esterbloom.com

day 5 and holding

I forgot to blog about my priceless subway encounter from last week. Perhaps because I was afraid one of you minions would steal it and use it in YOUR book, whereas I want to save it and use it in mine. Nevertheless, it must be sacrificed on the altar of funny.

Setting: Heading uptown on the A train. All the crazies are on the A. Have you noticed? Subway car packed, me standing, looking out the window at nothing, ignoring men sitting, eye-level to my breasts; I am thanking god for my coat. Even if it does draw attention.

Subway Prophet appears. There are many of these in New York and they are almost all black. I don’t know where the white subway prophets are. Maybe Atlanta. Anyway, this one features hair slicked back with something so white his hair shines thickly with it, and small Malcolm X glasses. He is, unfortunately, not as articulate as Malcolm.

He parks himself about two people away from me and starts in about Jesus. Did we know Jesus was black?, he demands. (Yes.) Have we let Jesus into our hearts? (No.) Did we know Jesus was circumcised? (Yes. I mean no. I mean — what? The woman next to me starts chuckling too and I feel safer grinning.) Subway Prophet continues ranting. I am kind of tired and headachy, and despite grinning, I just want the crazy man to hush.

Suddenly though! A woman pipes up: “Sir, I’m sorry, but can you move somewhere else? You’re right in my face with this.”
Prophet gets pissed: “What? What did you say?”
Woman: “Sir, I asked if you could quiet down or else move over there — “
Prophet: “I am a prophet. No! I am a PROPHET, and you are my LAMB, woman. You are my LAMB. And I don’t take orders from no white women.”
Woman: “Sir, honestly — “
Prophet: “You are my LAMB.”

I would have loved it if, Tarantino style, he said, “you are my lamb, bitch!” Sadly. Perhaps in the spiced up book version, though.