I Get Mad

I'm usually a ridiculously polite person, but something happened the other day that caused me to act in an unpolite way, and oddly enough, I feel pretty good about it.

I was walking to the bank (this in crazy crowded Times Square), and I legally crossed the street, along with an old lady. One of those black gypsy cabs/car service cars tries to turn, but is unable because we're in the way.

The driver lays down the horn. Not just honks it, but keeps his hand down on it, and starts yelling, primarily at the old lady. She says something, presumably, "But we have the right of way," and he keeps yelling at her.

Now maybe it's just the Heironean in me, but nothing gets my gander more than someone yelling at a nice old lady. Also, I was listening to some angry music (if you can consider "How I Saved Roosevelt" from the Sondheim musical Assassins angry music), so my heart was already pumping with Broadway-inspired adrenaline.

I kept walking, but smashed my fist down on the car. Pretty hard. As hard as I could, actually, and it made a terrific noise. The Times Square tourists gasped and turned and looked, and I'm glad that they got a nice Ratso Rizzo moment to tell their family. Only in New York, folks!

The driver loudly called me a nasty curseword (the M-F one, if you must know). I lowered the volume on my iPod, so I'd know if he was gonna get out of his car and confront me, but he didn't, and so I continued on my way.

Year of Yes!