Lunatics? I'm not a fan.

Let me preface this blog post by saying that I never find flippant remarks complaining about or mocking the homeless to be amusing or appropriate. As evidenced by my work at HousingWorks, I very much care about stopping homelessness and helping that happen is a priority to me.

BUT! I think all will agree that the events I’m about to describe are objectively terrible, regardless of the larger social issues involved.

So. I’m standing outside a bar with my friend Lukas, who works in publishing. We happen to be discussing the role the literary agent plays in the process of designing a cover for the client’s book. I realize that to someone who lives on the street and may or may not be on crack, this conversation wouldn’t seem very important. Regardless, I don’t feel like his plight means that it’s wrong for me to have it, or gives him the right to prevent me from having it. SO, up walks a homeless man who is clearly out of his mind. He walks up to us and begins to rap that song that’s like, “A hip, hop, a hippy to the hop and don’t stop the rock and … bang…. I am wonder mike and I’d like to say hello…”

You know the one. It’s that song by Sugarhill Gang that everyone in the universe detests and always did. He gets all up in my face singing this song, rendering it impossible for us to continue talking or do anything but listen to him sing this terrible song. This goes on for a full two minutes or so. He then of course demands money.

Oh, I’m sorry, last time I checked, when a human being walks up to another human being and is intensely irritating, does something without asking the other person if they desire to hear a crappy song sung in their face, and prevents that person from going about their life, THEY DON’T GET PAID FOR IT.

So I refuse. The man then shouts at me, “It’s because I’m black! You racist! If I was a white man standing in front of you you would give me money!” Repeat repeat repeat. I then feel rage bubbling up inside me, and stupidly say, “Actually I just don’t like that song. I’m sorry, man. Have a good night.” He then proceeds to shout at me things like, “You don’t SMELL sorry!” which is really lovely.

But OK, I think, this happens. I’m a little rattled, but we finish our drinks and I get on the bus to go home. I have my iPod on and am reading Harry Potter when I hear a huge commotion. I look up and two women are having a fight. Yes, a physically fight, on the bus. One woman (We’ll call her Grumpy Sad-Looking Woman, or GSLW) apparently asked the other (We’ll call her Insane Woman with Four Year Old Daughter and Thug Boyfriend, or IWWFYODATB) to move further into the bus.

IWWFYODATB proceeds to leap on top of GSLW, pulling her hair and screaming obscenities and slapping her in the face and punching her arms. The Thug Boyfriend was also standing doing nothing except bellowing, “Don’t touch my girl!” when it was actually “his girl” who was being a total lunatic, and terrifying her poor little 4 year old daughter. IWWFYODATB was shouting, “That’s my daughter!” when as far as I could see, GSLW didn’t do anything wrong except sort of rudely ask IWWFYODATB to move into the bus, which she should in fact have been doing. Also, IWWFYODATB claimed to be upset that her daughter had been threatened, but didn’t seem to care that her daughter was cowering in fear and embarrassment at her own insane behavior. It was very sad. Imagine having to run off a bus away from the police because your mom is a lunatic?

Meanwhile yet another lunatic is watching the proceedings and shouting, “The end is near! This is because we don’t know Jesus anymore!” in ominous tones. I hear someone say in a pragmatic voice, “Well, this is New York,” which cheered me up, since it sounds like something my smart and tough relative May would have said in that situation. I am further depressed when I see that the person speaking is a grotesquely obese woman in a skin-tight leopard-print leotard. Another nutter.

Of course, since the police had to be called, and we all had to get off the bus. Apparently having to get off the bus without there being another bus in sight is called a “transfer” by MTA employees.

I decide to take a cab the rest of the way since I’m feeling so creeped out. I hail a cab, which swerves across 4 lanes of traffic to get to me, almost causing about 23784289374 accidents. I get in, and YET ANOTHER lunatic bangs on the hood of the car, shouting, “Watch where you’re going!” He was right, but one does not bang on a vehicle.

I rolled up all the windows, locked all the doors, ran up my stairs and bolted the door.