After my regular Saturday morning yoga class at NYSC, literally around the corner from my apartment, I thought I would check out the Dekalb Flea Market-Brooklyn's Newest Year-Round Flea Market (see Flea Market Finds for photos and brief description). While the visit to the flea market itself was uneventful, the subway ride back was a completely different story. In retrospect, I don't know if I feel more victimized, or just annoyed, but having already taken the Q uptown, I was transferring to the 6 at Union Square when I got blind sided by a three woman family dressed in highly gaudy attire, even by New York standards.
All I wanted to do was to listen to my podcast to distract myself from the sweat trickling down my back and to make it back to air-conditioned confines of my apartment. This feather-clad and heavily eye-shadowed trio, however, had different plans for my ride. Even through my blasting headphones, I could hear the mother and one daughter prodding the daughter to "go ahead and just do it!" to which the other daughter responded by sinking further into her overly tight, barely there cotton dress and bedazzled high tops whispering "but it's scary". I would've been perfectly content to ignore them, as I do with most others, until the mother insisted in an uncompromising voice as she leaned on her suitcase that looked as if it was going to explode any second, "It's not any different from singing in the car. Now, you stand up here and sing. The worst they can do is not give you a dollar."
Curiosity got the better of me, and I couldn't help but pause my podcast as the daughter timidly got up as we came to a halt at 23rd street. It still isn't clear whether she was genuinely nervous or if it was all part of an act. What is clear is that she didn't anticipate three Hispanics to steal the show from her. Just as she had inhaled to belt out whatever tune she was going to sing these three men came in shouting, screaming, and laughing (not sure what the excitement was). Unfortunately, for them, they were so loud that they failed to hear the announcement that the doors were about to close. Consequently, their one friend literally got stuck between the doors, and the other two had to use all their strength to liberate him before the train left the platform. I am glad to report that their efforts were successful.
I am not so glad however that the girl was confident and courageous enough to not let this opening act deter her from being the main show. Perhaps I had too high of expectations. All I know is that I waited in tense anticipation, (maybe she would be the next American idol star-that would explain why the mom was lugging around the unnecessarily large suitcase for a weekend trip). Once she started belting out "The sun will come out tomorrow..." from Annie, I knew that it was going to be a long ride to 33rd street even though it was only another two stops away. The best part is that the mom wasn't kidding. As soon as the girl concluded with "...a day away!" her twin sister took off her bowler cap and gave it to "Annie" to collect tips. The best part of the show was that as she started to walk down the aisle to collect, the train came to an unexpectedly screeching halt, which literally sent her flying backwards. The doors flew open and I made a dash for it since the mom had been eying the crumpled dollar bill in change that I had received in change for my "Summer breeze" iced green tea at the flea market. Had she sung any other song I may have contemplated leaving a tip...actually probably not, but I sincerely hope that I do not run into this situation again.
As if this pushy mother and tweedledee and tweedledum daughters weren't enough excitement for one day. I also managed to meet a crazy man in aisle eight at the grocery store. All I wanted was to wander down the aisles as I normally do, comparing the prices and looking for bargains. Well as I got to the bread section, I got caught pondering the difference between 12 grain versus seven grain versus whole grain. Seriously, why don't they just keep all the grains in the bread? As I was meddling over this puzzle holding the seven grain loaf in my hand and suspiciously starring at the 12 grain loaf, my thoughts were interrupted by the creepiest old man.
"You could be a model".
Considering that I'm 5'5" and not a pencil stick in either weight or size, I thought I must've misheard him. My mistake was in responding with "Excuse me?" since I think he took this to mean that I was flattered.
"If you wait an hour or more you could model for me."
As if that wasn't the creepiest thing anyone has ever said to me, my mind, thanks to the paranoia that has been generated by reading numerous briefs about criminal offenses and looking at mugshots at my job, was already jumping to conclusions that he must have a prior rape and violent felony offender record, and that if he took one step closer I was going to take his feet right out from under him by pegging him with my overflowing basket (I really should have gotten a cart). Instead he started rambling about some guy, his dad, and a race horse.
"He beat the race horse to death, and were he still alive he would be 123 years old this November."
I don't think even Usain Bolt, the fastest man alive, could have beaten me to the check out.
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