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Public Face
New York City offers so many opportunities in which to be rude or receive rudeness that it is impossible really to enumerate them. Last week, Felix and I went to the zoo in Central Park with some of his classmates and of course everyone got hungry.
Things started to get a little tetchy on line and then I realized that the cashier was a cashier in training, which accounted for the slowness, and my child had developed a case of octopus arms and was reaching wildly for the extremely vulnerable tray of donuts, the packages of jelly beans, the ice machine, while trying to knock over the tray of food. While this was going on, the woman behind me began trying an assortment standard conversational gambits: "Oh, just look at him." (Believe me, I'm looking and I'm not liking what I see.) "What nice eyes!" (That glint in them leads me to believe he is going to knock that whole tray of jelly donuts over and jump on them.) "He's an angel." (Let's not go too far...) "What's your name, little boy? Oh have you been told not to talk to strangers? Why not? Do I seem crazy?"
And now I'm wondering what to do. I'm stuck on line and the kid is on the brink of insanity (he would soon go right over the edge) and I want that woman to shut up. But maybe she's trying to do me a favor and distract my kid. If so, she is failing and why does she feel she needs to do this good deed anyway?
The line never did speed up and I was finally forced to grab Felix and hold him in place in a way that made me wonder which one of us would develop nursemaid's elbow first. The woman talked talked talked at me and just when I thought I would have to yell at her, I realized she was drunk.
I don't know what person decides that the Central Park Zoo cafeteria is the place to get loaded, but it was indeed the nicest revelation. I should have studied her purchases more carefully (one cup of ice, a couple of the little bottles of white wine that they sell, I suppose to accompany the hot dogs, chicken fingers and fries) before I got steamed.
As we finally managed to pay and started to run the gauntlet of the condiments area (do read Malcolm Gladwell's New Yorker article on ketchup-- it's quite interesting, especially with respect to ketchup and kids). The woman continued to talk to any ear around. She was upset that the bottles of Zoo Wine were $6.50 each.
But the joke was on me, I guess because by the time lunch was over, I could have used something a bit stronger than Zoo Wine. I had to settle for Advil.
posted by Elise at 7:59 AM
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