The kindness (and strangeness) of strangers

What I love about being in New York is that people will just tell you exactly what they're thinking at any given moment in time. Strangers, hobos, and loved ones alike.
In Britain, we have evolved a brilliant strategy for saying nothing, most of the time. Its a system fondly known as 'small talk', and everyone hates it beyond hatred of most things (except the first Charlie and the Chocolate Factory film. Always except that.) But we all use it anyway. Which makes us hate it even more. The problem is that in Britain, we don't like to state our opinion too forcefully when first meeting someone. Having an opinion could mean having a different opinion to the person you're talking to. Having a different opinion basically means you hate them. No one needs that. So instead, we have wonderful system I like to call Conversation Jenga, where each topic is nudged carefully out, examined thoughtfully for any potential topples or wobbles in the person opposite them, and only when we get an assured go ahead signal do we continue to push on with any real force. Its a good system, and its one that has worked well for us for years. In New York however, give a shit! Say what you think brotha, say it loud and say it proud!

I, of course, can say this today, with the conviction of someone who knows they were definitely fully dressed, and therefore knew there could be no potentialy agonising horror upon a startling naked realisation. Indeed, I dressed with rather a lot of care today after the rather scarring tube incident, and put on a tshirt, then a dress, then some tights (i wasn't even going to wear the tights, it was really sunny today.. but then I thought I just shouldn't risk it), and shoes, and then finally a jacket. There was basically no part of me that was not covered in material in some way. Except my face. But I couldn't be bothered to wear my contacts today so technically my face was dressed in my glasses. How coy. Indeed.

So off I went, to explore the East Side a little better. I didnt need to work today, i was informed, as I'm going to be working all weekend, so go, go and enjoy your funsies! So I did. I decided to just choose a random stop on the subway, get off and explore what I found. Sounds good? Well, it sounded cheap, so by default, yes, yes it sounded good.

I found I had stumbled across a very cool thrifty storey market wheeley deally part of town, filled with impromptu tattoo parlours, skinny jeans, sunglasses for 2 dollars and people looking a bit worriedly at their impromptu tattoos. Happy and busy, I spent the next two hours thoughtfully buying a headband.

Satisfied and glowy with my new purchase- it really it a very jazzy headband, I'll put up a picture for mainly Franki Burke- I turned a corner, and a man bumped into me, and I swear before even reacting to the bump exclaimed
'LOVE that combo! LOVING that colour combo!'
and without looking back, strode on.

I should explain. I was wearing purple tights and yellow shoes. If only I could say that its because I am fashionista, I am at one with the future trends, and I have an innate sense of style that makes...erm... oh God I cant even think of a suitable person to weep over me. How embarrassing. Unfortunately, I was actually wearing that 'combo' because when I was 13 my art teacher had told us about complimetary colours. And purple and yellow were one set. Sadly I get most of my style ideas from GSCE Art, you should see this headband, think 'collage: madness of the wistful penguin'.
But still. He didn't know that. I could be an excellent fashioner for all he knows, and I strode on, thinking that that would never ever ever happen in England. Partially because most of the people I know are so freakin fabulous of the clothes that everything I wear instantly becomes an ethel austin sale item by comparison, but mostly because we keep our opinions so forcefully to ourselves. So, lost in these muses, I turned another corner, and, believe it or not, ANOTHER person called out to me 'hey, I love your style, its so you!' Helpfully dismissing the fact that he could have no idea whether its 'me' or not, I burst out laughing and said 'thanks', and ran swiftly away in an semi bemused, embarrassed/flattered way. I felt like I wanted to shout 'thank Mrs Fisher, she taught me all I know'.

