“….and the homeless girls is smarter than yall. I already won one….Miss World. That’s me. You know its gon be nice cuz I’m givin it this time. MMhmm. Keep it simple. MMhMM. A long runwalk with the thing where you stop and smile and strike yo pose and walk away. Mmhmm. Phillipines. Yea. Nice and hot there too. With those lil chinky eyed kids throwin flowers on me when I win Miss World. Mmhmm. Again. Yup. Gon be real nice.”
…this was the tail end of a monologue/rant by a disturbed woman who boarded the train with me today. A tall, slender black woman with the longest (synthetic) ponytail in the world and deep, dark red lipstick. With lip liner. Also: burnt urrnge snow boots and the tightest nude tights. Ever. And a bubble vest. In 2008. I see her from time to time, always well-dressed (read: obviously not homeless, not necessarily the least bit stylish) and always ranting about “that girl upstairs, the crazy one who hollers and screams all night” or “this b from housing, the ugly fat one who keeps losing my damn applications….whatchu workin for!?!” or “that silly man who keeps calling and texting and texting and calling and don’t know that I know he playin games…makin the damn situation worser”. Or whatever.
A little sad, but the fact that she always boards the train in mid-conversation with nobody that you or I could see, and that her loud, vulgar ramblings make everyone (myself included) uncomfortable makes me feel less horrible for not pitying her.
Today, I was blessed to have her stand directly in front of me as I sat and attempted to read Mr. Baldwin. I gave up once she said something she didn’t like and went the fuck off on herself, attracting stares and sympathetic glances my way. I couldn’t hold in my laughter when she actually sat beside me, continuing her rant while eating Cool Ranch Doritos at 8 in the morning…spitting chips on me as she spoke (“Oh hell, sorry baybay.”). The absurdity of it all led to an almost violent fit of (contained) laughter. A hard chuckle, if you will. And more sympathetic glances.
By the end of our ride together I learned that she would be passing out the Christmas meal at GMHC on the 19th, a “hoebitch” she used to know made a dog to attack her once (giving the scar that got her disqualified from Miss Universe back in 84), she doesn’t believe in monogamy, and she can’t understand why metrocard machines are always out of order when SHE needs to use them.
Good times, indeed.
When we got to Wall Street she cursed someone (herself…?) for almost causing her to miss her exit…and wished us all “a good eternity.”
The train breathed a collective sigh of relief.
A woman asked with genuine concern, “Baby, are you okay.”
“I’m good.” (Still chuckling)
“..mmhmm. She not though.”
Needless to say, she made my day. NEXT time: picture or video.