Culture on the Cheap
Oh. My. God.
Ever had a revelation about yourself that was so profound you spent the next five or ten minutes muttering to yourself “What the fuck just happened!?!” Well, I had one such moment yesterday in (where else?) Greenpoint.
After walking to the very end of Java street to take some photographs, I headed back towards West Street. When I reached this intersection a couple of particularly nasty Polish bums had parked their (even nastier) bums on an adjacent stoop. They were conversing. When I walked by the tone of their speech changed.
Suspecting that they were hurling Polish epithets at me, I tried to ignore them. Until one of them said:
She doesn’t speak Polish, she is an American.
I stopped dead in my tracks, turned around and shot them the finger. What is particularly remarkable about this otherwise banal-seeming event, you ask?
- These men were not speaking English.
- I understood what they were saying.
Who knew Miss Heather could mowimy her some po Polsku (on top of being quite proficient in the international language of “Fuck You”)? I sure as hell didn’t. Until now.
God help me.