eggers
11-26-2001, 08:26 PM
no one needs to read this; i'm just posting this here in case my hard drive crashes; also, i wrote this a long time ago and its not that good and i have to edit it a lot's
:)
"Is anyone sitting here?"
I remove my bag from the stool next to me and pledge to myself that I will one day stand up and say "yes, someone is sitting here and if you have a problem with that you can take that up with me" when someone asks me this question. For now, I quietly say, "no, sorry for the inconvenience."
But what am I apologizing for? Moreover, it's not my fault... he asked me the question. Why did he have to ask me the question, forcing me to answer? And what will I do when Colleen comes - will offer her my seat and sit standing up? What will I do?
"Thanks buddy."
The guy who just sat next to me (to my left) smells. The smell is uncanny (surely, it is derived from the area under the armpits that is prone to sweat and odor). He is about thirty-three years old, six foot two inches tall, and two and hundred and thirty some pounds. I deduce that he works in the adult entertainment industry through the books that he has brought to read: How to Score Big in the Adult Entertainment Industry, and Coming into Porno for Dummies. Accordingly, I move to the right and place great emphasis on not looking down towards his pants.
"You see, I'm reading these books on how to be a porno star," he abruptly and surprisingly bursts out.
Shut the f- up you stupid motherf-er. I don't want to smell you. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want you sitting anywhere near me.
"Oh... really?"
"Yes, a porno star," he says loud enough for others to hear him. "It's like the best of both worlds you see. You get to bang a lot of hot chicks and you make a lot of money. It don't get no better than that." He lifts his arm (yes, the arm smells) as if he wanted me to give him a high five for making am agreeable comment. I don't, and he lowers his hand, feeling embarrassed.
Generally, I'm a good person. And I don't like humiliating others. When I am forced to humiliate others, I try to make it up to them for humiliating them. So - for the better or for the worst - I will continue with this insignificant conversation with this insignificant human being. Obviously, the guy has a story to tell and no one to tell it to (why else would he strike up a conversation with the person who removed his bag from an unoccupied chair, allowing him to sit).
"Yes... the best of both worlds," I say quietly so others will look away.
Still, he continues to yell. "My name is Rob by the way but I'm thinking of changing it you know. Many porno stars have terrific names and I think that they changed their names too. I doubt it that a mother would name her son Harry Dick or Rich Seaman. Or would a mother actually do that? Wouldn't that have been funny - your mother naming you Rich Seaman?"
"I don't get it," I say to make him think that I'm an ignorant hick or European.
Ignoring my out of place comment, Rob continues. "I have it down to Rob Yourasshole and Rob Robberdick. Imagine this: Rob Robberdick making love with Virgin Cumilla. Imagine that. Wouldn't that be awesome?"
"I don't think they call it making love. Love is a strong word. And they don't love each other."
Again, fat, smelly, obnoxious Rob ignores me. "My slong is seven inches you know so I think I'll make it. There's some sort of cutoff. I'm not sure about exact figures. Also they might test you on stamina or something."
To get his attention, I raise my voice to his level and create an elaborate story. "You know, my boyfriend is a porn star."
I don't care that they heard me. In fact, I'm glad that they heard. If one day police catches up with me (okay, that day will never happen but let's create a hypothetical situation), my lawyer would call bookstore cafe patron after bookstore cafe patron to the stand.
"What did you hear the defendant yell loudly in the bookstore on Union Square at approximately one fifty six in the afternoon on April 15th 2001?" my lawyer would ask. They will respond, and my lawyer will continue.
:)
"Is anyone sitting here?"
I remove my bag from the stool next to me and pledge to myself that I will one day stand up and say "yes, someone is sitting here and if you have a problem with that you can take that up with me" when someone asks me this question. For now, I quietly say, "no, sorry for the inconvenience."
But what am I apologizing for? Moreover, it's not my fault... he asked me the question. Why did he have to ask me the question, forcing me to answer? And what will I do when Colleen comes - will offer her my seat and sit standing up? What will I do?
"Thanks buddy."
The guy who just sat next to me (to my left) smells. The smell is uncanny (surely, it is derived from the area under the armpits that is prone to sweat and odor). He is about thirty-three years old, six foot two inches tall, and two and hundred and thirty some pounds. I deduce that he works in the adult entertainment industry through the books that he has brought to read: How to Score Big in the Adult Entertainment Industry, and Coming into Porno for Dummies. Accordingly, I move to the right and place great emphasis on not looking down towards his pants.
"You see, I'm reading these books on how to be a porno star," he abruptly and surprisingly bursts out.
Shut the f- up you stupid motherf-er. I don't want to smell you. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want you sitting anywhere near me.
"Oh... really?"
"Yes, a porno star," he says loud enough for others to hear him. "It's like the best of both worlds you see. You get to bang a lot of hot chicks and you make a lot of money. It don't get no better than that." He lifts his arm (yes, the arm smells) as if he wanted me to give him a high five for making am agreeable comment. I don't, and he lowers his hand, feeling embarrassed.
Generally, I'm a good person. And I don't like humiliating others. When I am forced to humiliate others, I try to make it up to them for humiliating them. So - for the better or for the worst - I will continue with this insignificant conversation with this insignificant human being. Obviously, the guy has a story to tell and no one to tell it to (why else would he strike up a conversation with the person who removed his bag from an unoccupied chair, allowing him to sit).
"Yes... the best of both worlds," I say quietly so others will look away.
Still, he continues to yell. "My name is Rob by the way but I'm thinking of changing it you know. Many porno stars have terrific names and I think that they changed their names too. I doubt it that a mother would name her son Harry Dick or Rich Seaman. Or would a mother actually do that? Wouldn't that have been funny - your mother naming you Rich Seaman?"
"I don't get it," I say to make him think that I'm an ignorant hick or European.
Ignoring my out of place comment, Rob continues. "I have it down to Rob Yourasshole and Rob Robberdick. Imagine this: Rob Robberdick making love with Virgin Cumilla. Imagine that. Wouldn't that be awesome?"
"I don't think they call it making love. Love is a strong word. And they don't love each other."
Again, fat, smelly, obnoxious Rob ignores me. "My slong is seven inches you know so I think I'll make it. There's some sort of cutoff. I'm not sure about exact figures. Also they might test you on stamina or something."
To get his attention, I raise my voice to his level and create an elaborate story. "You know, my boyfriend is a porn star."
I don't care that they heard me. In fact, I'm glad that they heard. If one day police catches up with me (okay, that day will never happen but let's create a hypothetical situation), my lawyer would call bookstore cafe patron after bookstore cafe patron to the stand.
"What did you hear the defendant yell loudly in the bookstore on Union Square at approximately one fifty six in the afternoon on April 15th 2001?" my lawyer would ask. They will respond, and my lawyer will continue.