Nando & The Q Train
I was on my way to work this past Tuesday morning so of course I tookthe ever-so-popular Q train at Atlantic Ave in Brooklyn. After being shoved intothe train by a throng of Brooklynites, I noticed a large semi-balding man next toan empty seat towards the end of the cart. I casually strolled through the trainreaching my destination: knocking over two old ladies, stepping on one man’sfoot, and pushing a twin-baby carriage aside. As I pull my coat, bag, book,cd player, and hair to the side, I noticed that the guy sitting next to me wouldnot move his leg. His leg became the obstacle in my seating pleasure. But Isqueezed in ANYWAYS! You know how the Big Jamaican ladies do….YEAH! Just like that, I aggressively reconfigured certain body parts and I squeezedinto the given space. Good thing I didn’t eat that bacon, egg, and cheesemuffin earlier that morning. There I am, riding the train, and I smell thisodor…like stale BEAN CURD. Yeah! Exactly! Oh yes my friends,in all the moving commotion, I failed to scope out the breathingconditions. I ignored rule #4 of the “Rules to follow when riding asubway train in NYC.”
After positioning my nostrils in such a way, I got a good smell. It wasobvious this man had not seen a dentist, comb, or a bath that year!Several ride-coughing minutes later, the smell filter away into thedrenches on the Q train. You have two choices in this kind ofsituation: either you embrace the smell with open arms andbecome immune after a few minutes, or flee like a Mexican refugee.Either choice, you still end up on the Q Train.
Three stops later he made his move. He retracts his leg towards him and I amable to “SEMI” enjoy thetrip (remember…he smells). As he moves his leg,he fully shifts himself and redirects his body so he is now looking straight at me,or as Shaneequa Monroe from Crown Heights, Brooklyn would say, “he wasall up on me”. I did find this a bit odd and disturbing, but I decided to act asif nothing had happened. UNTIL He begins to laugh in an uncontrolled manner. I got frightened.
He then began to say, STUPID!”..hehehahahahahahahah…” STUPID”…hhehehahahahhuhuhuhuhhhohohohhhahaha. Remember kids, he’s looking at me! As the beads of sweat began to form on my forehead, I think about moving away but suddenly remembered my phoneconversation with my sister in Odessa, TX, where she explained how sherecently saw in a movie where a sudden move like this resulted in DEATH!My sister usually calls me up once a week to inform me the different death trapsto avoid while living in New York. I sat there and pretended NOTHING was up.I even whistled a little tune, “Coat of Many Colors,” by Dolly Parton. By the timeI sang the part about Mama sewing every stitch with love, the large man took hisbackpack off his shoulders and reached inside. His eyes cut right through me,like his odor. He reached inside the backpack and motioned as if taking something out.”He’s got a gun,” I thought. “Oh Lord, Jesus Christ my Savior, please help me.I know it’s been a while, but if I survive this I will be your servant and spread theword. Jesus, sweet Jesus it’s not my time to go.
Oh Lord, why?? Why???? Why??? Jesus help me…save me. Deep insideI knew it wasn’t my time to go. But what if this man didn’t know that. Couldn’t hetake out the old lonely Jewish lady with the bad wig sitting across from us instead.Maybe it was my strong will to live, my deep spiritual connection, or just thefact that I am wearing my new YELLOW shirt and blood is tough to get out ofyellow cotton, but I knew it was not my time to meet the maker. I had faith.No really, I was listening to George Michaels’ FAITH on my CD player.Plus, Lifetime is having their Golden Girls & Nanny Marathon this week and I can’t miss that.
As the train and my heart stopped, the man managed himself up and exitedthe train. He never took anything out, he had his hand inside his backpackthe entire ride. As he walked off and the doors closed, he turned back and gaveme a look that could only mean, “Watch out you attractive, young, handsome boy,for next time…you won’t be so LUCKY!”
The moral of the story is:
a. Wear yellow when encountering a possible murder.
b. NEVER take the Q train
c. Don’t do as the Jamaicans.
d. Be like George Michaels and have FAITH!
