Saturday was a glorious day. The temperature opened at 57 and by noon hit 70. I looked for every excuse to be outside…even went to the park to read, something I rarely do.
Occupying a sunny bench, I did my best to concentrate on Raymond Chandler (reading The Big Sleep), but was easily distracted by an assortment of sights:
Couples canoodling, couples fighting, bird watchers and a guided tour of the 72nd Street boat pond.
I was quickly approached by a Rottweiler named Boy who came to sniff my jeans, that I’ll admit, needed washing. When the owner finally got his head out of my crotch, the dog’s that is, he yelled at him. I of course took full blame and those pants, as we speak, are so dirty they’re upright in the corner doing the macarena, so Boy wasn’t such a naughty boy after all. I wanted to say, “Hey, hes a dog…bet when you sniff a crotch, nobody yells at you,” but didn’t.
The tour guide certainly had his hands full since no one seemed to be listening. I counted nine students all texting while he went on about Hans Christian Anderson. It bothered me he didn’t command their attention, these punks with maps and backpacks. I so wanted to stand on my bench and say, “Assholes, yeah I’m talking to you…PAY FUCKING ATTENTION,” but didn’t. I minded my own business, something not so easy for me to do.
A father was walking along holding a baby wearing a pink beret. She was so cute, and would have been a lot cuter if her eyes weren’t covered. He was standing on the edge of the duck pond assuming she could see, but obviously, hadn’t looked at her in a while.
I moseyed over. “Hi, what a sweet little girl you have,” I said, wanting to grab his nose good and hard. “Tell me something, did you pull her hat down like that for a reason?” He looked mortified. “No, omigod,” he said, once he saw her. When he pulled the hat back up these two blue eyes appeared followed by a peek-a-boo smile. I so wanted to rip him a new one, but didn’t.
We then had the old man being wheeled by his attendant who totally ignored him. This is a common sight, I hate to say. What made this one different was the man’s fly was down. The poor guy looked like a perv unbeknownst to him, and when I saw one of the idiot girls on the tour laugh, I knew it was my cue to step in. I went over to the young woman reading a not worth one’s while, paperback and did say, “This man in your care needs your help, so could you please give it to him?”
She quickly put down her book, got up and zipped his pants.