26
Apr

“Danger Mouse”

By Roberto Pedroso 1 Comment
Categories: Uncategorized

Newyorkers have been complaining about the Disney-fication of The City for quite some time already. The old pole-dancing hookers from Times Square have been replaced by The Little Mermaid.  Most of the junkies you could find lying on the sidewalks are gone and left just hoards of fannypack-wearing tourists in line to see Beauty and the Beast.
They just can’t see that the real beauty of The City lies on all the beasts that populate it.
So, sooner or later, Disney had to invade the subway too…
This morning, when the doors connecting one subway car to the other opened, a tall, black man came in.  From the multiple layers of grey and dirty clothes he’s wearing, I assume he’s just another bum trying to find the warmest car to sleep for a while, but was I wrong.
He stands in the middle of the car and begins to undress as he says:
“Ok, people, listen up!… I am not a bad guy. Under normal circumstances, I would do nothin’ to hurt anyone” – At this point I begin to worry. People around me begin to worry. A couple of tourists move to the far end of the car-
“But these are not normal circumstances, y’all, so it’s in your hands to save the innocent.”
“oh shit” – I think.
As he says this, he takes off his oversized sweater and reveals a filthy, old Mickey Mouse stuffed doll strapped with masking tape to his bare belly.
“I have no money, people. So I cannot longer afford to feed myself and my friend Mickey here.  One of us has to go.  So it’s in your hand to save the mouse.”
He starts waking around with a hand around Mickey’s neck and another stretched out for money. Surprisingly enough, people start giving him money.
“That’s right, either I get more money or Mickey gets it.”
The train finally approaches the station, he gathers his clothes and jumps out of the car.
“The Lord thanks you for saving this mouse’s life” – is the last thing he says before he dashes into the station.

∞∞∞

19
Jan

‘Manuel’s college for liberal arts’

By Roberto Pedroso 1 Comment
Categories: educational

I used to walk along the long corridor connecting the 4,5,6 lines with the N,R lines almost everyday.  Always thought about it as a journey to transfer from one line to the other, never as a destination… until I met Manuel.

For some reason, that day I noticed this white-haired man sitting quietly on one corner of the station. A cardboard box is set up as a desk in front of him and a small bathroom rug is next to it.  Taped to the wall right above his head is this sign: “Spanish lessons for the executive on the go”.  Next to it, a smaller sign that reads: “Price: $1 for men… free if you are a pretty lady. “

Intrigued, I decided to talk to him. He told me his name is Manuel and he’s 65, originally from Perú.
“How can you teach Spanish right here, my friend?” I ask.

“When you want to learn, you can learn anywhere. And the stations are nice. They make my voice sound very deep, perfect for you to remember what I teach you.”
Good point.  I ask him how long he’s been doing this and he tells me he used to play the accordion in the very same spot. One day the accordion broke and he came up with the idea of the Spanish lessons.
“I even have regulars now.  People who come back from work every night stop by and I teach them the word of the day and check their homework.”

He tells me he makes more money now than when he was playing his accordion. Besides, his old hands can’t play that well now because of his arthritis. I look at his hands and see that two of his fingers are deformed.

“So 1 dollar for a guy but free if you’re a pretty lady, eh?”

“Yes, yes… and there are a lot of pretty ones running around here.”

“So who determines how pretty a lady is, Manuel?  What if you get one that is not that pretty but still wants to get a lesson from you?

“Oh… I tell all of them they are very pretty. Even if they are not so much. But you know? That’s the trick…. They always end up giving me some money after I teach them their world of the day. Ha! I make them happy by telling them the lesson is free because there are really pretty…. And they open up that purse and give me the money.  The less pretty they are, the more money they give me. One gave me 20 dollars a few nights ago.”

Somebody came by, a regular, so I said goodbye to Manuel.

I feel that I, too, have learned an important lesson from him.

∞∞∞

03
Jan

“lisa, the one-eyed latina lesbiana”

By Roberto Pedroso 0 Comments
Categories: interactions

in your eyes
the light the heat
in your eyes
I am complete
in your eyes
I see the doorway to a thousand churches
in your eyes
the resolution of all the fruitless searches
in your eyes
I see the light and the heat
in your eyes
oh, I want to be that complete
I want to touch the light,
the heat I see in your eyes.
-Peter Gabriel

This is exactly how it happened:

On an afternoon like many others, the doors open when we get to the Union Sq. station on the 4, 5, 6 line.  People come in and out, bumping into each other, never seeing each other. Like blind mice running around the MTA maze.

Just when the doors are about to close, I see a black leather boot intercept them and hear a voice scream: “hold the fucking door, mamita!”.  With such a command, the doors open again, allowing in a 5’4” woman wearing black plastic leather from head to toes and another woman on a wheelchair with a puertorrican flag.

