The other day after work, I was walking down the sidewalk toward the subway when out of the corner of my eye, I saw a guy approach me from the street waaaaay too quickly. Since school’s out for the summer and the midwesterners are lining up on the sidewalks in droves to ride the tour buses that pick up downtown, I didn’t have anywhere to move, so I expected that he would slow down and get behind me. Instead, he prepared to squeeze himself between the line of denim-shorted lady-tourists and me, but I could tell that someone was going to get knocked over in the process, so I used my adorable pink plaid Puma bag to CUT HIM THE FUCK OFF. And for good measure, I added, “Dude, calm down.” He walked behind me for a second and then passed me on the opposite side, kicking my bag twice with his knee on the way. In that second, I decided that he was probably some young Wall Street suit in tassled patent shoes with pockets stuffed full because he’s not classy enough to carry a briefcase, feeling like hot stuff because he’d taken his asshole anger out on my innocent accessory. But when he finally got in front of me, I saw that he was wearing faded old jeans, dirty yellow workboots, and an ill-fitting winter coat that he must have been sweating all over. And I wanted to be like, “Hey, I’m on your side! I’m from a farm! I’m one of you!”
I just have to wonder–do I make these things happen with my uber-confrontational personality or is this happening to everyone here?