tales from the city, 54 edition

I was on the bus, on the way to the Giant in Columbia Heights after work today, when I was treated to the following diatribe from an older (late middle age) black man. I think he was talking to a Hispanic man, but I couldn’t see the other party…

“You know, I was talkin’ to this guy once. Like you. And he called me a maricon! I thought it was something nice. I said that you. I found out it means FAGGOT! Nasty motherfucker!”

(Note: yet another reason foreign languages should be mandatory in US schools.)

“If I was 26 or 27, I would have found him and messed him up!”

(A few seconds pass.)

“That’s what I love in your country. Three or four wives, ain’t that right. And when a man talks, woman got to shut up. Three or four wives. These ‘Merican women, they can’t do that. You can’t do that with them.”

(few more seconds. We’re around 14th and Fairmont now)

“You know, I had a friend. Like you. Came over here. Working hard, long days. Got hisself together, brought over his wife. And she was cookin’ and cleanin’, runnin’ his bathwater. Then she got to thinkin’. Told him she wanted a job. And let me tell you, she went out, and she got herself a job. Mixin’ with them ‘Merican women. And she came home one day, and she wasn’t cookin’ or cleanin’ no more. Told him ‘I got rights. I don’t have to do this or that!’ ‘Merican women put that in her head. Next thing he knows, she got a divorce and ran off!”

At this point, I exited the bus, as did the man carrying on this somewhat one-sided conversation. Turns out he had a female companion. Who immediately berated him as soon as he set foot on the corner:

“Why you gotta say that?! That ain’t cute! Why you be talking like that, embarassin’ me on the bus? That ain’t cute!”

I love the bus.


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