“Coño mami, I almost lose my foot to let you in.”
“Fuck that shit Lisa, I ain’t gonna give you my wheelchair, so you better keep your pretty feet, baby”

(laughs)

“Shit, I’m fucked enough with one eye”

-In that moment, I realize that one of her eyes is fake, a glass eye, I guess-

“Well, nobody told you to be looking around other women”
“Ay mami, don’t be that way.  I only have eyes for you…”
“Eye, you only have one eye left, bitch”

(laughs)

“And it’s all yours, mami”
“You’re full of shit, Lisa”
“Coño, mami, why do you say that? You know I love you”
“Mmmmjjjmmm”
“Ah no?, mira…”

(Screaming to the rest of the people in the car)

“LISTEN UP, PEOPLE, I AM LISA, THE ONE-EYED LATINA LESBIANA, AND I WANT TO TELL EVERYONE THAT THIS HERE IN THIS KICKING-ASS CHAIR IS MY WOMAN, I LOVE HER SO MUCH IT FUCKING HURTS!”

(We all look to different directions, pretending we didn’t hear anything)

“You fucking crazy, woman”

(laughs)

“No mami, I might only have one eye, but with it I can see all I want to see…  and all I want to see is you.”

(She leans over the wheelchair and they kiss.  A long, deep, passionate kiss.  The train reaches the station and I leave. Lisa and her wheelchair lover stay in. The moment I get to the surface, I pull out my cell phone and text this message to one of the numbers I have in the memory,: “I love you.”)

∞∞∞

04
Dec

“Panic at the disco”

By Roberto Pedroso 1 Comment
Categories: musical

It’s a theater night on Broadway.  That means that an uncommon amount of people converge on the subway platform at practically the same time, somewhere around 10:30 pm. Most of them are excited about a play they just saw. Some are semi-intoxicated after a midtown bar crawl.

The ubiquitous subway performers know this. They gather on the stations around the Theater District to perform. From peruvian flute bands, that guy who dances salsa with a doll, some failed opera singers and the Juilliard rejects, they are all out tonight. You can say they are playing On Broadway; or more precisely, Under Broadway.

My luck brings me that night to the platform with the old japanese guy playing the kokyu, a sort of string instrument that sounds as if somebody is slowly ripping apart your small intestines with each movement of the bow.  By comparison, the Scottish bagpipes sound heavenly.

He looks at me, and smiling he asks “ling ma bel?”. I smile back and take my cell phone out to play the only free game I have there. I really don’t fully understand how to play it, but at least people think I am occupied with something and usually don’t talk to me. “ling ma bel, yes?” he asks again. I nod and look down at the tiny spaceships on my cell phone screen.

And then the “tooooooooooot tweeeeeeeeeeeet tweeet, tweeeeeeeeeeet tooooot theeeeeeet” begins. I finally recognize the melody: it’s “Ring my bell”, that disco hit from the 70s. People begin to gather around the old man.  A small crowd dances and claps… And they said disco was dead. I wonder how many of them know that “Ring my bell” is an euphemism for something sexual (do you know what it is?).

One of the very enthusiastic dancers/clappers gets a bit too close to me and my cell flies off all the way to the bottom of the slimy, dark tracks. I just stand there looking down at it, while immediately, a subway employee appears carrying something that seems to be a robotic arm.  He tells me “don’t worry bud, I’ll get that for ya”.  Looking at the puddle of black goo and rat poo where my phone rests I tell him not to worry, but he replies they have to get it out of there for security reasons. So he catches it and tries to give it to me.  I look at the him, look at the dripping phone, get my winter gloves out of my jacket and grab the thing with them. Thanking him, I walk to the nearest trash can and throw the phone and the gloves in… That bell will never ling again.

∞∞∞

30
Nov

“Spelling bee”

By Roberto Pedroso 1 Comment
Categories: educational

Today was a very full day for me, I needed to do things all over town. It all started very early in the morning taking the A train from Brooklyn to downtown Manhattan. After putting up with some kafka-esque bureocracy at the bank, I boarded the R train to Midtown, then the S shuttle train from Times Square to Grand Central, where we got delayed for 10 minutes.  After a long, unsuccessful meeting, I walked up to the E train to get back into Brooklyn.   It had been one of the worst days in recent weeks,  and then it hit me:  I had done the A-R-S-E route.  No wonder I had encountered so many assholes that day!

This made me think: Could I really influence the outcome of my day depending on which trains I took? I decided to conduct an experiment and pretty soon I had solid scientific evidence that my theory was founded. For example, I found out that you can really ran into the least attractive people in the whole subway system by riding the A line then the R and finally the F. Or the A-R-F route.  Don’t even think of adding the B line to this group, especially on a late Friday or Saturday night.  You will create the B-A-R-F. I met a really drunk chick throwing up there.

The possibilities are endless. Try riding the B line uptown, transfer to the A and then go to Brooklyn and back to Manhattan on the L line. You’d do the B-A-L-L route. Do in on a hot summer afternoon, wearing shorts and no underwear.  Or test your luck by taking the F and trasfering in Brooklyn to the E,  switching to the A, then going all the way to Queens on the R.  Do it very late at night… You’ll know the meaning of FEAR.

∞∞∞

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