When Bitter Beggars Attack

I think its really ironic when beggars get angry when you don't give them any money. Last Saturday the hubby and I were approached by one (who had more expensive sneakers on than I did btw) while getting subway tickets. "Can you spare a dollar so I can get on the train?" he asked, although it was more like an order than a request.

The hubby very aggressively said, "No" and told him to ask someone else--uhoh...Mr. Beggar didn't like that: "F----you, cracker! I ain't scared of the police! Cracker ass cracker!!!!" he yelled. Before things escalated, I pulled us away from the racial slur raving maniac.

You just can't reason with people like that--especially when they're ready for a fight, like the not-so-homeless looking man I saw yesterday. When a man at an outdoor bar denied the panhandler change, the bum exploded:

"F---you! I OWN this street, ya hear?" He yelled while pointing and walking back and forth on the sidewalk. "I'll step on YOUR FACE! Come here!" He threatened and started stomping on an imaginary face on the sidewalk. "I'LL STEP ON YOUR FAAACEEE!" he repeated madly.

This kid's gonna get the $h^t kicked out of him, I thought! Before any head stomping could actually take place, his cute dog turned into Cujo! The angry mutt ran towards the beggar and barked and growled menacingly, causing the bum to run away! Leave it to a dog to know when someone's bark is bigger than their bite.

Bad Behavior: Waiting Room Misconduct

Last Friday I changed my last name to Wilson! What I thought would be a fairly normal visit to the social security office turned into a circus, starting with waiting in a long line just to take the elevator.

When finally entering the lift, I was pushed to the back and those behind me were now standing in front of me--damn, I thought, now I am last in line! The first person I saw in the waiting room looked homeless, and as I got closer, SMELLED homeless. He waved "hello" excitedly to me, which I ignored and chose a distant seat. Just when I got settled, a different man with foul body odor sat next to me...I strategically moved (AGAIN!) to a corner and stood clear of humans.

The staff began calling numbers and names but people (mostly elderly) either responded to the wrong name/number or failed to respond at all, forcing them to miss their turn and get new numbers all over again. It was painful to watch...

One lady refused to wait...she had long, wild hair, was in her late 40's, and carried two large shopping carts filled with garbage bags. She went to a service window without being called. We couldn't hear what the service professional was saying, but bag lady said: "I must talk to her now! She knows my case...yes, but I must talk to her....I AM LISTENING!!" She then sat in her seat.

Five minutes later the social worker she wanted personal attention from started to help someone in her service window. Bag lady jumped up and interrupted: "I need to talk to you now!"

The customer being helped looked at bag lady and yelled, "I have been waiting here for OVER an hour AND I AM IN PAIN! YOU HAVE TO WAAAIITTT!"

An older man (who btw was previously yelling to himself and ignoring his non-stop phone calls, which had the most ANNOYING ring tone ever that he refused to turn off even after my dirty looks) yelled at baggy: "YOU GOTTA WAIT YOUR TURN!"

Two security guards pried her from the window, calmed her down, and made her sit in her seat and wait for her number to be called. She stared so hard at that number ticket in her stubby fingers I thought she was going to burn a hole through it!

I asked the social worker who later helped me if the social security office was always this crazy, and she said dryly, "No, this is a good day."

Bad Behavior: Jetting with "Me-Firsters"

It always amazes when I watch travelers who want to break the rules on planes. Are they stupid or just stubborn?

Last Sunday I traveled to the Dominican Republic and back in one day for work. It never fails, there's always a mad dash to get on and off the plane, always one asshole who is eager to be the first in the aisle when the plane lands or the slowpoke who holds up the line to find a spot for his over-sized luggage that will never fit!

So what happened on my first flight? As the Delta plane zoomed towards Santo Domingo Airport, a man was opening his overhead compartment. A flight attendant yelled, "SIR, SIT DOWN WHILE THE PLANE IS IN MOTION!!!"

And then BOOM!--the man nosedived and hit the ground. Everyone craned their necks to look at the fool lying face down in the aisle. After the plane touched the landing strip and slowed down, the flight attendant ran up to him and asked, "What the hell were you thinking? The luggage could have fallen out and hit someone!" The man just shrugged indifferently and returned to his seat.

Returning to NYC, a tiny woman wanted to cut the line to get on to the plane, but her section hadn't been called yet. So what does she do? She yelled, "I'm PREGNANT!" and ran past the attendant down the ramp...

Some people just can't stand following orders. Or maybe it's our competitive nature that makes "me first" a constant priority. When was the last time you caught someone breaking the rules?

230 Piss Off

After a long day at work on Thursday, I was excited to go to happy hour (a favorite pastime of mine), until my friend said where we were meeting: 230 Fifth rooftop garden. For those of you who don't know, it's a an office building with a rooftop bar on the 18th floor and it offers beautiful views of the city, as well as a playground for assholes.

