside that counts, and that was his way of saying to your sidekick that she's going to have a lovely baby, by way of reference to the location of both the conception and the eventual delivery.
Perhaps he was a soon-to-be transexual, looking forward to the operation, much like you or I would a new car. "Say, I'm going to have some niiiice wheels."
Perhaps, in your disgust, you walked away from him before letting him finish his statement..."Now there's some niiiice Placido Domingo-esque opera singing going on down at the Met." (Unfortunately, due to both his foreign accent and his speech impediment, he is unable to properly pronounce "Placido," leading to the misunderstanding.)
I'm just saying, give a guy a break, will ya?
Offered by: aaron on September 4, 2002 2:13 PMHey! Those are some bodacious tatas!
Offered by: Mad Genius on September 4, 2002 1:32 PM
