Tuesday, January 24, 2012


Such a rare thing, it is, for me to say that I had a good day, that even though I am exhausted, here I am doing it. And remember it was just this morning that I mused on my last-night-before-sleep question on whether it were possible to go to bed feeling something like satisfaction?

Don't worry, I'm not that all that. I just powered through lots of tasks. I photographed and posted a bunch of stuff on eBay. I will be pleased when I no longer have to do that for survival income. But some of these items have been sitting around needing to find other homes for awhile, so making progress on that does feel good.

I had a good, intense writing coach session with KaHug. She was all fired up and stimulated by my comments and that is gratifying.

Gosh, not a lot more happened.

Oh, well, there was this funny-ish anecdote. After therapy, I headed for the train, calling Iris who had been trying to reach me. I had on my headset, so it likely looked as if I were speaking to myself and listening to music. I ducked into a deli to grab a little snack before getting on the train. Mostly, however, I was listening to what Iris was saying and thinking about that. As I quickly surveilled the store, trying to find something not fried or equally disgusting, I glimpsed a street-person-ish man somewhat focused on me and moving in my direction up the aisle from the beer obtaination area. I made a quick decision, grabbed what I wanted and headed the other way to the check-out. As I rounded the corner shelf, the fellow was on the ground and I got the impression that he was cursing me.

I just remembered what this reminded me of. I was in Lyon while the '92 Olympics were going on. I had gotten into town late and was hungry, so I set out to see if I could find some food. Yeah, it was a little scary walking around a French town I did not know at 11:00 at night. I was on either Rue Victor Hugo or Rue Auguste Comte, but I think it was Victor Hugo. My hotel was right near the train station there on Place Carnet. Some day, I'll show you the photos.

At any rate, it was late, dark, and there weren't a lot of people around. I could hear a drunk walking toward me on the sidewalk. I believe he was addressing me, but I couldn't hear and don't think I could have understood a drunken man's French from that distance. I waited until he was very near, and then I slipped across the street in such a manner that he could neither access nor follow me easily. He then stopped in some wonder and consternation and berated me for eluding him.

Yes, of course, drunk French man, I am going to stay in your path so that you can accost, annoy, and who knows what else. Asshat. Or as we might say in French, Chapeau de cul ... beret de cul? (I'm sure Laurie or Iris will have something to add to that.) Trilby de cul?

So this fellow today, unfortunately had a prosthetic leg, on display as his trousers were not adequate to cover it. I think he was reaching for me when I moved away, but, as I say, I was fairly absorbed in what Iris was saying, in a hurry, and trying to avoid crazy-person contact. (You learn that in a place like New York. Survival skill.) 

So there I was standing trying to pay and drunk man is still muttering. I realized he was calling me out, saying that I was short, fat, and stupid. I was slightly taken aback but primarily at his fucking ... I'm going to say masculine ... temerity to judge my looks and being and to expect that I would have attended upon him in the slightest fashion merely because I was a female? an unattractive female?

So we have a drunk gimp falling in the store berating my public persona? I don't think so. The other factors may be observable, but I am not stupid, so there is no reason to take the rest of the litany seriously either. 

And as the t-shirt said, "I may be fat, but you're ugly. And I can diet."

My outrage and annoyance were at the high-handed deluded COLONIALIST manner that he was allowed to even address me. Fucking jerk. 

1 comment:

  1. Your 2 creepy encounters reminded me of when, working for the library in SB as a delivery person, I'd pushed a dolly piled high with packed bookbags into the elevator before I noticed the long-haired bearded homeless guy lurking in the corner. He held up some scissors & said, drunkenly, "I think you need a haircut." Wasn't easy, but I quickly backed the dolly out of the elevator just before the doors closed. Not many things make me angry, but he, and having to report the incident to the male library director who did not take my report seriously, really ruined an otherwise lovey day.