F Train to Bergen Street

The doors open and two twentyish girls get on–both zaftig and mousy in different ways: one blonde and femmy–blue sundress, sneakers, oversized bird necklace–the other brunette and butch–shoulder-length non-haircut, awkward polo shirt, uncomfortable-looking jeans, low voice.  As soon as they sit down:

Sundress: Okay.  Top five careers for a man that you would never date.

Polo Shirt: (immediately) Race car driver.

Sundress: Why not a race car driver?

Polo Shirt: I just don’t like race car drivers.

Long pause.

Sundress: Comedian would be one of mine.

Polo Shirt: But if he’s good, and like–

Sundress: My thing is I hate when someone’s trying to be funny all the time.  Clown is definitely one of mine.

Polo Shirt: Party clown, yeah.  Party clowns have to be on all the time, it’s like, must be enthusiastic, must be easygoing.  I just read a job description for one.

They both yawn hugely, one right after the other.

Sundress: And Disney character, that’s out.  I hate those, all of those Easter bunnies and mascots.  I had a really bad experience when I was little.

Polo Shirt: Oh not me, I loved those.  I was all about Pooh.  There’s a picture of me hugging Tigger like (demonstrates a happy bear hug)!

Sundress: I hated them, I was really afraid of them.  There’s pictures of me at Disney with like, Sarah with her hands on my head like making me stand there while all these animals surrounded me.

Polo Shirt: Oh there’s pictures of me all like (demonstrates a happy bear hug), I was all about Tigger and Pooh.

Sundress: Yeah and who’s that other one, Eeyore?  Balloo?  I feel like it’s my parents’ fault.  I was entirely traumatized and that’s when I fully developed my hatred of salad.  We were there and they all gathered around me because I was the littlest one, thinking naturally that I would be the one who would be excited when in fact I was petrified and incredibly annoyed, because I was trying to eat this salad and they kept touching me, they kept touching my shoulders and I was trying to eat this salad and they kept touching me and touching me, and I was like leave me alone!

Polo Shirt: Oh.

Sundress: And there could be anyone in that suit, it could be an 85-year-old man in there!  I tried to get my mom to get them to leave me alone, I was like Mom!  And she was like, (demonstrates not paying attention).  I was traumatized.  I was traumatized.  And I still can’t eat salad.  Ask my parents, they remember me hating it.  Or probably not, I probably never said anything and I just spent years hating Disney and hating salad and they were like, Why do you hate salad? and then one day they were like, Let’s go back to Disneyworld, and I like burst into tears.  Probably it was more like that.  If I was one of those guys I would never put my hand on anybody.  No clowns.

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Published in: on August 17, 2012 at 3:50 pm  Leave a Comment  

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