Saturday, April 01, 2006
Memo to homeless crackheads: "no thanks" on all offers
Across the street from the building I work in, there is this building called "The Armory," because it's built on a site where 200 years ago the British colonists who booted the Dutch out of Nieuw Amsterdam kept their muskets there. It's now sort of a multipurpose building. Most of it is allocated to the New Balance U.S. Track and Field Hall of Fame, and an indoor track facility that attracts high school track teams from all over the northeast. However, some of it is allocated to Project Renewal, a halfway house for indigent drug addicts fresh out of rehab. The residents of Project Renewal spend most of their time sauntering outside the Armory side door, smoking and verbally harassing passers-by. The subway exit I use is on the other side of the street, which is taken up by the Columbia-Presbyterian Hospital emergency room ambulance bay and is too hectic to support large-scale vagrant loitering. I usually walk to work on the subway/hospital side of the street, so I don't normally have to weather a hail of intermittent crazy rambling and aggressive begging. Today was an exception.
As usual, I spent my Saturday at my favorite New York hotspot: lab. On my way to lab, I wanted a coffee, so I stopped by Jou Jou, this snobby coffee place (snobby because it's VERY unusual to find places that sell food items incorporating ciabatta bread or mesclun greens in Washington Heights). Jou Jou is on the Project Renewal side of the street. However, I'm not going to go out of my way to cross 168th street just because some random bums might flip me shit. You can't even leave your own apartment building without some jerk giving you their unsolicited two cents in New York, so I'm not going to inconvenience myself on the basis of possible needling and/or panhandling. Besides, in the words of Bone Crusher, T.I., and Killer Mike, I ain't never scared. So, after stopping at Jou Jou, I had a large coffee in my hand and a determination to spend my afternoon doing plaque assays and running protein gels.
Approaching the Armory side door, I noticed that there was an unusually large posse of Project Renewal residents hanging around outside. Since it was really warm out (70 degrees!), I figured they were just enjoying the weather as they scavenged not-fully-smoked cigarette butts out of the gutter. Although the sidewalk party was a little bigger than usual, I still wasn't worried. I was wearing my ultimate New York Bitch face, which is very effective in deterring strangers from engaging me in conversation. Most random hecklers will forgo a tete-a-tete with a person who looks like they will rip out your spine just for saying "hello" and wait for an easier, more complacent mark. I figured my bellicose expression, purposeful gait, and general "I'm Razzy, who the fuck are you?"-ness would deter the congregated derelicts from addressing me. However, in addition to drawing them outside, the pleasant spring weather obviously brought out these guys' feisty side.
As I passed by the side door, one of the guys jumped in my way and said, "Excuse me, miss?"
Wow, he's surprisingly polite for a guy who smells like a combination of cooked cabbage and unprocessed human waste, I thought. Alas, that courtesy was short-lived.
"Can I have some of that coffee of yours? I'm REALLY thirsty," he said.
I forced a compulsory laugh, and said, "Sorry, but I think I need all my coffee," and kept walking. He trotted alongside, immune to my pissed-off disposition and conversation-discouraging response to his query.
"Please, Miss?"
I respond with a much less affable "sorry, but no" and walk faster. I could have gotten confrontational and told him to fuck off, but since I don't have anything to prove in the Telling-Off-Vagabonds department, and combative tactics could push a guy fresh off the pipe over the edge, I elected to peacefully escape as quickly as possible. I figured if I could just get to the crosswalk to the Hammer Health Sciences Center, the intrusive homeless guy will go away. Dodging hobos is essentially akin to playing Capture the Flag. After crossing onto your side, you are immune from tagging, or having to talk to homeless guys. I figured, once I get to the corner of 168th and Fort Washington, I'll be free and clear. This guy knew this too, so he figured he'd make the most of his time and accelerate his plan to seduce me.
"Maybe then you can give up some-a that pussy."
PARDON ME?! Obviously a recovering crack addict isn't cruising the internet for sites like RAZZY.org, so he hasn't seen my list of Rejects and therefore isn't discouraged by the fact that I might expose his embarrassingly bad pick-up techniques. But come ON, what makes a fucking homeless guy think that I would want to share some-a my pussy with him? Even during sex droughts, I would never even remotely CONSIDER having sex with an unshowered ward of the state. Seriously, dude, are you fucking CRAZY?!?! Wait...don't answer that.
