Hey Mr. Construction Worker strutting your beer gut and sweat stained t shirt. And hello to your friends too. Wish I could say it was nice to see you all again. Maybe you could spend a little less time staring at my cleavage and finish this building? I’ve been walking through this detour for six months. It takes me like three extra minutes to get to the subway, which isn’t as annoying as the sounds you make when I walk past you, but almost. You think that with so much to do you wouldn’t all be standing around trying to get my attention every morning. But there you are.
Excuse me, Mr. Tourist. Excuse me…MOVE, IDIOT!!! Why do you see the need to hoard the entire sidewalk in a attempt to take a picture of your wife who is 15 ft away from you? Do you really think that you’ll get a clear photo without anyone walking through the middle? I understand this may be the first time you’ve seen the Flatiron Building, but cmon man! If you ask me which way to Times Square I will beat you with your fanny pack and make your child watch.
When I walk down the street, I like to imagine how I’d introduce myself to people based on their appearance. So if I see a pretty girl walk by, I might go:
“Hellooooooooo girl wearing short shorts and a smile. Why don’t you put down that bag and go have a drink with me?”
“Hello man with a huge beard! You look like my father used to look like in those old pictures my mom gave me to show me what a bastard my dad looked like when he left me and my brother with just my mom to fend for ourselves and live out of our car and your birthday cards once a year do not a father make, Mr. Huge Beard. I hate you I hate you I hate you.”
What a fun game!