Sometimes people follow me.
A person would think this happens because I live in the creepy-ass city of Toronto. Downtown. Sadly for me, that shit has nothing to do with location. It happens everywhere. I mean, goddamn, some guy followed me around the streets of Bordeaux and then asked me to be his girlfriend. I wish I was making that up even a little bit.
The particular event I’m speaking of did, however, happen in Toronto. I was on my way out of my apartment to catch a subway train around the corner. Obviously this is some sort of unpardonable sin that I didn’t know about because 2 minutes into my short journey, a man in a winter parka started screaming at me. I was listening to my iPod, so when I turned towards him, it seemed very much like he was yelling:
Ooooh! You lookin’ good in them jeans;
I bet you’d look even better with me in between.
I got my mind on my money, money on my mind,
But you’s a hell of a distraction when you shake your behind.
I quickly realised that it was impossible he was saying any of that because a) I wasn’t wearing jeans and; b) That was Ludacris’ voice.
I turned down the volume and listened intently to what he was saying as I passed.
“N*gger! Fucking n*gger!”
Hmm… that is much different from my original interpretation. Normally I like to handle my business, but I don’t like making scenes in public and I was in a goddamn hurry. I moved past him, thinking that this man’s fuckery was over.
I guess I can’t read social cues at all. He wasn’t even close to being finished.
This random started to follow me, the whole time calling me every version of the n-bomb he could think of. “RICH N*GGER! YOU THINK YOU’RE BETTER THAN EVERYONE?!”
Obviously I’m better than everyone to you. You’re the one following my ass around like a groupie, screaming shit. All I need is some music and I’ll feel like a frigging rock star.
I continued to ignore this fool, looking straight ahead. In my peripheral vision I could see people with expressions on their faces that read, “How the fuck isn’t she giving him one bitch kick to the face right now?” Eventually I got to the subway. I guess he had no money because he didn’t follow me. Oh well.
Looking back on the situation, I feel sorry for this man. Truly and honestly. He obviously doesn’t have even ONE black friend. That’s so fucking sad. He has no one to make him quality fried chicken. And with me he’d get jerk chicken! Poor, poor soul.
You catch more flies (also black!) with honey than with vinegar, I say. I should have probably let him know.