This was all very weird, and I felt a bit exposed, and like the tights and shoes combo had overpowered me to the point where I no longer had control over them. I decided to leave, and try my luck elsewhere. So, I pulled out a subway map, and began to have a little look around, and suddenly I heard 'Are you lost, dear?' This is really common in NY, everyone is so freakin helpful, and as he hadn't yet mentioned my shoes I felt that this was a situation I could control.
I turned, and laughed and said 'Well, no, just not really that sure where I want to go!'
The man standing before me was probably in his mid sixties, wearing shorts, a sportsy top, and for some reason, refused to look me in the eye. He always looked a little to the side of me, as if I was a horse and he was trying to whisper me. 'Well, what kind of place are you looking for?'
I shrugged. 'I don't mind really, just somewhere thats interesting.'
He nodded, looking at the road, 'Someplace interesting? Ok. I'm gonna take you to 9th avenue.'
And he strode off. I, it seemed, had no real choice but to follow.
As we walked, something a little weird happened. He started a long monologue about the fact that he had just run a marathon, memorial day, moved swiftly onto talking about ground zero and new buildings, and in the middle of a sentence added 'and give me your hand.'
I looked round, a little surprised, and before I knew what was happening, without looking at me, this man grabbed my hand and started to,-i can only describe it as- search it. It was if he was checking my hand for cancer. My first, irrational thought was 'he's going to steal my ring!' but then i realised rather swiftly that we weren't in a Dickens novel, he wasn't a wee little tinker and if it came down to it, I could take him. The second these thoughts had stopped processing, he dropped my hand, and continued talking as if nothing had happened, still refusing to look at me.
I wondered if I'd just imagined it. He was still talking 'Now on 9th avenue, I'm going to show you the shops! They've got dresses, they've got shoes, they've got blouses...' I agreed that shops often stocked these items. He stopped. Suddenly. And began pointing to the directions to the left and right of us, showing me where abouts we were. That would all have been fine, and I did appreciate the trouble he was taking, but he'd stopped in the middle of the road. And cars were honking at us.
'Now thats the East, up there you'll find Lafayette and-'
HONK
'I think we should maybe move to-
'Now South, you're gonna hit the brooklyn bridge'
HONK HONNNK
'haha yes, but I really think-'
HONK HONK HONK

Looking at my ear, he began to stride on again. Relieved, I followed hurridly, like a wife who had manage to avoid an embarassing social scene with an abusive husband. 'Now these shops-I'm not gonna come in with you,'
I agreed quite firmly that he wasn't.
'I hate shopping. But they've got everything. They've got shoes, they've got blouses, and I have to say-' he looked nervously at my shoulder, 'those shoes you've got on, they stand out a mile'.
The damn shoes. These shoes are too much for me. A better woman than I should wield them. I felt a bit like I was carrying the one ring to Mordor, but in the very beginning Gandalf had accidently called in on Pippin instead of Frodo.
'Where, where did you get those shoes?'
'well, I got them years ago and-'
he BURST out laughing 'aahahaha!!! HAHAHAHAA!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!'
now, either my delivery of that line was devastating, or the man who set up his brain chamber hadn't read the instructions properly.
'yes,' I said, completely thrown, 'and I suppose with the purple tights, they..er.. they do stand out, I-'
'HAHAHAHAHHAA'
He roared with laughter. He began gasping, and shouting 'I wasn't going to say it! I wasn't! But yes! ohhhh aahahahahaha!'
I literally just had no idea what was going on. The best I could do was think that he thought it looked ridiculous, and I hoped thats what it was. Otherwise I was completely stumped, and he was a mad.
Flailing for word thoughts, I faded to silence, and he continued to giggle to himself.
Finally, finally, I saw a sign for 9th Ave.
'Now these shops!' He said again, 'They;'ve got dresses, they'e got shoes, they've got... things for your fingers! Things for your wrists!'
'Suitability for any body part eh?' I said a little nervously
He agreed fervently.
He stopped again very suddenly. I turned back on myself and waited.
'Now,' he said, staring firmly at my elbow, 'I hate shopping, I'm really sorry, I just hate it. But you see that coffee shop over there?' He pointed to an alley.
'Yep.'
'I'll be sitting there. And I would very much like to have a cocktail with you.'
I thanked him, said I'd think about it, and went in for a handshake. He grabbed my hand again, and kissed it, gave my neck one final stare and walked away.
Jeepers. What power clothing holds eh? I reckon if I strapped these tights and shoes to a passing cat, it could rule the world by Friday. I better not add the headband. There's such a thing as too much power.