HABLA ESPANOL?!

I love the city because it’s crazy. But it’s not for everybody, if you’re easily pissed off, if one little thing can ruin your day then you probably shouldn’t live in New York. As a writer or any other kind of artist, you’re not really allowed to be happy, so the city is the perfect place to be consistently miserable.

Co-existing with millions of people in a small amount of space–fun!

Communique – Prick

Anyway, so it’s 10 am on Monday. I was up all night at Party! Super Party! had maybe 2 or 3 hours of sleep and I have my iPod on. I’m walking down the steps to go into the subway station. Another train had just come, there are about 5 to 7 people walking up the steps. I am walking down the middle, the other people are holding banisters, the staircase is wide enough, I am not in anyone’s way.

Coming up at the bottom of the steps, lastly, are two “Cherubic” older women. Older as in, let’s say mid to late forties. Short and round. The short and round, where you knew you weren’t supposed to get fat because your legs are so stubby that they can’t support you after a certain point. They are two “Eric Cartman” shaped women, if you will.

By the time I get down the middle of the stairs, one of the ladies is already at the top. The other one stops after having gone up maybe one stair. (Seriously one stair and she needs to take a rest.)

As I hit the bottom of the stair, looking right at me, she says, “You could’ve…aidjsaojd… us.” I have music on so I can’t hear her properly. I am still walking passed her but I turn around and go “Hmmm?”

Then she says, “HABLA ESPANOL?”

You fucking bitch. I will KILL. I will STAB YOU.

You said something CUNTY to me in English, then when I turn around you pull out the poor latina bullshit.

First of all, you are Puerto Rican so chances are you probably speak English. Second of all, I can tell from the way you spoke Spanish that you speak perfect English because you don’t even have an accent. Lastly, YOU JUST SPOKE TO ME IN ENGLISH YOU FAT FUCKING BITCH.

What I think she said is, “You could’ve helped us.” As in, I could’ve helped her up the stairs? Really, me? I could’ve helped you up the stairs as I was walking down? Me, specifically, I could have helped YOU, not all the other people walking up the stairs with you?

Bitch, you’re not even old, you’re just FAT. And I’m sorry that years of malnutrition has caused the pork chops, excuse me, CHULETAS, in your lungs to emit globs of cholesterol every time you walk up A STAIR.

I could’ve helped you?! Yeah I could’ve lifted your fat ass up, slung you over my back and flew you to safety. Well sorry, Mami, I didn’t have a red bull this morning.

Now, all day, I am thinking, am I supposed to help old ladies?

‘Cause that’s what old people love, to feel incompetent.

I don’t know what the fuck you’re supposed to do, you’re walking up stairs, you’re not having a heart attack, you’ve got your shit together enough to bitch me out and you’re clever enough to switch languages on me. I should have just told her I spoke Spanish just to see what she would do, but I will NOT be late to work because you ate too much arroz con pollo during your life span.

I could see the fear in her eyes when I turned around and responded. Imagine if I just took a box cutter out and licked it. IMAGINE! ARE YOU IMAGINING?! Don’t make me feel bad because you are out of shape.

Only in New York, People.

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