At the beginning of this past week I received a certain semi anonymous text message that I could have lived my life without. On Sunday, something even more unwarranted happened. This was the week (to quote my cousin) of “unwanted crotchetal imagery”.
After a long brunch shift at work I hopped on the train to my new address, excited to time how much better my new commute was. Sunday was official moving day and missed out on most of it because I had to work. The previous day was spent perusing around the city running errands to Costco, Bed Bath and Beyond, Home Depot, etc. On that train ride home from work I found myself wedged in between what seemed like some kind of Bachelorette party (a group of women varying in age with penis straws stuck down their shirts and a “bachelorette” who seemed barely twenty sporting braces, a sash, and a huge fake diamond ring) and a couple who had their face painted like mimes. I was thinking, Wow...nothing should shock me anymore. On Sunday I think I hit my limit.
I got on the train and sat next to a man with hair longer than mine. If you don’t know me, (thank you for reading my blog!!) I have very long hair. Like mermaid past the boob status. It’s not that I’ve never seen a dude with long hair before, but it was so long and so huge that I couldn’t help but stare. I also got a weird vibe from him. I’ve noticed lately that whenever I get a strange vibe from a person I have a really hard time not staring at them. I do this because I want to figure out what it is about their energy that I’m so fixated on. Maybe I’m inadvertently reading auras. I do it when I’m waiting tables, too. If I have a strange person at one of my tables I literally can’t help but stare at them and try to figure out what it is about them that went wrong. What’s worse is that it’s been pointed out to me that I my face is so expressive that you always know what I’m thinking. I’m hoping this doesn’t get me into too much trouble.
Anyway, so I’m listening to music on the train thinking about all the stuff I have to do this week and figuring out my plans for the next few days and every so often I glance over at the weirdo next to me and wonder why his hair is so long and why I’m so fixated on his weirdness. When I’m one stop away from my stop I glance over at him one more time and look down at his hands and it is staring at me.
He had whipped his thing out on the subway and it was looking at my straight in the eye.
My mom is a therapist and she showed me a book she’d bought about psychoanalyzing children’s artwork to see if they’d experienced any trauma or sexual abuse. Usually children draw a lot of pictures of “one eyed snakes” when they’ve suffered from any kind of molestation or rape. When I looked down and saw this dude’s junk I felt as if I’d seen a scary animal. It wasn’t just human anatomy, it was scary and it was staring at me. It was almost like I could feel what it would be like to be a child and have something like that happen to you. When something shocking and unexpected like that happens its almost like the innocence in us creeps out for a second and feels violated.
It actually reminds me of something that happened in 10th grade English class. My English teacher was very strict. No one could talk out of turn or chew gum, we had assigned seats, and we went over our weekly syllabus every single day before class began. Our desks were the old fashioned kind with the chair attached to them and they were organized them in rows. She would change around the assigned seating every few months to “shake things up” and after a new seating arrangement I started to notice something weird. It felt like something or someone was poking my butt through the holes of the chair. I decided to give the situation the benefit of the doubt at first because it seemed so strange, so I let it slide the first few days. Then I started to think that maybe I wasn’t crazy. I could very clearly feel something poking my butt. Because my teacher was so strict, I was afraid to turn around or say anything without it being a huge deal or me getting in trouble. So, I asked my friend Virginia to spy on the kid behind me during class and give me a report on what she saw.
Lo and behold, after class we are waiting in the lunch line and Virginia says, “Yeah, he’s definitely poking your butt”.
The next day after class I approached my teacher and very awkwardly explained the situation. She was mortified and said she’d take care of it. At the beginning of the next class she made an announcement that we were going to have new seating assignments. The only thing she changed was moving the kid who sat behind me to the complete other side of the room.
In this situation, there was no teacher I could tell on Mr. Long Hair Don’t Care. I guess if there was a policeman on the train I could’ve told him, but the only thing I could do was to stand up and get away. I looked around the train to see if anyone else had seen what I saw, but I realized that this dudes hair was so long that he had the ability to hide what was really going on underneath it.
I ran to the apartment from the train station, opened the door, and yelled to my roommates: “THIS HAS BEEN THE WEEK OF DICKS!”.
I could try to figure out some life lesson from this, but I’m not sure if there is one. However, next time I am prepared to drop kick the next dude who whips it out or touches my butt without permission.