If there is anything I have learned during my time in public transit, it's "Don't be a complete jerk to the crazy person on the T. You'll probably see him/her again."
This held true this evening when I saw the same man who showed me how to properly stretch the other day. This evening, he did not have enormous fake flowers stuck to his hat, but he was carrying a bunch of pussy willows and several plastic grocery bags.
Tonight, he started talking about how the Mass General Hospital put him "back together" after he stepped on a landmine in the war (Vietnam?), how nigga is just a word and that there are white niggas and black niggas (the man, himself, was Black, so, I guess he can say that), and he even lowered himself to the floor and showed everyone how to stretch again. He was very vocal--as most crazy people are--and even told a woman to "knock that white nigga (the man she was with) out if he does anything wrong." At one point, he dropped his bags and sent a bottle of Budweiser and a little brown bottle of a different alcoholic liquid spinning across the floor of the train.
Oh, there were so many things I should've done.
I should've . . . shouted "Amen!" loudly every time he said something strange, told him that I didn't believe he was in the war and asked for specific details for him to prove it, or snatched away his pussy willows and ran off when the T came to my stop. He could have gotten more pussy willows when he's sleeping down by the river. No big deal.
Ah, Jacob. I am not on Facebook, but I confess I am an internet stalker! Happily, I found your blog. I have missed your good writing. (I am totally biased) Aunt Jean
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