While I have to give this guy props for his ENORMOUS chutzpah, strategically ramping up his game on a moment's notice from beseeching me for coffee to demanding access to my sacred feminine center, I have to inform all destitute, unkempt, recovering bag people addicts that I will not be exchanging bodily fluids of any kind with you. This covers sharing my coffee, as well as my genitalia. For the record, cocksure transients, don't squander your limited energies attempting to persuade me to share ANYTHING with you. The answer is an unequivocal NO.
As usual, I spent my Saturday at my favorite New York hotspot: lab. On my way to lab, I wanted a coffee, so I stopped by Jou Jou, this snobby coffee place (snobby because it's VERY unusual to find places that sell food items incorporating ciabatta bread or mesclun greens in Washington Heights). Jou Jou is on the Project Renewal side of the street. However, I'm not going to go out of my way to cross 168th street just because some random bums might flip me shit. You can't even leave your own apartment building without some jerk giving you their unsolicited two cents in New York, so I'm not going to inconvenience myself on the basis of possible needling and/or panhandling. Besides, in the words of Bone Crusher, T.I., and Killer Mike, I ain't never scared. So, after stopping at Jou Jou, I had a large coffee in my hand and a determination to spend my afternoon doing plaque assays and running protein gels.
Approaching the Armory side door, I noticed that there was an unusually large posse of Project Renewal residents hanging around outside. Since it was really warm out (70 degrees!), I figured they were just enjoying the weather as they scavenged not-fully-smoked cigarette butts out of the gutter. Although the sidewalk party was a little bigger than usual, I still wasn't worried. I was wearing my ultimate New York Bitch face, which is very effective in deterring strangers from engaging me in conversation. Most random hecklers will forgo a tete-a-tete with a person who looks like they will rip out your spine just for saying "hello" and wait for an easier, more complacent mark. I figured my bellicose expression, purposeful gait, and general "I'm Razzy, who the fuck are you?"-ness would deter the congregated derelicts from addressing me. However, in addition to drawing them outside, the pleasant spring weather obviously brought out these guys' feisty side.
As I passed by the side door, one of the guys jumped in my way and said, "Excuse me, miss?"
Wow, he's surprisingly polite for a guy who smells like a combination of cooked cabbage and unprocessed human waste, I thought. Alas, that courtesy was short-lived.
"Can I have some of that coffee of yours? I'm REALLY thirsty," he said.
I forced a compulsory laugh, and said, "Sorry, but I think I need all my coffee," and kept walking. He trotted alongside, immune to my pissed-off disposition and conversation-discouraging response to his query.
"Please, Miss?"
I respond with a much less affable "sorry, but no" and walk faster. I could have gotten confrontational and told him to fuck off, but since I don't have anything to prove in the Telling-Off-Vagabonds department, and combative tactics could push a guy fresh off the pipe over the edge, I elected to peacefully escape as quickly as possible. I figured if I could just get to the crosswalk to the Hammer Health Sciences Center, the intrusive homeless guy will go away. Dodging hobos is essentially akin to playing Capture the Flag. After crossing onto your side, you are immune from tagging, or having to talk to homeless guys. I figured, once I get to the corner of 168th and Fort Washington, I'll be free and clear. This guy knew this too, so he figured he'd make the most of his time and accelerate his plan to seduce me.
"Maybe then you can give up some-a that pussy."
PARDON ME?! Obviously a recovering crack addict isn't cruising the internet for sites like RAZZY.org, so he hasn't seen my list of Rejects and therefore isn't discouraged by the fact that I might expose his embarrassingly bad pick-up techniques. But come ON, what makes a fucking homeless guy think that I would want to share some-a my pussy with him? Even during sex droughts, I would never even remotely CONSIDER having sex with an unshowered ward of the state. Seriously, dude, are you fucking CRAZY?!?! Wait...don't answer that.
While I have to give this guy props for his ENORMOUS chutzpah, strategically ramping up his game on a moment's notice from beseeching me for coffee to demanding access to my sacred feminine center, I have to inform all destitute, unkempt, recovering bag people addicts that I will not be exchanging bodily fluids of any kind with you. This covers sharing my coffee, as well as my genitalia. For the record, cocksure transients, don't squander your limited energies attempting to persuade me to share ANYTHING with you. The answer is an unequivocal NO.
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