Thank You, I Think

I will concede the fact that there are times, depending on, perhaps, the position of the sun, that I might look slightly intimidating. I've been told this. I guess this could be true, considering the fact that if I see somebody doing something I'm not happy about, I will sling verbal barbs in every direction while writing their fictional demise. I do this all in my head.

In reality, I would most likely run and hide behind a light post in order to save my hide. There's only so much a facade can do.

I went out to get some produce yesterday, carrying one of 37 don't-you-dare-carry-plastic green reusable bags we have in the cupboard. I waited most of the day before going out, because of the off and on rain. I didn't mind it so much, because we haven't had any in a week or so, but I'm not a fan of the umbrella. It didn't let up, so I decided to put a baseball hat on (bill in the front, which is uncomfortable for me, but it makes for a great rain shield).

With my hat on, and a t-shirt and shorts (I have not worn jeans or pants of any kind since Dec. 1), I headed to Farmer's Market. Having been satisfied with my purchases, I hit the checkout, which is when I got a text from Meredith. She was on her way home, and it was the perfect opportunity for me to give her a little surprise by meeting her.

So with produce in tow, hydroponic lettuce hanging out of the top of my green bag, I parked myself on the corner. I observed my surroundings, thinking of the fact that I might potentially look suspicious. Living in New York for almost five and a half years had made me paranoid a bit. But no one noticed me and that was just fine.

Standing about 25 feet to my right, however, were a man and a woman, dressed rather nicely, though the guy's pinstripe brown pants didn't match the striped shirt he was wearing, which contained a combination of blues and reds. But one must take chances in fashion, I suppose.

The woman, probably no more than five feet tall, was in a black dress, I think, and seemed to be quite the chatty one. She questioned a passerby who was loitering in their vicinity about the eye patch she was wearing.

The minutes went by and still no Meredith. But there was some drama brewing. Chatty, I noticed, was now over at the police station chatting up an officer and pointing in the direction she had just come from. I, taking a cue not meant for me, turned to my right and noticed a guy -- well, I noticed his belly -- in a light blue shirt and dark blue shorts. "He must be causing some trouble," I thought to myself, willing Meredith to walk faster.

A few minutes later, after Chatty resumed her position, this man who'd been pestering them was suddenly standing about a foot in front of me. He was about sixty years old and his white chest hair came out from under his collared shirt, which was open at the top.  I didn't move because I was momentarily stunned by the tangy smell of alcohol emanating from his pores. In fact, alcohol might have actually been dripping from his leathery skin. I happened to notice a few wayward ants at our feet. He couldn't stand up straight, nor could he stand still. I watched him, as he moved just a little closer to me, careful not to touch my tattoo, which was showing because my sleeves were rolled up and which was the reason he stopped.

"Walk," I said, directing him with my head. He mumbled something, pointed to his arm, and then pointed back at mine. "That's nice," I continued. "Now have a good one."

"Have a good one," he said, though with a lot of slurring and a smile on his face. It seems he felt he had a challenge on his hands.

"Walk away now." I still hadn't moved, choosing only to direct him, once again, with my head. "You need to walk."

And he did walk very slowly. But then he came back. We repeated our interaction, me not moving, him swirling in his alcoholic daze. He then tilted his head to the left and took a gander at my chest. "Go," I said.

He did, once more, and that's when the cops got him. I checked the time. Still no Meredith.

"I thought you were gonna clock him!" said the pinstripe brown pants guy as he ran up the stairs I was standing in front of.

"Yeah, that was fun," I shouted after him. And then the sound of Chatty's voice caught my attention.

"You looked like you were getting ready to punch him out," she said, approaching me on my right. "I said, 'she is gonna knock him over.'" I peered down at her from under the bill of my makeshift umbrella. "I went and told the police about him. He was talking and looked like he was gonna fall over."

It turns out they are from Canada. I didn't notice the non-accent for a few minutes (I can be slow.) We bantered a bit about immigration and then, with a non-verbal, I'm-finished-talking-with-you nod of my head, we exchanged "nice to meet you" niceties and went our separate ways.

Meredith, it turns out, was about three minutes behind me the rest of the way home.