Wednesday, September 27, 2006
|So that's what girls do.|
I was walking along East Houston, singing my song, with sexy red velvet cupcakes on the brain, when I spied a lezzie chica that I'd worked with this past summer at the law firm exiting a building on Mercer. At least, I thought it was a girl I knew. I recognized her hair do and her body form, but her face was hidden from me.
And I could not remember her name.
For some reason I needed to say hi to her. I do not know what I thought would happen. So I ran after her, slowed when I approached, and tapped her on her bare shoulder.
She pulled away from me. I tapped her again. She pulled further away. Never looking, never acknowledging, just pulling.
Just like that, I was a crazy black man on the street harassing a woman. People on the street thought I was a crazy black man on the street harassing a woman.
Crap, is she not the girl? Oh my god, am I a crazy black guy harassing a woman on the street?
I stopped and let her walk off. And then, desperate for some way of verifying what I thought, I shouted: "I worked with you this summer at the firm!"
She turned. "SWS2.1, how are you?!?"
"I'm good. You thought I was some random man, didn't you?"
"Yeah."
And then there was awkwardness.
I was walking along East Houston, singing my song, with sexy red velvet cupcakes on the brain, when I spied a lezzie chica that I'd worked with this past summer at the law firm exiting a building on Mercer. At least, I thought it was a girl I knew. I recognized her hair do and her body form, but her face was hidden from me.
And I could not remember her name.
For some reason I needed to say hi to her. I do not know what I thought would happen. So I ran after her, slowed when I approached, and tapped her on her bare shoulder.
She pulled away from me. I tapped her again. She pulled further away. Never looking, never acknowledging, just pulling.
Just like that, I was a crazy black man on the street harassing a woman. People on the street thought I was a crazy black man on the street harassing a woman.
Crap, is she not the girl? Oh my god, am I a crazy black guy harassing a woman on the street?
I stopped and let her walk off. And then, desperate for some way of verifying what I thought, I shouted: "I worked with you this summer at the firm!"
She turned. "SWS2.1, how are you?!?"
"I'm good. You thought I was some random man, didn't you?"
"Yeah."
And then there was awkwardness.
promulgated by SWS2.1 at 15:14.
2 comments
2 Comments:
Yes, we generally don't want to be poked, prodded or tapped while on the street.
If you call our name, we might turn around ... if you're lucky.
By 
, at
1:22 PM
Your writings are a pleasure to read. Keep it up.
By 
Christopher Johnson, at
2:45 PM
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