Wednesday, August 25
What Have the Chelsea Gremlins Left in My Bike Helmet Today?
After work the other day I left the office and walked out to my tricycle, which was parked, as always, on 24th Street in Chelsea, locked to some scaffolding that has been there since the beginning of time. I've taken to hanging my bike helmet from the top tube of my trike because it's a free country, so why not?
And what little gift do I find waiting for me in my upside down head protector? Why a cute little plastic bag with its handles tied into an adorable little knot. And what's in this bag? That's right: dog shit.
For me? I thought. You shouldn't have. Seriously, bitch, you shouldn't have.
Now, I love dogs. I do. But nobody likes dog shit, not even Betty White. Even when it's wrapped up nicely. It's still dog shit. And dog shit should never be given as a gift. Obviously the person who left this present for me has never read Miss Manners or Dan Savage.
I must say, I laughed when I first realized what it was, because what a fun joke to play on a random person. Then I kind of got pissed, because WTF, why do I have to be this random person? Or was it not random? Was I the intended target? It's possible. I can see one of the many grumpy old ladies that live in the building doing this in retaliation for me walking around all the time looking all smug, because they're old and don't give a shit anymore (or rather, they DO give a shit, and they all look like crabby old Maxine).
Or is someone flirting with me? If so, I'd like this person to know that (1) I have a boyfriend already and (2) I prefer to receive gives like folks used to give in the old days, like Bed, Bath, and Beyond gift certificates or Live Strong wrist bands.
ANYWAY, so yesterday I left my office again (I do this every day) and I noticed as I approached my tricycle that there was another little gift left for me in my helmet. What would it be this time? Cat puke enveloped in deli wrap? A big ball of bubble gum rolled in dingleberries? A half-used condom?
The answer is no. It's just an empty bottle of airplane booze.
Should I be thankful or offended?
Posted by wa21955
Labels: new york stories