Reach out and touch someone…
This morning I read a tale (via my email) that MUST be shared with the general public. “John” wrote:
…I’ve been on Kent between Franklin & Manhattan for ten years and believe I’ve found my spiritual home in our retarded little corner of Brooklyn.
My favorite sight by far was late last summer, when one of the bumskis was pissing OVER the pay phones onto the subway stairs by the newstand/Greenpoint Deli. At about 3:30 PM. On a Wednesday.
That one pretty much left me speechless…
Dude, that one leaves me speechless. After mulling over the physics required to pull off such a feat (and the conclusion I came to was that this bum must have ‘equipment’ like this guy), I came to the realization that some poor soul probably got a really nasty surprise when he/she exited the subway station. Speaking as someone who has been shit on the head by a pigeon (during my lunch hour no less), I understand the stages of grief that come with being used as a human pissoir:
- DENIAL: Is it raining? Maybe it’s just condensation from an air conditioner…
- ANGER: Aw FUCK, that burns! A pigeon did a deuce on my head! I fuggin’ hate pigeons!
- BARGAINING: Maybe no one at work will notice it. I will sneak back into the office and wash it out in the bathroom. No one will be the wiser.
- DEPRESSION: Nah, that bitch receptionist in our office will notice. She has undoubtedly been praying for this to happen for months.
- ACCEPTANCE: I will go back to the office and shampoo my head with hand soap. I will be utterly humiliated. This is unavoidable.
The receptionist did indeed derive a lot of pleasure from my suffering. My experience circulated through the entire office… and several weeks later this very same woman was sent home (and docked pay) because she was thirty minutes late to work (again). The lesson to be learned from my tale (if there is one) is this: when the Assistant Manager (your titular boss— READ: me) gets shit on the head by a pigeon, keep your goddamned laughter to yourself.