I was discussing something with a young misses as we waited for the train.
a homeless woman in a trench coat maybe 35 or so missing her top teeth and carrying a mat and a cart full of clothes walked by us saying hi to us and other people she passed then resting her back against the pole and facing our direction about 6 or 7 feet away. We continued our conversation about authors and meaning and the significance of historical knowledge and then the homeless woman started talking. she was obviously completely insane. incoherently babbling at us but not to us. we tried to just simply ignore her and continue our conversation but the woman was having an important conversation that we needed to be a part of apparently. "Gabrielle?" she said to me. finally the train arrived and we hopped on sitting in the center of the car but unfortunately the lady sat directly behind me and immediately continued her imaginary conversation. I gestured to my company that we should find another car and so we did. we sat down but I could still see her through the car door window sitting there. carrying on about nothing bothering everybody on the car. poor woman.
so we got off and waited for half an hour in the rain for our friend to get off work. she sadly reported to us that it was her last day for she had been fired for not making her quota. we carried on our way back to the bart station to head back home. the station was emptied out and near closing.
we got on the car and chose our seats in the back of the car. I was in a seat in front of the two girls I was with and in front of me were a group of guys taking up each of the seats in front of us separately. in front of me on the left was this real chatty dumb irish mick and in front of me was a mean ass mexican indian and in front of him was a white guy with a head full of dreadlocks.
the mick was making conversation with a big 'don't hurt me' grin on his face with the indian fellow. He commented on the guys jacket which was a darkly shaded camoflouge jacket.
"good for hunting. course their aint much to hunt in san francisco."
the guy in dreads mentioned some kind of animal thats northside. the mick grinned and nodded.
the guy in the camo responded with slurred and slowed down speech
"My mother was half apache. and half sioux. and my father was half apache and half mexican."
the mick responded "oh so you don't drink alcohol. you drink Firewater"
"Firewater. huh."
the guy in the camo was immediately offended. half retarded from whatever alcohol he'd obviously been drinking he muttered out "wha. what. what are you saying?"
the stupid ass mick repeated himself with a friendly face.
"you saying cuz I'm indian I.. ou think that's funny?"
"I was just making a joke."
"did you think that was funny?" the indian asked the guy in dreads.
"I could see how he was intending to be funny" dreads offered.
we sat there uncomfortable for a moment. "it was just a bad attempt at humor." the mick obviously regretting haven opened his big mouth.
the mick got nervous and the guy in dreads got cautious. I could see the guy in front of me through reflection in the window across the car. I seen the indian reach in his pocket real slowly and pull out a closed knife. he slowly opened it. and there he sat. drunk as hell holding a big ass knife in his hand right in front of me.
the girls behind me sat oblivious chattering on about girl stuff.
and so we all just kind of sat there while the bart roared under the ocean. another 15 minutes before the next stop.
I watched observingly in the reflection of the window the indian slowly folding the knife up but putting it in his coat pocket...once we could all breathe again in my new circle of friends the mick started to profusely apologized.
"no offense." "no offense meant."
finally we came up from under the ocean and it was relieving cuz we could see the streets. but still we all sat quiet and nervous. dreadlocks asked what the mick was carrying. the mick responded "its a stand up mirror. I'm fixing it for my sister. she just had breast surgery." "3 hours is all it took. isn't that amazing?"
the indian muttered "huh"
"Breast Cancer. Three Hours." the mick shouted over the roaring train signing to him by circling his left peck.
the indian pulled out the knife back out but didn't open it. he just held it in his hand and we all stared at it. wheres a bart cop when you need one, i thought to myself. whats this guy doing with this knife. keep it in your pocket asshole.
the mick carried on about his stand up mirror and how much he loves stand up mirrors. and we eventually got to the stop. when I got off I hurried myself off the train down the steps and out the gates. fuck that shit. dumb drunk asshole with a knife and a bad attitude sitting right in front of me.
