So I walk into my building to see a guy carrying about 100 shirts on hangers...he is bracing himself for stairs, like mentally preparing himself. I awkwardly stand behind him, as I'm returning from the gym and have nothing to carry. His friend up ahead is also carrying hundreds of shirts on hangers. He yells something about how he can do it, and to think of how strong that one finger that is being crushed by the weight of all of those shirts will be!
Is this a gay couple? I can't figure out who in Manhattan has so many shirts. Then I notice a long flowing red thing -- a devil's costume? Nah. A woman's dress? Yeah. Flapper-ish...hmmm...
He finally lets me pass him, after stopping in the middle of the flights of stairs a few times. He introduced himself and was rather cute...perhaps he is a straight guy with a gay friend who has a woman's dress not because he has a girlfriend or is a cross-dresser, but uh...for some other unknown reason? A girl can dream...
In other news, I don't usually get pissed at deli people or pizza places that yell and are blunt and rude. Doesn't bother me. That urgency in their voice says "there is a line, it's nothing personal, I want to make sure you can hear me."
HOWEVER, while I was buying my hostess cupcake (and an antioxidant drink to uh...balance it out?) I walk up to the registers. There was mix of people standing in front of me, so it wasn't clear I was next. The super rude guy doesn't look at me and stares into space, so it's unclear who is next. Then he suddenly yells "put your stuff down!" Um...huh? OK.
Then the other guy behind the other cash register says $4.79 under his breath to no one in particular (I assume to the person at his register). "How much is it?" I say to the guy who is now staring into space without having given me a total.
He then screams "$4.79...FOUR.SEVENTY.NINE!!" with such a sharp tone that it instantly pisses me off, sort of like a toddler who says "I.don't.want.the.broccoli!!!!"" It was just like that "four.seventy.nine!!!!" So I grab my stuff, throw it in my bag and turn away.
He then yells after me "CHHaaange!!! Change."
Without thinking I yell back, "Fuck you!"
I wasn't proud of it, but it just came out. Something about being yelled at tends to make me yell back. That happened once with a screaming cab driver, and another time with a screaming tour bus guy (those guys who try to sell you tickets). He had lied to us about which bus was leaving and made us wait over an hour and then he forgot us on the wrong bus, and wanted us to sprint after a already driving away bus to get on it. He was the other person I said "fuck you" to this year. Twice a year, not so bad I'd say.
A homeless guy on the street right before thanksgiving told me "Happy turkey lady." I expected "Happy Turkey Day," or something like that. It made me laugh, picturing this turkey lady who is rather happy.
2 comments:
Maybe your cute neighbour owns a clothings store and those are excess inventory he couldn't fit in the store... There are lots of reasons why a guy would carry 100s of women's dress up to his apartment. Hope springs eternal.
Two F*ck-You's a year is not bad at all! Perhaps there is some way to go before you completely become a New Yorker. :)
Jeez, in those situations, I think I would have said a LOT MORE than Fuck You. So Kudos for remaining so calm.
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