Archive for the 'Uncategorized' Category

26
Apr

“Danger Mouse”

By Roberto Pedroso 0 Comments
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 The old pole-dancing hookers from Times Square have been replaced by The Little Mermaid.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.

∞∞∞

25
Nov

“metrosexuals”

By Roberto Pedroso 0 Comments
Categories: Uncategorized and interactions

People say that New York is over.  The city has lost whatever edge it once had.  The last hip downtown scene, the one from the early 80s, has finally been replaced by standardized Japanese chain stores serving  frozen yogurt.  A name like “Pinkberry” does not belong in The Bowery.  Street art by Basquiat and Harring has been long replaced by the work of an overpaid designer who came up with the “Bank of America” logo and the extensive group of bankers who probably changed that poor fellow’s original design hundreds of times to make it sanitary, corporate, standard.

But hope can still be found, where else but… down under.

Only a few newyorkers know that there’s certain midtown subway station on the N-R line that has the perfect layout to accommodate late-night lovers, voyeurs and exhibitionists.  This particular station has a central platform that extends longer than it should, with a room that serves as a trash deposit blocking most of the view of whatever happens at the end of it.

Late one night, after working all day, I was waiting for the train to take me back home when I sensed some strange activity.  A tall woman wearing a long winter coat walked all the way to the end and disappeared on the other side of the small room.  Immediately, I noticed a man come out and stay vigilant on the side facing the rest of the platform. He looked at me, nodding his head in an inviting way. Hesitant, yet very curious, I took a couple of steps towards him but then casually backed, trying to disguise my curiosity.  A tall man in a suit arrived and received the same kind of nod from the vigilant guy.  It looked like some sort of code, and the man in the suit obviously knew what it was all about.

So, living in a city like New York, where we are used to buildings with doormen, clubs with bouncers and even schools with security guards making sure every toddler going in has an ID and is part of the group, I was suddenly granted access to something, I had no idea what, but being a Newyorker, I had to take advantage of this one chance. I had  been given access, to what, I was about to find out…

So as I  approached the guy, he moved to one side, allowing me to pass to the far end of the platform.  There, among the filthy traces of the trash that was taken in and out of the small room everyday, the constant dripping of dirty water from the surface, and among the occasional rat zooming past us, I saw the tall woman leaning against the slimy tile wall, having sex with a total stranger, his pants all the way down to his knees. She was encased by a very expensive Burberry’s raincoat, all naked under that.  He had a very shiny white ass and silk boxers. They were having sex in a rushed, passionate, forbidden way. Two other men were watching: The man in a suit I had seen before and somebody who seemed to be a deli delivery man. I was welcomed into the scene by a quick look of the woman who smiled and went on with her business.

As we sensed the train approach, we all slowly moved back to the center of the platform. Coats were closed, zippers up and discrete smiles were exchanged.

The man who was having sex got on the train with me. Besides his wrinkled tie and a sweaty forehead, he looked completely normal. He sat and began reading the New York Times.  As the train left the station, I saw the woman walking up the stairs back into the city, in need of some fresh air and a good shower, I assume.

∞∞∞

04
Nov

“going under… the knife”

By Roberto Pedroso 0 Comments
Categories: Uncategorized and educational

I am going back home later than usual tonight. It’s been a long day and I’m really hungry. But thanks to my subway ride, now I’ve found the ultimate appetite suppressant: foot surgery advertising. I am sitting across an ad with a rainbow-colored headline that screams: “Minimally invasive bunion and hammertoe surgery!” … with pictures.

Suddenly, I don’t feel hungry anymore. I don’t know what’s more disturbing: the “examples” of the grotesque toes (I wonder if the people who posed for this consider themselves as having a modelling career) or the picture of the smiling surgeon holding up a scalpel while he looks at you with seductive eyes.
I decide to close my eyes and get that image out of my head. As I lean back on the seat, I start to listen in a conversation coming from the next seat:

“First, her hand was cut off but she still wouldn’t cooperate” – I hear this in a deep voice with a heavy italian accent.
“I hate when dat happen man, what’d you do den” – somebody else replied, now with a Newyorican spanish accent.
“We had to keep going. We chopped off part of her arm then.”
“I haven’t done dat yet. I hope they don’t ask me.”
“You get used to it. Last time I saw her, we cut up to her elbow, but nothing. She’s a tough one”
“Damn man, let’s see what we find today.”

“You do whatever they tell you to do, if not, they fuck you up, man.”

At this point, I am picturing two characters from The Sopranos. I realize this might be a private conversation I am not supposed to be listening in into. So, very slowly, I get my iPod from my backpack and discretely lower my head to put on my headphones. I hope I can pretend I’ve been listening to music all along and these two hitmen don’t realize I heard everything about their last victim.

