New York Stories

Much as I’d love to exercise my option of not writing a post-BlogHer wrap up, I can’t help but tell you how I became a raging lunatic within 15 minutes of landing in New York. Don’t worry. It subsided just as quickly.

But then I read this on Gawker and I had second thoughts. Then I recounted the story numerous times to friends who laughed and laughed and pointed fingers at me saying, “That’s the Kelly I know! You crazy, girl.” so I’ve decided that the best I can do is write about it. It’s been a whole week since I posted anything and life has clumsily gotten in my way of writing. Cleaning up smoke damage, talking to claims adjusters, and trying to make my house smell better (thanks for all the suggestions!) has taken priority.

On the plane ride to New York I was seated in the same row of an obnoxious woman. She was older and in a wheelchair when we were in the airport sitting area and she talked to everyone around her. This made me instantly stop making eye contact with her. She was saying things like, “Honey, you’re my angel! I’ve been waiting for my angels. People are just not nice anymore.” The valets who were assisting her backed away quickly because she was, well, awkward and obnoxious. She talked and yammered on endlessly to people sitting near her and then continued once she got on the plane (she walked onto the plane so that was weird) and then kept this poor couple hostage with her incessant talking. They were an attractive Spanish couple and the woman started speaking Spanish to them in her very best Peggy-Hill-como-estahhh-los-estudiantes (“es-tud-ee-ahn-tays”) voice and I just plugged my ears with my headphones because even eavesdropping on this was painful.

After we landed, I took a bus to Manhattan and wouldn’t you know it? Obnoxious Peggy Hill sat three seats behind me. We stopped twice to pick up more airport passengers heading downtown and there was some sort of scuffle going on with her and another woman. I ignored it and played with the contents of my purse, rearranging money and tickets and lip gloss. Another woman, a lovely meek Indian woman was arguing with her and then walked past me in the aisle to talk to the bus driver.

Bus driver: Ma’am, you need to take a seat.

Indian woman: I cannot! She won’t let me sit down!

At this point, the lovely meek Indian woman pointed at me with ferocity. Her emphasis of the word “she” got under my skin instantly.

Me: Excuse me? You didn’t ask me to sit down. I’d let you sit down if you asked me, but this is the first time you’ve said anything about the empty seat next to me.

Not only was I shocked that she blamed me at this point, I knew that Obnoxious Peggy Hill had something to do with this. The people sitting around me looked at me with stunned faces because they knew I was being pegged the pariah in this mess. I got up willingly and had her take the seat next to the window. Lovely Meek Indian woman became less lovely in my eyes but I knew she was flustered by whatever confrontation happened behind me and she tried to make up for it by asking me a question.

Lovely Meek Indian woman: So, where are you from?

And that’s when I heard Obnoxious Peggy Hill loudly proclaim the source of her wickedness and she made it impossible for me to answer Lovely Meek Indian woman’s question. The best part is that she was talking to no one in particular and just addressing the bus as her entire audience.

Obnoxious Peggy Hill: I’m from New York, we’re bitchy here and we don’t like doing what we don’t like to do. I’m having knee surgery and I had back surgery and oh, driver? Can we have some air in here it’s hot and I have diabetes so I’m not going to be hot. If you don’t like New Yorkers, you shouldn’t come here because this is just the way we are.

It is as this point when my mouth twitched and I know for certain it is about to get away from me. It is here where I turn into full on principal mode and go right after the source of irritation for everyone on this bus. It is, perhaps, my Chicago roots that solidly take hold and make me fearless. It is now when I stand up from my seat fully erect and launch into her.

Me: That is a PATHETIC excuse to be mean to this woman and not give up your seat. Being from New York doesn’t give you license to behave like that and pardon you from taking responsibility! You could have told her all that about being physically unable to move to let her sit down but you didn’t! Shut up about being from New York! I know plenty of New Yorkers and they’re just fine and nice so SHUT UP.

There was a smattering of applause from the people in the seats around us and I sat back down in my seat wondering if my days as a principal had finally permeated my gumption to take people to task. When I sat down I sighed heavily and shut my eyes wondering if Obnoxious Peggy Hill would respond. She didn’t.

Lovely Meek Indian woman: So. Hmm. Where are you from?

Me: (still speaking loudly at this point and emphasizing certain words) I am FROM where we CALL people on their BULLCRAP.

Lovely Meek Indian woman: Oh.

The remainder of the bus trip was uneventful save for the three people who mouthed thank you to me from their seats. After arriving at the hotel I met up with friends and began the whirlwind experience that is both New York and BlogHer conferences. I settled in for what I hoped to be a quiet evening with a few friends and we had pasta and champagne to celebrate seeing one another again. Here. I must post a picture to show that Obnoxious Peggy Hill didn’t ruin my trip.

Heather, Jenny, Karen and I posing in the mirror. Jenny’s Hair should probably get top billing in this photo.

After returning home I happened to read this on Chookooloonks (so. fun. to say!) about her 1,000 Faces Project. Watch all four minutes of this. The music is amazing and it makes me be-bop around in my seat.

It was simply an incredible amount of fun. You can’t fault a gal for wanting to have fun and not tell off strangers on a hot, sweaty crowded bus.

The most touching part for me to visit New York and attend the BlogHer Kirtsy party was seeing the items up for bid at the auction where artistic pieces were created from essays. Kati Sellers, an artist whose work, I believe is found at this website, chose my piece entitled “I’m Black Irish and I’m Proud” to watercolor paint. Here is one of them:

Not only did it take my breath away to see something created out of inspiration of my work, it made me break down and cry. A few folks grabbed me by the hands when I walked into the auction and exclaimed, “Have you seen your artwork? It’s amazing! Come on. Let me take your picture standing next to it!” but we didn’t really get that far because as soon as I saw it I wept and mumbled the words, “Please give me a moment. I can’t do this yet.” Where was that bold, brash woman now, huh? I cried again when I looked at the BlogHer site. Bidding is happening on eBay here and as soon as I put up a bid last night it was promptly outbid. I’m really hoping my sisters and I can combine our efforts to purchase this for my father. As yet, he doesn’t know about my blog or writing because he’s old fashioned enough to warn me about the danger of axe murderers on the Internet even though I’ve met hundreds of incredibly normal people from my online world. Only once was I leery of someone and that was a long time ago. I think I give off the vibe that tells creepers to stay away. It’s probably that stern principal vibe that comes on strong as well.

If we do win the bidding on these paintings (it’s a set of two) I know I will finally have to tell my father about my writing and pray that he’s not upset with my retelling of his story. Dad, I’ll say, I wrote a story about you and the response was overwhelming. See how much writing does to help us bridge the gaps of racism and start talking about important things in our country?

Maybe I’ll add, You’d be so proud of me for standing up to this obnoxious woman on the bus. Wait till I tell you that story, dad.

He’ll be proud. He raised me to do just that.