I read this lovely post on the Hairpin, and decided to semi-copy it because I am so thrillingly original. In case
you’re too lazy to click the link you love my blog so much you can’t bear to be away from it for one second, it’s all dreamy descriptions about girls the author remembers in these poetic little slices of time. Which is nice, and a good read. But since I’m me, I decided to ditch the poetry and the love, and write accurate descriptions of people I have noticed recently.
Bus Lady. I am waiting for the bus and a tall, thin woman is bouncing up and down and shivering. She asks a girl near her when the bus is coming, and shakes her head and laughs when the girl says it is late. I think she seems normal until we get on the bus, and she spends the next twenty minutes pulling chunks of hair and systematically ripping the ends off. I almost puke.
Stupid Bar Guys. I am sitting alone at the bar, waiting for the Man to come back with drinks, and two men sidle up. They “casually” move closer, then closer, like I’m a cat they don’t want to scare away, and then one of them finally sits in the Man’s now-vacant seat next to me. “Hey, how are you?” he says,and his friend leans in and whispers, “He’s a predator, watch out for him.” I almost puke.
Ghetto Mom. She is standing in front of the Laundromat with two little kids. They don’t want to go inside, and she shouts, “Fine, then stay out here, you little [racial slurs]!” I saw her two weeks before at Wal-Mart,and she said the exact same thing. I almost puke.
Awww, aren’t these sweet? What lovely people I run into! (No, you gorgeous city-dwellers, I do love lots of you, but I didn’t want to totally rip off the Hairpin post so I couldn’t say anything nice. Really, it’s that, and not because I’m a total bitch. No, REALLY. Fine, just to prove it I’m going to do one nice one.)
The Boy. He is sitting in the hipster coffee shop and I see him through the window, reading a Steig Larrson book in a cozy flannel shirt and faded jeans. I can’t tell what he’s drinking but I decide to pretend it’s hot chocolate. He smiles at a part in the book (which probably means he’s a psycho, since 90% of those books involve rape and murder) and it is nice. I don’t puke.