There were at least a dozen other women in all shapes and sizes on the number 6 train headed downtown, but this particular schmuck had to stand next to me. Just my luck.
He couldn’t have been more than 30, nicely dressed in chinos and a blazer…cute, well groomed.
I was on my way to work for the Reader’s Digest…a little job I was happy about if you discount I’d be playing a woman with cancer. As an aside, I seem to be the cancer poster child called in for every kind under the sun. My thinness along with hair length is the winning combination for ads and periodicals. It’s enough to turn yourself into Greta Garbo…with no money.
I wasn’t sure where I was going since the photographer’s studio was somewhere in Queens. Having to change trains, I got up anxiously to be by the door, but had to get passed this guy in order to do so.
“Excuse me,” I say in my best Connecticut voice, but he doesn’t move.
“Excuse me…could I get by please?” He still doesn’t move. He was not listening to music nor was the car so noisy he didn’t hear me.
I tried a third time.
“I need to get by please.” He whipped around like a matador and said, “Where the fuck do you have to go? We haven’t stopped yet!” Now I was properly thrown by this sudden outburst regaining myself quickly.
“I’m politely asking you to let me by,” I say with a calm I certainly didn’t feel.
“And go where, an inch closer to the door?” Okay, even the Nutmeg State has her limits.
“Hey, what is it…do you need a little fiber in your diet there buddy? What the fuck is wrong with you? Just let me by.”
“Me? You’re the one who could use a little help there sweetheart.”
“Fuck you, you arrogant prick (too much?) How dare you speak to anyone let alone me that way this early in the morning. You’re lucky I don’t smack you.”
“Oh yeah, go ahead and try.” My anger shot up like mercury in a thermometer. I could have slugged him so easily but got control of myself…thank God.
I had no time to be arrested…I had to go have cancer remember, for The Reader’s Digest.
“You’re lucky I’m a lady.”
“You’re no lady, you’re a fucking, neurotic bitch.”
The doors opened and I smartly scooted out. A young Latino girl sidled up next to me and said, “It’s hees koma, notta yous.”
And we know that’s true, karmically speaking.