Bus Ride

On Thursday afternoon, I proved to myself once again how tough I’ve become since moving New York.  I sat on the bus and read a magazine while listening to music.  I felt a bodily presence beside me, but paid it no mind.  A minute later, I realized that that the body was also speaking to me.  I looked up to see a disheveled and very inebriated man with a cigarette wedged between his lips.  He repeatedly mumbled incoherent sentences and one understandable one, “Miss, will you zip my jacket?”  I replied, “No, thanks.”  He asked again and shoved his zipper toward me.  I replied again, “No, thanks.”

 

After several requests he became frustrated and yelled in clear, perfect English, “Thanks a lot you worthless $*%& $*%&#.”  The front of the bus turned my way and heads rolled to watch the scene unfold.  I sat motionless for a few seconds.  I then slowly replaced my headphones and returned to my magazine, mostly annoyed to have been interrupted for no reason.

The man couldn’t speak to me in complete sentences at a normal voice volume without an audience, but he had NO difficulty yelling profanities at me in front of a crowd.  Interesting.

The old me, the freshly scrubbed straight-off-the-plane me, would have taken his insult to heart.  I would have fought back tears and harbored hurt feelings.  I would have wondered what I did to deserve such treatment. 

But, the new me?  Oh, no, no, no.  I barely blinked, didn’t even flinch.  I chuckle at the new me and just how New York street tough I’ve become.