good morning, crazy

I know, I know, it's been a while, but it's not like I haven't been thinking about you. I've got so much to tell you, actually -- not that I had a Bahamavention & will regale you with tales of the tropics like the Dewey Decimal Mistress, but I've seen some action. And I've had some major triumphs (we'll need a few posts to catch up on all of it, my pretties). And I promise I'll catch up on all your blogs this week too.

But first, let's cover the crazy guy on the L train this morning.

I had to make a run to the city at the crack of 10:30 to hand off the RightRides dispatch bag to the next dispatcher, who's at NYU. So I get on the 8th Avenue-bound L at Lorimer/Metropolitan & take one of the plethora of seats, near the middle pole in the bench. Along with the usual suspects who get on at Bedford, hipster couple & hipster guy, boards a young, scruffy-looking guy with an enormous, jam-packed hiker's backpack. He sits directly in front of me, while hipster couple & guy flank him on either side.

As he begins to dig in his backpack, I notice his pants are stained, from hip to toe. Looks like mud. Maybe paint. Or worse, old blood. From out of the bag he pulls a hefty all-in-one-tool, that sports pliers, a screwdriver, scissors & several sizes of knife blades. Then he dips back in to the backpack & pulls out a brand new box cutter, still in it's packaging.

The couple is at least acting somewhat oblivious to his tool brandishing, doing a crossword or that infernal sudoku, but the eyes of the guy to his left keep getting wider & darting from tool to tool to me & anyone on my side of the train who also may be seeing this odd display. And oh, boy, did I see it & register my concern using eye contact with hipster guy.

Scruffy guy decides that just pulling the new box cutter out of his bag isn't enough. He opens up a small knife blade on the multipurpose tool and cuts open the packaging, returning the blade to its locked position. Then he lifts the screwdriver piece & proceeds to unscrew the box cutter & load the first blade into place, carefully, running his fingers along it, to either test its sharpness or its straightness.

Our eyes grow wider & dart even faster. Hipster guy looks at the box cutter, loaded & ready, then to me, then back to Scruffy & back to me, while me eyes pace the triangle of Scruffy's face, the box cutter & hipster guy. There was no emotion on Scruffy's face, which in my head, as worst case scenario, said, "He's ready to give in & obey the voices."

Naturally, I began to play out the scene in my head & start an internal dialog of my step-by-step reactions. "What if he does what I think he's gonna do & lunges toward hipster guy, to plunge the box cutter into his neck or gut? What do I do?" "Well, I have my boots on, so, of course, I'll kick him in the head." "Right leg or left?" "Umm, right. Planting my left leg firmly & maybe grabbing the pole next to me for added stability. Oh & if I have to defend myself, I'll use the clipboard in the dispatch bag as a shield." "Yeah & what if he lunges at the couple first?" "Fuck 'em, they're useless.... Nah, I'd do the same thing, but maybe try to use the clipboard to shield the girl." "Still right leg?" "Yeah, it's stronger & more used to the kicking motion. Plus I balance really well on my left leg." "And what if he gets up & lunges toward you?" "Never gonna happen." "It could." Alright, well, in the unlikely event he lunges for me, I'll use the clipboard to block while I try to move & position myself to either kick the box cutter out of his hand or kick him in the head."

But then, between 1st & 3rd Avenues, he put the box cutter away.

And then he pulled out a large pair of hedge-clippers, and began running his fingers over the two blades, again, as if testing the sharpness. My eyes quickly flick to hipster guy's, which are now saucers, blinking back & forth, between my eyes & the clippers.

Internally again, "Well, now what the hell's he gonna do?" "I don't know! Don't talk to me right now, I'm trying to think. How are we gonna get out of this?"

But as soon as I figured out that the clipboard could still be a decent shield & it'd be easier to kick the clippers out of his grip than go for his face, he'd opened his backpack o' creepy tools and put them back.

As soon as we pulled into Union Square, hipster guy was out the doors. He didn't bother to hang around to see if Scruffy was getting off with him or staying on to begin his bloodbath. He didn't even bother to look my way again for one last, knowing, "Good luck." He just tucked tail & ran. Maybe a little wetter.

Of course, I don't blame him. But I sat calmly & watched as Scruffy gathered his backpack up & sauntered off the train, probably to go terrorize some other innocent onlookers. And I finally unclenched my ass cheeks on the F train, somewhere between 6th Avenue & West 4th.