I was towards the back of the C train coming uptown from work. I had been writing up a blog post, and I opened up a rather hilarious video of my friends acting up on the train the night of Pride. I didn't notice the huge black guy who took a seat next to me somewhere above 86th street. He pointed at my computer, and I figured he was asking me some random question about my mac (between that and my iPhone, it happens every couple of months).
"You know all those people on that video?"
"Um, yeah."
"Really? All of them?"
"Well, most of them, yeah."
"Do you know the penalty for taking a video of a person you don't know on a public train? I know what I'd do to that computer if I saw my face on that video."
"Oh, okay," I responded in a tone that was meant to convey that I got his point. I turned back to my computer.
"You say okay, so that means you don't understand. You say that backwards, and you have the penalty. Do you understand? Do you want a hint?" He was sitting about a foot and a half away from me, leaning in. Baggy clothes, white tshirt, denim jeans, shorts, I couldn't remember. Maybe a hat. But his face looked vaguely familiar. He wasn't wearing his hat if he had one because his hair didn't look combed.
This was the point where I started to be concerned. I gave a pretty clear signal that I didn't want to engage him anymore, and he either didn't get it or didn't care. Either motivation implied an absence of social cues. Was I dealing with a criminal or psychopath here? At this point, I decided just to indulge him until either he went away or I could get away. Of course, the doors were just closing on a stop.
"I don't think I do. I need a hint."
"What you responded to me. You say that backwards, and that's the penalty."
"Okay." I nodded, wondering if my face betrayed my fear.
"Do you know my culture?"I thought he said 'coaching', which confused me. "So you don't know my culture. You see this?" He pulled out a colorful bandana that said Belize on the bottom. "That's my culture. And we have a flag. But you don't have a flag."
"Oh, okay," what the fuck is this guy talking about? Did I break some foreign social rule or something? I looked in his eyes, and there was nothing to convey that he was just doing this to have a story to tell his friends later. My heart was pounding against my ribs, and I grabbed the sides of my computer to keep my hands from shaking.
"So the consequence is what you said backwards."
"KO?"
"I'll give you a hint. One of them is in jail now." He finally leaned back and faced parallel to me on the bench. I gave an understanding nod (I had no idea what the fuck he was talking about). I gathered my stuff and walked calmly out of the train at 145th, walking down the stairs as if I were transferring to the D (which goes to the Bronx). As far as I could see, he had stayed on the local train, so I figured he'd most likely get off at one of the 2 local stops before the next express stop (which was the last stop for the local train).
The next A train (express) came a bit too soon, but I got on it. I took it one stop too far just in case. I walked towards the front of the train just in case. I looked over my shoulder just in case. And there he was. He had gotten off the local and transferred to the express, probably at my stop. He was a good 50 meters from me. He didn't seem to be looking at me. But he was unmistakable, towering over the crowd. I tried my best to blend into the crowd going up the first set of stairs. He wasn't headed my way. And when I got to the street level, I saw him walking uptown.
I walked down the street before mine just in case. I looked over my shoulder every half block just in case. I walked an extra avenue over just in case. Then I remembered I had to pick up my laundry.
"Okay." I nodded, wondering if my face betrayed my fear.
"Do you know my culture?"I thought he said 'coaching', which confused me. "So you don't know my culture. You see this?" He pulled out a colorful bandana that said Belize on the bottom. "That's my culture. And we have a flag. But you don't have a flag."
"Oh, okay," what the fuck is this guy talking about? Did I break some foreign social rule or something? I looked in his eyes, and there was nothing to convey that he was just doing this to have a story to tell his friends later. My heart was pounding against my ribs, and I grabbed the sides of my computer to keep my hands from shaking.
"So the consequence is what you said backwards."
"KO?"
"I'll give you a hint. One of them is in jail now." He finally leaned back and faced parallel to me on the bench. I gave an understanding nod (I had no idea what the fuck he was talking about). I gathered my stuff and walked calmly out of the train at 145th, walking down the stairs as if I were transferring to the D (which goes to the Bronx). As far as I could see, he had stayed on the local train, so I figured he'd most likely get off at one of the 2 local stops before the next express stop (which was the last stop for the local train).
The next A train (express) came a bit too soon, but I got on it. I took it one stop too far just in case. I walked towards the front of the train just in case. I looked over my shoulder just in case. And there he was. He had gotten off the local and transferred to the express, probably at my stop. He was a good 50 meters from me. He didn't seem to be looking at me. But he was unmistakable, towering over the crowd. I tried my best to blend into the crowd going up the first set of stairs. He wasn't headed my way. And when I got to the street level, I saw him walking uptown.
I walked down the street before mine just in case. I looked over my shoulder every half block just in case. I walked an extra avenue over just in case. Then I remembered I had to pick up my laundry.
Once I locked both locks on my door, I let out a heaving breath of relief. But I still wish my roommate were home when I got here.
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4 comments:
That was certainly a close call and you handled it well (taking different streets, looking over shoulder and staying in public spaces). Ducking into bodegas also helps.
Man, that post was scary AND confusing at the same time. What the hell did he mean by saying "you don't have a flag?" Odd. Glad that it sounds like you got out of that jam w/o any physical altercation taking place.
Polk, I think he was referring to the fact that African Americans don't have their own flag. But I wasn't trying to unpack that one at the time.
I am so glad that nothing happened. Sounds scary. I live in a very safe part of SF, but I just found out that someone broke into our building two weeks ago and robbed an apartment on the first floor. You can never be too careful.
~A
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