Another Dog Experience
I used to work on 8th Avenue, in a particularly sketchy part of town with at least 5 methadone clinics in a 3 block radius (I know this for sure because I wrote a paper on the neighborhood). Every day while walking to work, I'd see really crazy people. Like Birdman, who never wore a shirt and would yell 'Ca-Caw' as he walked down the street. One time someone cawed back, and Birdman turned around, indignant, and said "You can't do that!"
Then there was the woman who didn't have a nose, who'd wear a bandage over where her nose should've been. There was the man who asked my African-American friend "What you doin' with Whitey?" and the guy who told me "Nice jugs, momma!" Steph overheard an entire conversation where two people each insisted that they were Juan Carlos: "I am Juan Carlos." "No! I am Juan Carlos." "No, I am Juan Carlos." Etc.
None of these people comes close to the couple Steph and I encountered yesterday in Madison Square Park, on our way to the dog run. It's all Steph's fault--her dog is so cute that she can't walk more than 2 feet without people stopping to pet him and ask about him. It's annoying, frankly, and I wanted to go to the dog park so bad--probably as much as Ollie wanted to go, and that was A LOT.*
So these two crazy people passed us on our way there and of course had to comment on how cute the dog is, ask how old is he, etc....except they didn't stop asking questions at the appropriate time. I don't really even know how to describe how drug addicts speak, but it's quite distinctive and these two fit the profile perfectly. The man, who slurred most of his words, told us a horrible story about how he paid $1300 for a purebred dog that his ex-wife gave away after they separated. Apparently the dog was aggressive because the wife kept him tied up all day. The man seemed to be more upset at the loss of $1300 than at the loss of the dog. The man's companion, a female wearing way too much eye makeup, bent down to pet Ollie. Except she couldn't really bend down--she slowly jerked downwards, groaning: "Eh, eh, eh, eh." I had to get out of there! But there was nowhere to go--we were already outside, and we were on our way to the dog park.
I'm not quite sure how Steph managed to disengage from these people, but she should be commended for doing so. I was so incapacitated by their creepiness and by my frustration (and by the mandatory interaction with some other deranged individuals we'd run into immediately prior to these two--sorry guys, but I can't describe this situation although it'd be mighty entertaining) that I'd probably still be there now, trying unsuccessfully not to listen to their slurred stories and moans.
* I don't understand these people who stop strangers on the street to pet their supposedly cute dogs. Ollie is cute and all, but I'd never interrupt a total stranger to play with their animal...maybe I'm just purely anti-social, but I feel like that's rude. Just because you happen to have a dog doesn't mean that you're free to converse with crazies or even normal people at their convenience. Maybe Steph will disagree with me, but it's another reason why I won't have a dog in the city. (Although I guess having an ugly dog would be okay)
Then there was the woman who didn't have a nose, who'd wear a bandage over where her nose should've been. There was the man who asked my African-American friend "What you doin' with Whitey?" and the guy who told me "Nice jugs, momma!" Steph overheard an entire conversation where two people each insisted that they were Juan Carlos: "I am Juan Carlos." "No! I am Juan Carlos." "No, I am Juan Carlos." Etc.
None of these people comes close to the couple Steph and I encountered yesterday in Madison Square Park, on our way to the dog run. It's all Steph's fault--her dog is so cute that she can't walk more than 2 feet without people stopping to pet him and ask about him. It's annoying, frankly, and I wanted to go to the dog park so bad--probably as much as Ollie wanted to go, and that was A LOT.*
So these two crazy people passed us on our way there and of course had to comment on how cute the dog is, ask how old is he, etc....except they didn't stop asking questions at the appropriate time. I don't really even know how to describe how drug addicts speak, but it's quite distinctive and these two fit the profile perfectly. The man, who slurred most of his words, told us a horrible story about how he paid $1300 for a purebred dog that his ex-wife gave away after they separated. Apparently the dog was aggressive because the wife kept him tied up all day. The man seemed to be more upset at the loss of $1300 than at the loss of the dog. The man's companion, a female wearing way too much eye makeup, bent down to pet Ollie. Except she couldn't really bend down--she slowly jerked downwards, groaning: "Eh, eh, eh, eh." I had to get out of there! But there was nowhere to go--we were already outside, and we were on our way to the dog park.
I'm not quite sure how Steph managed to disengage from these people, but she should be commended for doing so. I was so incapacitated by their creepiness and by my frustration (and by the mandatory interaction with some other deranged individuals we'd run into immediately prior to these two--sorry guys, but I can't describe this situation although it'd be mighty entertaining) that I'd probably still be there now, trying unsuccessfully not to listen to their slurred stories and moans.
* I don't understand these people who stop strangers on the street to pet their supposedly cute dogs. Ollie is cute and all, but I'd never interrupt a total stranger to play with their animal...maybe I'm just purely anti-social, but I feel like that's rude. Just because you happen to have a dog doesn't mean that you're free to converse with crazies or even normal people at their convenience. Maybe Steph will disagree with me, but it's another reason why I won't have a dog in the city. (Although I guess having an ugly dog would be okay)
posted by Emil at 2:16 PM
3 Comments:
I wasn't sure if it was you or not. I often ca-caw when I'm feeling particularly happy while walking down the street. The memory of Birdman makes me smile.
But I don't remember the rocker dude...
i remember the rocker. i don't remember him having any cronies; i think he was more of the "lone-wolf sort of crackhead.
i knew the strangers were too much for you, emil (even the sane ones), and mir didn't like it either. on saturday we took ollie to central park and she was like, can we just get in the park already?! the women we encounter on the east side of the park are crazy in their own way: we saw one old lady in a tweed chanel suit with some sort of assistant who was holding her dog for her. a couple days before i saw a lady who was really into ollie and talking to him, but when he tried to approach she said "no, you cannot jump on my silk trousers."
See, I could probably deal with a limited number of these east side people. I can't believe that woman had an assistant to hold her dog. That cracked me up!
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