My parents did not bring me into this world to suffer fools. So if you are one, and I tell you off in person like you've never been told off before, please do not act surprised. I am an honest person for the most part, but I'm most true to that quality in situations where people piss me off. I am going to come out and tell you. So beware.
Take for example, the comic book store next to the restaurant that I work at. It is run by a man who seems nice enough. Sometimes when I am working on the chalkboard outside he comes out to chat, compliments me on my outfits and hairstyles, not sleezy, nice. I'm nice back. There is this other guy who works there, just a kid really, one of those kids who is a little bit too big for his britches if you know what I mean. Talks a lot, thinks he knows more than he does, asks questions in a way that makes them sound like insults. I've never liked him a whole lot but I tolerate him and I let his awkward comments slide.
The other day I arrived to work very early and had time to kill before setting up the bar. It was a hot day so I hung around on the patio for awhile and drank lemonade and read a book. After awhile I went inside and worked on my chalkboard and started setting up a bit, but I still had time to kill, so I decided that I was going to go and check out the comic book store next door, which I had never yet set foot in. Big mistake.
The door chimed as I opened it and the owner, a very stocky still young looking Italian man stood behind the glass counter filled with baseball cards, while the kid, who I would guess to be about 23 and of some kind of east Indian descent, sat on a stool at the back in direct line with the door and facing me as I entered.
"Hello!" I called, "Just thought I'd come inside and check the place out for once."
"Can I ask you something?" said the man behind the counter, "and I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but how is it that you always look so good and put together?"
I was flattered and so I smiled and said, "I make an effort every day. Thanks for noticing."
The kid gave me a big toothy smile, his glasses gleaming reflective in the flourescent lighting.
I didn't advance past the point where the counter began.
"So what happened with your boyfriend? Why'd you guys break up? Did he cheat on you?" asked the man.
"No, he didn't," I said, "It's too long of a story really, it was seven years of good and bad, but ultimately a lot of bullshit just never changed no matter what and we both finally gave up."
"You're a woman, don't curse. You shouldn't curse. But I understand that, it makes sense." He shrugged and nodded his head sideways instead of up and down.
I decided to let that one go. But then he went in for the kill.
"Do you go to church? You should go to church."
"No," I said, "I'm not religious."
"You should be. You should go to church and do some prayer."
"This is the last time that I'm going to walk through this door." And with that, I did not even so much as glance at the kid or maintain my focus upon the man behind the counter for another moment. I turned and opened the door again and stepped back outside into the hot sunshine, two steps to my own doorway, which I opened and breathed relief as I entered the cool dark sanctuary of my bar. That's my church, buster. It's the church of spirits. I light my candles there daily. How do you like them apples?
So that wasn't all though. Because yesterday as I was getting off the train and walking to work I found myself at the corner of Court Street and 2nd Place with this Indian kid, arriving there at the same coincidental moment in time.
"Hey! Look who it is!" He said.
I smiled and said, "Hello there," as we fell into step together walking down Court.
"What's with the heels?" He asked.
"Excuse me?"
"What's with the heels, is it a special occasion?"
"I'm sorry, but you're speaking to me like you've known me my whole life. If you had, you'd know that I almost always wear heels. So the answer is no. I change into flats for work."
"Well excuse me. I meant it as a compliment."
"If that was a compliment, that's something you really need to work on. A compliment to most girls would have been something like, 'hey, nice heels' or 'I like your shoes' but not 'what's with the heels?' that's not considered a compliment, it's considered a rude question."
"Well sorry that I haven't known you your whole life and that I didn't say 'nice heels'."
How could I possibly describe his demeanor? Instantly put off by my honesty, frightened of it, in fact, he said so. "You're scaring me," he said, "I'm afraid you're going to hit me." This made me want to hit him. But I didn't. Of course I didn't. But I did tell him exactly what was going through my mind at that very moment.
"Do you want to know the truth? You don't need to say anything to me at all. In fact, you and your boss--"
"He's not my boss, he's my partner."
"--can just keep to yourselves and not say anything to me. After what he said to me yesterday, and the conversation that I'm having with you now, I would say that you are both totally lacking in social tact and you have no idea how to talk to people. I don't have to put up with it."
He was pretty much completely blown over by my bitchiness. I mean, don't get me wrong, I know that I was a MONDO BITCH to this guy. But I don't feel bad. I feel good. I feel free. Because I seriously meant every word. I am absolutely done DONE with people trying to shove their Christian bullshit down my throat and everyone else's throats and I am sick and tired of rude and invasive banter that makes me distinctly uncomfortable time and time again. So there. I am the biggest bitch in the world and I'm sitting on top of it.
"Wow." He said, "I'll bet your friends just love you. I wish everyone in the world was like you."
"Likewise," I said. And sped up my walk to get ahead of him at which time he slowed down and we thus ended our not-niceties. And...That's all folks. I hope you've enjoyed this episode in the life of the ever confrontational Maria.
Posted by Maria at June 15, 2008 02:35 PM | TrackBack.
Sounds like Crooklyn to me!
I guess you should blame yourself for being a young, personable, vivacious, open, friendly, attractive young female: A bold, intelligent, creative, courageous, thoroughly modern woman who knows what she's about, and is ready to make her own place in the world, no matter what anybody thinks: A credit to her gender and an example to all men and women everywhere, of a real American girl. In Brooklyn terms, a sl*t.
Some guys are just never going to get it. Especially those raised, often by their mothers, to disrespect women. It's fine if you're a twenty-or-thirty-something little old lady in an all-concealing baggy black dress with a long skirt and big clunky shoes, maybe a black babushka or even a wimple or a veil: Something out of the Dark Ages, or Sicily, Iran or Bangladesh. But if you don't look like their grandmother, you must be a wh*re. They love wh*res; nobody else will f*ck them. But they hate them because, well, nobody else will f*ck them. But you're even worse than that: You're a b*tch, an uppity b*tch, a b*tch who doesn't know her proper place in some dark corner of their tiny world-view. You're SCARING them, Maria!
(You know the difference between a b*tch and a sl*t? A slut f*cks everybody. A b*tch f*cks everybody but you.)
These neolithic pinheads can't conceive of any other categories of female, or male, for that matter, than their own primitive tribal circles comprise. They are the fundaments in fundamentalism. Their whole worldview is about a block wide, and they can't conceive of, much less respect, anything across the street. Their brothers in Africa are hacking off childrens arms with machetes. Their brothers in Asia are murdering their own little sisters for speaking to a boy. Their brothers in Europe are hounding Catholics, or Protestants, or Jews, or Muslims, or Buddhists, or Hindus. Their brothers in South America are firing on peaceful Indian peasants. Their brothers in the South are burning books, blowing up schools, beating up women, tying gays to fences, and voting for Bush. And right there in the county of Kings, there they are f*ckin' wit' da big M! Big mistake, bros!
Keep givin' 'em H*ll, lady!
.
This is an interesting story. I often find myself being attacked for my honesty. Although I don't attack others personally they are so offended by my mannerisms sometimes. And I so hate that attitude, "what's with the shoes" this girl used to ask me that every day, and "why is your hair so long?" in Elementary school and she was older than me and I just assumed she was a passive-aggressive bully. Also, recently a friend who stops by always says "she's gonna hit you" to Kur* whenever I give him that look because he's teasing me. It pisses me off that he says shit like that because that's just me and Kur*, our dynamic you know. He acts like I'm dangerous or something, it's almost like being an Indian stereotyped as a "savage" or something.
Posted by: Ana at July 1, 2008 10:52 PM