I Am Your Neighbor, Cunt!

Those were the words screamed out at me by a woman in her car with her two young children on Van Brunt this morning. Why, do you ask, would she scream such an ugly thing at me? Well, I'll tell you the story dear friend.

It was a wet and windy morning, as I was leaving my abode for my commute to work. This particular morning my fair gent called Ethan took the train, leaving his bicycle locked up. In doing so, my bicycle was trapped. So, it was on foot I had to go. As soon as I began my canter out the door, my hair (which I had made much effort to look decent as we had guests to arrive that afternoon) began very quickly to turn sour and fall limp and oily. I sighed to myself, but continued on my way.

I noticed that there was a back up of cars from the light at Sullivan and Van Brunt. It would seem one of the Chinatown buses we all know and love was stuck in mid-turn, with an SUV trapped in such a position by the bus, other autos behind it and the parked cars to its right. To add insult to the situation, a migrant worker had left his blue collar work truck double parked in front of the ever popular morning stop, Red Hook Coffee Shop.

There was really nothing I, myself, could have done to rectify the situation, so onward I trodded. Upon my walk, I was verbally accosted by a very... oh how should I put it? A very skeezy older man of the dark persuasion. This was in no way pleasing to me. I exchanged sordid words under my breath to him, but carried on (my wayward daughter). Shortly thereafter, I passed by another not-so-gentle man of the lighter brown credo. Once again, I was entrenched upon by what he thought was charming and an opening gesture to possibly collecting something of his want from me. Rather than before speaking under my breath, I set off to advise the man that he should, pardon my French, fuck... off.

By this final imposition, my mood had quite shifted to match that of the forecast for the day.

Onward and upward I trudged on Van Brunt. As I came to the crossing at Pioneer, I was rudely encumbered by the blaring of one Volkswagen Jetta station wagon's horn. A woman, not a very attractive woman, was most probably driving her children to school. As it is a rainy day, tho t'was not raining at the time, she felt the need to drive the few blocks to said school to dispose of -what I can only assume after the example she presented of herself to me and the people at the bus stop of what kind of person, and therefore the kind of mother to be raising- her young hellions.

As previously mentioned, my mood was wrecked so this woman was adding insult to injury. So as she was blaring her, I stopped and called out to her "There's an accident at the light. Honking is not going to change anything. Would you please stop blaring your horn." She had let up on her horn to be able to hear what it was I was saying to her. Once I had finished my statement, she proceeded to blare it again, looking straight at me with disdain. I once again told her to stop, including the statement "You're disturbing my neighbors," to which she replied -as stated in the title of my monologue, "I am your neighbor, cunt!"

Well... what was I to do?

Inside I was like a ninja from the darkness suddenly upon her, reaching into her car window, grabbing her by her ratty hair and smashing her face two or three times against her steering wheel, all the while telling her with each slam "You're (slam) No (slam) Neighbor (slam) Of Mine (SLAM)."

But... I didn't.

Instead I gave her an ugly look, and continued on my way. I was greeted with smiles by those at the bus stop, along with a "Well, good morning to you," by the neighborhood trollop, Kiki. My only response to defend myself on what I consider an embarrassing situation I regretted getting involved in just as quickly as my first words was "I hate honkers."

Now, I am trying to go through my mind who this woman is. I do know she does live in the neighborhood, tho at the moment of our dialogue I was unaware. I believe she may have a dog. I am hoping it is not the woman who lives on King St (I don't think it is) who I am neighborly with normally... I don't think she is.

She looks much older than she is. I would say she's in her early 40s, but looks to be nearing 50. Mousy brown hair that's stringy and wavy, wrinkles and dry leathery face, petite - this is how I would describe her.

Nonetheless, I do look forward to my next encounter with her. Should she say anything, I can simply tell her that she is a shameful human being who needs to get control of her patience, and who really should think twice about how she is presenting herself in front of her children. Yes... another morning in Red Hook.

Vaduzuvunt