Perils of the city and Superbitch
May 14, 2002 ~ 8:06 p.m.
I witnessed a very ugly exchange on the train platform on the way home tonight. It was even more horribly crowded than usual as the 5:37 train pulled into track 11 and the usual jostling of commuters, trying to secure good position in line, occurred. Normally, you accept a little bump and shove as routine; it�s not personal, and you can�t blame the person who bumps you for trying to move fast and weave their way around the slower people, because you�re doing the exact same thing yourself. If you can�t handle this sort of run-of-the-mill, rush-hour exchange, then it�s time to get out of the city.
I�m a wily veteran of the city life, and I can tell when someone is being personal and 99% of the time, they�re not. Sometimes, a confrontation is warranted as there are bullies everywhere, even in rush-hour, train-platform queues.
And that is what happened this evening.
One slim-built fellow, standing only 5-foot-8 or somewhere thereabouts, was innocently working his way through the crowd, trying to avoid bodily contact. I could tell from the meek expression on his face that he only wanted to get home; he never intended to mix it up with anyone. From out of nowhere, a figure of similar height bumped him into the barrier with a certain air of vehemence. It was the sort of shove you�d give someone if you thought they were a total dirtbag and deserved it. Yet, this man did absolutely nothing to warrant that aggressive push.
The aggressor in this case was female. Power suit, briefcase, butch hair-do, twisted �don�t fuck with me, guys� look on her face � she had it all. She had two bottles of Reisling waiting for her at home to be consumed, and damn it all if this person � this man -- wasn�t in her way.
Well, Superbitch has only one way to solve this problem: Shove!
The man turned around with an injured look. I give him all the credit in the world for trying to talk things out and negotiate his way out of the situation. He actually seemed to be apologizing for something that was clearly her fault. Only when his repeated attempts at reconciliation were met with shouts of �are you crazy? Were you pushing me? What the fuck is wrong with you?� and etcetera did the man at question decide enough was enough and gave her a slight push to show his complete and totally justified disgust with her.
Superbitch reacted with a stinging wallop and the man actually emitted a short, quick yelp. He lunged at her and had to (finally) be separated by another commuter. This attempt at d�tente failed, and the two eventually went at it again, but the man had lost interest and just simply shrugged his shoulders, shouting back at her �yeah, OK, whatever you say, bitch.� Then, he dropped the issue.
I was at least a good twenty feet from the fight the entire time. But I had seen everything and I knew who was at fault. If I�d been there, Superbitch would have received a dressing-down from me she would not soon forget. And God help her if she�d tried to push me. Railtrack would be peeling her charcoaled remains from the third rail in the wake of such an event.
In the end, I did get to meet the young man in question. Turns out, he boarded the same carriage as I and as he plopped dejectedly in his seat, he held his head in his right hand. The poor guy was burning up with humiliation. He never saw my approach as I reached out with my arm to thump him good-naturedly on his arm and say, �Good job, man, you held your own. You were not at fault.�
At first he looked at me as if I was an alien life form. But then it dawned on him that I had witnessed the entire event. He spoke to me with wild-eyed excitement as he rehashed the events to me. He was an Asian immigrant, Indian or Muslim (I couldn�t tell), and his English was limited. I felt even sorrier for him upon discovering this. The man took full advantage of my befriending of him and I was only too happy to listen and reassure him that he did no wrong. Eventually, he settled down to read his paper and bid me thanks. I told him �No problem, it�s just the perils of living in the city.� I did not have to even mention Superbitch � he knew to what perils I was referring.
And as for you, Superbitch, trim that damn moustache. Handlebars do not suit you.
� M.E.M.
|
[Sign My Guestbook]
[View My Guestbook]
|
Copyright � 2001-2007 by M.E. Manning. All material is written by me, unless explicitly stated otherwise by use of footnotes or bylines. Do not copy or redistribute without my permission.
AMERICA FOR TRUE AMERICANS!