When the train finally comes to a stop, I open my eyes again and, moving my head to an exaggerated imaginary beat, look back to see the mafiosi: two nerdy-looking medicine students wearing scrubs, getting off at the stop near the NYU hospital.

It turned out to be more ER than Sopranos… dissapointing.
I start feeling hungry now that I don’t fear for my life anymore, so I look up to the hammertoe surgery ad again. Ah! Perfect. Not hungry again.

30
Oct

“beauty is timeless”

By Roberto Pedroso 0 Comments
Categories: Uncategorized and interactions

In 1943, science fiction writer René Barjavel introduced the “grandfather paradox” to discuss the idea of time travel.  The paradox states that if a person goes backwards in time and kills one of his ancestors before they had children, the traveller cannot exist and therefore couldn’t had gone back in time and kill the ancestor.
So the idea of time travel is a very complicated one.

On the other hand, the idea of stopping time is very easy to prove.  Just get on the subway (this is best experienced when you are in a hurry), find a seat, and wait for this announcement when you are in the middle of the dark tunnel:
“Ladies and gentleman, we are being momentarily held by the train dispatcher, Please be patient. We’ll be moving shortly.”

Look at your watch. It’s 1:30.
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
Look at your watch 45 minutes later. It’s 1:31.

Time stands still when you are stopped in the middle of the tunnel.   But don’t get the wrong idea: outside, on the surface, time goes on as usual and you will be late.

The time stopping phenomenom has caught me off guard today: no iphone, magazines, books… nothing. So I just look at the woman in front of me. She got in at the 14 street/Union Square Station.  About 5’5” in height and a petite figure.  Her shiny brown hair is tied back in a perfect ponytail. Her skin is flawless, not a single drop of makeup. She wears and inpeccably cut camelhair trentch coat with a tight black belt. She seems sad and tired, looking down at the floor of the subway car.  Very slowly, she wipes off some strands of hair from her face, raises her gaze and finds me. As our eyes meet, she smiles. A smile that lights up the dark tunnel. A smile that makes time move at its normal speed again. So the train moves. We arrive at the 23rd St. Station. Slowly, she gets up and leaves.
I will never see her again.

∞∞∞

23
Sep

‘Benny and the legs’

By Roberto Pedroso 0 Comments
Categories: Uncategorized and interactions

One of the advantages of living in a quiet Brooklyn neighborhood is the slower pace everything moves at.
This allows a certain number of unique characters to hang out at the entrance of the subway station with the purpose of some financial enrichment  -begging. Although I have never given them any money, they insist on talking to me day after day, in any kind of weather. And I, like most everybody, ignore them.

One such character is Benny. He sits on a wheelchair right at the top of the stairs of the Carroll Street station. His favorite phrase, which he repeats every single time you dash by him is “any change to keep me rolling?”  Benny must be in his late 50s or early 60s. You couldn’t really tell. His skin has been wrinkled and browned by the sun and he’s missing most of his teeth and a leg.

He has an orthopedic leg that I never seen him wear, but it’s always around him. He uses it as a tool to call on people or move the wheelchair around, just like a paddle.

One lonely morning I walk pass him and ignore him.  As I reach the bottom of the stairs, I hear a loud ‘promp, promp, promp, promp, kaplaaaaam!’ noise behind me. I look to the side and see that Benny’s metal leg has landed right next to me.

“Excuse me? Sir?” he yells.

I look up and see him smiling at me with the 2 teeth he has left.

“Would you mind bringing my leg up to me?”

I look at him, and then back at the leg lying next to me.  It is incredibly filthy. On one end, you can see the suction cup with dirt and grime that has accumulated for years. On the other end, there is an old Prada shoe.
“It’s wearing my new shoe and I don’t want to lose it,” He says.

I look all around me, but there’s nobody else in the station. I breathe in, grab the leg by the Prada leather loafer and walk up the stairs, hand it to Benny who snaps it right back on.  I notice he’s not wearing the other Prada shoe.

“My other shoe is at home. They are way too expensive to wear them both at the same time. You should try that. Makes them last longer.”

Never thought about that. With that piece of wisdom in my head, I smile and go down the stairs again.
“God bless you, my son! Thank you!” he yells at me from the top.

From that day on, whenever I walk by Benny, he tells the story to anyone who’s willing to listen.
“Hey! There’s my buddy. He’s the one who saved my leg!” The other beggars look at me and nod. I now have street cred thanks to Benny’s jumping leg.

∞∞∞