I prepared myself for the "air-head profilers," snobs, and overly crowded bar that I was about to trample through to spend $12.00 for a vodka tonic that was actually just a 4-inch tall glass filled with ice and a "splash" of cheap vodka.

While I waited at the bar, I overheard a man speaking with a British accent--I couldn't resist, I had to eavesdrop. "...You can't say they are all stupid! It's just not fair."

His friend came back with, "People in the military are stupid because they are all brainwashed! And I hate that the U.S. military is put on a pedestal for going into countries where they don't belong and killing innocent people."

I had to interject: "The problem is military leaders make soldiers feel like they have all the insider information and know exactly what the government is planning, which isn't true. I knew a Marine who swore President Bush would never keep any military secrets from his brigade!"

The conversation continued a few more minutes, and then I decided to rejoin my friends. As I pushed through the dense pockets of 9-to-5'ers holding their overpriced cocktails, I smiled instead of cursed. Sometimes it takes a stimulating conversation and--in this case--a little Bush bashing to remind me that things could always be worse.*


(image of 230 Fifth rooftop bar, from the 230-fifth.com website)

*As this comes on the cusp of Memorial Day, I'd like to recognize my father, who was a paratrooper in the Korean war and all those who have died in the line of battle.

Tweet Tweet!!

Dear Readers:
I have come to the decision to breakdown and join all those information starved people who use Twitter. Normally, this wouldn't be my thing (do people REALLY care what the hell I am doing all day?!), but there are so many little snippets of humorous, weird, and/or interesting things that I observe almost daily that never get turned into blog posts. So, if you'd like to receive these little stories (I hope you do!) please follow me on Twitter--I promise you, you'll enjoy them!

http://twitter.com/cityencounters

Thanks!
nubia

Czech Mate!

As some of you may or may not know, I've spent the last two weeks being a bride and honeymooning in Europe (Venice, Vienna, Prague)! All were beautiful, but the most interesting characters were found in Prague.

After stepping off the EuroStar train in Prague, we were greeted with handwritten signs on cement walls that read: "Taxis <-------" Sure, it looked shady (we read that the taxi system in Prague was corrupt), but I refused to take metro since hubby and I had over 4 bags with us!

We walked through the tunnel towards the "taxi stand," which was really just a 6'2 man wearing a taxi cap. "Where do you want to go?" he asked in a strong Czech accent. Of course, I couldn't pronounce the hotel, so I had to show him the name in our guide book.

After a long pause he said slyly, "Yes...it'll cost 800 Koruna ($40 US)--it's VERY far!" I knew that was bullsh**! It was only a 10 minute cab ride. The hubby looked at me and said, "It's too expensive, let's go!"

I turned to the man and said, "400 Koruna."
Surprised, he shot back, "No!"
"500 Koruna" I continued; he shook his head again and I said, "550!" He then turned to the man who was going to drive us into town; they spoke in Czech and the driver agreed.

The hubby and I dragged our luggage over to the "taxi car," which was really just some guy's car that had no official markings on it at all. Ten minutes later, we had arrived safely at our hotel and learned from the receptionist that a cab should have cost 400 kc from the train station--not bad bargaing, eh?

And now I am back in New York City, hearing English everywhere and observing even more bewildering behavior: I heard weird "click" noises on the C train this afternoon, and when I turned to see where it was coming from, I sighed with disgust...I had gone from traveling in beautiful ancient cities to dirty subway rides where people clipped their fingernails in public.


(image taken of a souvenir store in Prague)

The Village Drunk

I really wish I lived in East Village, a lively neighborhood brimming with off-beat inhabitants and strange occurrences. As soon as I arrived in Astor Place last Friday, I noticed a man sitting on the sidewalk at a desk with an old fashioned typewriter. His sign read, "Poetry in process", yet, the solemn, young man was not typing.

As I walked eastward, I passed a scraggly, drunk man who could barely stand up straight. He later confronted a wide-eyed, fearful couple and asked them, "Are you from around HERE?!" The speechless couple turned their noses as the man's foul, eye-watering body odor floated by.

"Well, I didn't commit the MURDER!" said the drunk man. "You don't believe me? I didn't DO IT!"

I think we all found it hard to believe...

Then, I ended my weekend with another village visit on Sunday. My day-long escapade of Bloody Mary's in outdoor cafes was rudely interrupted by an older, drunk man. He swayed back and forth, grinning big at me and my friend. "I sold myyyyyy guitarrrr..." he gurgled drunkenly with a strong Spanish accent.

"I love youuu!" he continued while looking at my friend, "I....y'knoww...Puerto Ricans are CRAZY, ha ha! I sing too y'knoow." The bar staff shooed him away, but before he clumsily departed, I wished him luck with buying a new guitar one day.

And now, I realize what would have driven that quiet poet in Astor Place to pluck passionately on his dusty typewriter--a big bottle of rum.