Story Time!

April 23, 2007

Gather ’round kiddies, Papi’s got a tale to tell you. I’m not sure whether I can accurately encapsulate the surrealness of this experience, but you weren’t there, so you can’t tell it any better can you? Let’s get it on.

It’s the end of a relatively normal night, and I’m getting on the subway, ready to mosey on. Now, it’s somewhere in the area of 4 a.m., so I expect the train to take a while. In this interest, I’ve come prepared with a couple newspapers, which I look forward to pretending to read. I forsee no problems finding a comfortable seat, and, unsurprisingly enough, the platform is almost empty.

That “almost” is important.

The only people on the platform were an older mexican gentleman and a blonde about my own age. Nothing to interesting here. Except for the fact that she was half-passed out and he was administering an impromptu mammogram. I wouldn’t have cared if they were filming a sequel to “Debbie Does Dallas” except for two things; one, I wasn’t entirely sure whether it was consensual, and two, I really wanted to sit down and read my papers but didn’t want to interrupt. It was at this point that el rapisto dragged the young lady onto his burly lap, and proceeded to attempt to eat her face. She appeared to be at least a little bit responsive, so I came to the conclusion that they had some previous sexual relationship, and were so enflamed with desire that my presence (and the click click of my camera phone) didn’t bug them. I also came to the conclusion that they were so far gone that they wouldn’t care whether I was standing or sitting, so I discretely took the seat farthest from the young lustbirds, and settled into the paper.

Barely was I into article one, when the blonde woke up. Now I’ve never woken up to find myself hooking up with a 50 year old mexican on a subway platform (well, not in years) but her reaction was pretty reasonable. She tried to put herself back together while avoiding his wanton, raw, sexuality. I couldn’t help imagine her as a cat and him as a cartoon skunk. I thought, “well that was certainly weird” and looked back at the article, something about Elliot Gould.

“Should, shoudlb you hooshk this back up for me please?”

Blondie had sidled up to me and was asking me, in her very special way, to reclasp her bra. I obliged, and went back, once again, to Mr. Gould.

“I’m ssho sorry.”

I assured her it was more than ok. I was a bit curious as to why she had asked me to clasp her bra rather than doing it herself or asking her friend, but I merely assumed that she somehow knew my reputation as someone around whom bras never come off, and was merely using my greatest talent (making sure girls’ bras stay on) to her own selfish ends. Whatever.

“I’ve never met that guy ever before.”

I was somewhat taken aback by this. Granted, I haven’t done any statistically significant research, but something tells me that 20 year olds don’t exactly troll subways looking for unsuspecting middle aged men to accost. I stammered out the somewhat obvious question.

“So…what…why…who…what the fuck is going on?”

“I thought he was someone else I thought he was my boss I didn’t know here I was i’ve neverseen that guy if this is sober this is me.”

On that last point she made a hand gesture, the sober hand quivering above the one that indicated her current mindset. I was curious as to what she thought was happening, but concerned that I would NEVER have a chance to examine the career path of the man who would eventually father Ross and Monica Geller, went back to my paper.

She wasn’t certain I understood, and insisted on drawing me a picture of her drunkenness on my paper, a beautiful one that featured several lines and poorly drawn circles. I assured her once again that I understood.

“I’m shoo sorry!. You saved me! you shaved my life. You’re amazing”

At this point I became interested. Elliot Gould be damned, it had been literally hours since I’d been told how amazing I was and I was all ears. Unfortunately, at this point, two young ladies came onto the platform at this point, and Blondie (whose name, I later found out was Lila), took the chance to tell them of the crazy happenings. She did mention my heroics, but they were unimpressed.

At this point, the train came, and we all got on together. All, that is, except for amorous gentleman. Now, there’s only one train that goes through this station, and there are no carnival rides or smoothie vendors, so I have no idea what he was doing there if not waiting for the train. Perhaps he was waiting for another 20 year old blonde. Maybe he thought he was somewhere else. Maybe he just really liked train platforms. Whatever the case, he was still there when I left.

My very favorite thing about Lila was the religious tattoos she had on her feet, reading, “Strength in Jesus”, and “Walk with God” (or somethign equally inspiring.) It really gives me a newfound respect for Christianity. And blondes. And Mexicans.

But not Elliot Gould.


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