Monday, August 22, 2005

The Story With The Bad Ending, continued.

You can always tell when you’ve entered the ferry terminal. Years of smells indicative of summer’s heat, winter’s cold, lacquered benches, linoleum floors, pigeon shit, body odor, janitorial supplies and vending machine food have all been meshed together in a very round, almost-unpleasant-but-never-rancid kind of smell.

That Saturday evening, I had taken my seat close to the ferry doors; something rarely accomplished as my normal commute forced me into the time zones inhabited by Manhattan’s weary workers. Standing Room Only was my normal activity while waiting for the ferry so I was awash with relief that not only had I found a seat, I’d found a whole row of seats within throwing distance of the ferry doors.

After a few minutes of reading my deliciously dark mystery novel, I was startled into awareness when a young woman quite unceremoniously flopped herself into the chair one spot down from my own. She then proceeded to cram her random belongings into the opening directly beside me, something I found very uncool as I thought everyone was aware of the unwritten rule concerning public transportation: Take Up As Little Space As Possible, more commonly known as Keep Your Shit To Yourself.

A hanging-clothes bag, a duffel and a large brown leather purse were somehow positioned into the empty seat. I almost gave the girl credit for managing to keep her Louis Vuitton luggage from touching the questionable floor below, the now Standing Room Only ferry goers and my shoulder as each bag was crammed full to the very brink of explosion.

After another few minutes went by, I noticed that the young woman beside me appeared to be having a bit of difficulty. She would lean slowly forward, eyes glazed and raccooned with smeared mascara, only to snap her self erect. She’d then none to gently rest her head upon her piled luggage only to slide forward yet again, pulling herself up at the last possible moment.

I smiled secretly to myself, amused at the girl’s total lack of decorum and control. I fully expected her to fall flat on her face and spend the next 6 hours sleeping off her airplane vodka on the cold linoleum.

The girl seemed to prove my theory when she managed to dance through one of her little leaning exercises only to be unable to pull herself back up. Her arms hung limply at her sides, blond hair trailing the very floor from which she’d been so anxious to protect her luggage. I could hear her muttering to herself so I absolved myself of any heroic action. If you’re sober enough to mutter, then you’re sober enough to not choke on your own vomit.

And so I returned my attention back to my book, only to be distracted yet again. This time, Drunk Blond Girl has pulled out her wee Louis Vuitton purse and placed it in between the points of her boots. Still hanging limply over her knees, she methodically and with great precision pulled out:

2 tubes of lipstick
1 roll of BreathSavers Wintergreen mints, half gone
1 travel comb
1 Luis Vuitton wallet
2 wadded up receipts
1 condom

All this she laid out in a very straight line, directly perpendicular to her pointy-toed boots. A feat only the intoxicated can fathom.

At this point I dropped all pretense of reading my book. I was vastly interested in this display of drunkenness. She was young, blond, obviously wealthy or lacking in financial sense (Should I eat or should I buy Louis Vuitton? LOUIS VUIITON IT IS!) and she was pretty in a very Staten Island kind of way. Not to mention the lack of any makeup save the smeared mascara and a kind of I-washed-my-hair-two-days-ago vibe. And now, there was a perfect line-up of the offending objects that had previously been contained by her $400 purse. It was all too strange.

Drunk Blond Girl then decided it was time to snap to attention. She popped back up so fast I’m willing to bet she dislodged brain cells previously dissolved by one too many vodka tonics.

Fifteen seconds later, (she’d been staring blankly at the hip-area of the large Hispanic woman standing five feet in front of her) Drunk Blond Girl calmly and without warning EMPTIED THE ENTIRE CONTENTS OF HER STOMACH INTO HER RIDICULOUSLY EXPENSIVE PURSE.

To be honest, I was almost in shock. Drunk Blond Girl had emptied a lot of liquid with a few chunks of last night’s dinner into a teeney weeney purse AND NOT ONE PERSON TURNED TO LOOK. NOT A ONE.

I looked at the clock above the ferry doors: 7 minutes to go. There was no way I was giving up my seat just because Drunk Blond Girl had given up her liquid dinner. I would wait out the seven minutes in the seat I’d been so thankful to have not 20 minutes before because I WOULD BE DAMNED IF I LET SOMEONE ELSE HAVE IT. I WOULD NOT lodge myself between the large Hispanic woman and the tall Caucasian woman/man who I can only assume is the genetically mutated offering of Cher and RuPaul.

Oh, how I was to regret that decision in the moments to come.


The Gnat's Trumpet said...

These cliffhangers are very unkind. Unkind almost to the point of evil. Needless to say, I am anxiously awaiting the next installment.

By the way, thank you reading my stories and leaving your comment the other day.

Best regards,

The Marlo Girl said...

ewwwwwwwww.... i woulda gotten up. i don't do puke well, and the very story had my stomach churning.

more please!

Chris said...

At least used her purse and did not just spill on the floor.

Oswald Croll said...

Is staying at Riccardo's looking more and more like the thing that should hae been done?

Carl from L.A. said...

You are a good storyteller, Birdie. Now I have to find out what happens next.

Carl from L.A. said...

You have been tagged, by the way.

James said...

OH MY GOOD GOD!!! I couldn't have helped but laugh out loud. I can't wait to hear the end of this story.

lilylala said...

my powers of reading the past, present and future have inclined me with the thought that the young blonde woman may feel the need to continue to vomit sanse purse, since previously filled with vomit. i mean damn how much can a loius vuton hold? so is the vomit coming out of the purse or her mouth.