Now that Michael and I are officially New Yorkers, I think it’s time I shared a story of being on the New York Public Transit that remains (so far) one of my best.
I flew into the city to do an audition. I’d gotten up at early o’clock, driven to the airport, parked, and gotten on one plane. And then another plane.
I had about 3 hours between my last flight landing and getting to the audition, so I decided to head straight there and find somewhere to eat and change out of my many layers of warm clothes into appropriate audition attire.
So I take the subway, because I’m well-traveled enough to figure my way around it.
I walk onto a subway car behind a man in a wheelchair. There’s an empty seat just past him, and I look longingly at it—I haven’t sat down since I got out of the airplane, and the travels of the morning were just tiring enough to make me worry about the quality of my performance later.
That’s when the handicapped man says, “would you like to sit down?” like a completely rational person and wheels backward just a bit so that I can get past him with my wheeled carry-on bag.
I smiled and thank him, and as I begin to pass him, the first thing I notice is the look of horror on the face of an older gentleman wearing a suit and holding a briefcase. And that’s when I feel the handicapped man’s hand creeping up past my knee-high boots…I hadn’t felt it because of the many layers of tights and shoe, but now could feel SOMEONE’S HAND FEELING MY LEG THAT DID NOT BELONG THERE ON MY LEG. STRANGER DANGER.
And that’s when I kicked a handicapped man.
And whacked his hand with my suitcase as I went by him.
The suit mouthed “are you ok?” as I sat down in the seat I’d been accosted to get to.
I nodded, assuring him that I actually was a strong, New York woman who will kick a man in a wheelchair if he [expletive deleted]s with her.
Look out, handicapped creepers of New York, I’m here to stay.