Miscellany: Blisters, Buses, Batter
I've been thinking about childhood wounds lately. Mostly those of the hands: the blisters and calluses you got from monkey bars, the red groove you got from clutching a pencil, splinters as an event, crushed fingers in car doors. Because these happen at a time when your mind is young, you don't think of them as isolated incidents of childhood; it doesn't occur to you that adults might not have the same hands or that you won't someday. It doesn't occur to you that you will, either. They just are; the only life and hands you have ever known.
* * *
On the subway the other day, I was sitting between two people on one of those long benches that don't carve out individual seats. The man to my right had his legs spread wide, and he had to pull them in a bit to let me sit, but there was just enough room for the three of us. Several stops later, a woman got on and walked over to where we were sitting and pointed to a bare patch of seat, about four inches wide between my leg and the guy. It took me a minute to realize she was not just pointing something out, she was indicating where her butt was about to be placed. Sure, these benches are inconvenient, and often people take up more space than they need. But in this case, we were doing pretty well with space. Four inches was not the width of this woman's butt. Undeterred by my "Are you craaaazy?" look, she plopped down, for all intents and purposes, on my lap. I stood up and walked away. I like to sit on the subway, but not that much. I was extremely irritated, but also completely fascinated by this woman's determination, and ability to ignore the fact that people existed where she wanted her body to be. What power the imagination wields.
Or maybe it's just the same self-aggrandizing narcissism that breeds in a certain type of native New Yorker. After waiting half an hour for the bus over the weekend, I had to wait an additional five minutes when it couldn't pull into the stop properly because a family in an SUV was blocking the way. They were parked in front of Dunkin' Donuts and the father was behind the wheel taking sips from his kids' drinks, waiting for his wife, and blithely ignoring the honking city bus behind him and the crowd yelling at him at the bus stop. The wife strolled out eventually, no hurry, and climbed in the car, only to sit there for an additional few minutes adjusting her seat belt and getting herself situated. By the time they rolled away, the waiting crowd was irate. A white-haired old lady next to me flipped them off and yelled, "Go to hell!"
I'm afraid if I stayed in New York my whole life, that little old lady would be me.
* * *
I've been having some serious cake cravings this week. Whose birthday is it? I'll make you a cake and we can eat it together.
Are we sure she's a native?? I hate when people do that, and I will so say there's not enough room. I am definitely that little old lady.
August 8th is my half birthday...half a cake?
Little old lady sounds like a pretty cool broad!
I actually like those uncarved benches, I think they offer more space and fit more people. Also, if people are bigger or older than me, I usually figure they need to sit more than me.
RG: Oh yeah, half for you, half for me!
You LIKE those long benches? Yeesh, not for me. While in theory, more people may be able to sit, I think the lack of seat outlines makes it hard for people to use the space effectively.
Those green benches are fun when you are wearing wool pants and there is nobody else on the train. If you lift you legs up you can slide all over the place when the train speeds up or slows down.
I smell the B63 at 9th Street...or at least I've had that problem before with the Dunkin Donuts. Alexis and I call it the "entitlement complex." It afflicts many a person, particularly in Park Slope and involving strollers. It's the "Screw you, I have every right to push this baby carriage straight into your path, even though you are walking in a straight line and I am walking diagonally because I am on my cell phone with one hand, the stroller with the other." Ah, New York rage.
Corie, you so nailed it! You win the "recognize the bus" prize :-)
You get that same slidey action with a silky skirt. Sorta throws you if you're not expecting it.
And for the record, the little old lady was speaking for us all. Definitely a hero of the bus stop.
I lurve your subway stories!
childhood injuries -- do you recall what we used to dub "nintendo-itis" or "nintendo thumb" -- when you'd play for so long that once you stopped and touched something else, your thumbs actually hurt because they were so overused?? i loved that!
also: "I like to sit on the subway, but not that much" made me laugh out loud!
Liz back in the 80's male perverts used to thrive on getting into sardine can like subway cars so they could "feel"their way through the opposite sex. I could tell you stories beyond your wildest dreams . To clear the air i was not one of those perverts but what i saw was enough info to write a book. Thanks to the advent of camera cellphones most of the perv's have slowly dissapeared but some just cant resist regadless of the consequences
My mother is coming through town tomorrow, and therefore I am making her a cake tonight. She will arrive, eat half a piece, and leave. Which means there will be most of a cake left over for me to jam in my mouth. You should come over!
uh, sorry if i'm way behind on this meme, but, have you seen this? http://alienlovespredator.com/index.php?id=188
Yes! Ahe sent it to me right before the 4th. Love.
Beautiful Brian, you never cease to crack me up.
July 27th, baby! Lets make a spelt, no sugar cake for me. We'll put your baking skills to the ultimate test! Or maybe not...chocalate sounds much better, now that I think of it.
It was still happening in the 90s, Brian! I was quite shocked when I first moved to NYC and was taking the 6 train every morning to encounter men's hands where they absolutely should not be.
Liz, you have reminded me that I have been thinking about hands lately as well. I will have to write on this topic as well.