Someone please explain to me why
Negroes men of various races but usually Negroes who ain’t shit are always tryna talk to me. What about me gives any suggestion that you are worthy of my time and attention, ain’t-shit men? You would think my don’t-talk-to-me headphones, neat afro, pink lacy dress, pink hair flower, bead-and-seashell jewelry, and Black Snob bag would do the trick, but noooooooo. You sir [though a sir you certainly are not], will still stare at me while we’re on the platform waiting for the train, then follow me up to the same area of the double-decker train, then halfway through our ride move back so you’re sitting across the aisle from me, then tap on the seat next to me [where the bag is riding] and ask if you can sit there. Actually, you’ll basically whisper it so that I have to take my headphones out. And then when I say I’m good, and try to put my headphones back in and continue my life before I was so rudely interrupted, you will continue talking to me. And because I am incapable of being so directly rude, I cannot bring myself to put my second earbud back in. And suddenly we are having a conversation, though I am trying to be as monosyllabic in my responses as possible.
Let me explain that you,
sir, are wearing jeans, sneakers, a plain white tee, a chain, a cap, and sunglasses. SUNGLASSES. INSIDE. AT NIGHT. ON THE TRAIN.
Why do you think it’s okay to just start asking me all these questions? Like where I’m going and where I’m coming from and where I go to school and what my major is etc. etc. Hmm, our conversation surrounding where I go to school needs quoting:
Juve [this is evidently what his friends call him]: Where you go to school?
Juve: Oh, what school you go to?
Juve: Oh that’s a school? Princeton College?
Me: -___________________________- Princeton University
Juve: Oh, but you said you live in New Brunswick? Why you ain’t go to Rutgers? Your GPA wasn’t high enough?
Me: Princeton is a better school than Rutgers.
Me: It’s the number two school in the country. It was the number one when I got accepted…
…I can’t. This man. After thus establishing that I was way out of his league, he proceeded to tell me his life story about how in high school his GPA was a 2.5 and he wanted to go to Rutgers but they said his GPA wasn’t high enough so he went to Bloomfield College but only for a couple years and now he’s trying to go to Kean.
Another excerpt, though I can’t remember this part verbatim:
Juve: When’s your birthday?
Juve: January what?
Me: The 29th.
Juve: Oh so what sign are you?
Juve: [some of this part is a paraphrase] *pronounces Aquarius incorrectly* *repeats it* Y’all are some good people. Strong and confident. I got this cousin who’s an Aquarius. She lives in South Jersey too. She’s real good people. She always tellin me what I need to do and helpin me make plans and shit. Yeah Aqauriuses, y’all good people. You seem like real good people too. *pauses for two seconds* Why you ain’t ask me when my birthday is?
Me: …You were still talking.
Juve: *looks skeptical*
Me: When’s your birthday?
Juve: Oh, now you ask!
Me: YOU WERE STILL TALKING!
Me: So you’re a…Pisces?
Me: I had this friend in high school who was a Pisces.
Juve: Oh, was she–she or he?
Juve: Oh. Was he good people? Did you like his personality and stuff?
Me: Yeah, he was my friend.
Juve: Oh. Well look, I ain’t even tryna really talk to you or nothin, but I think you good people, and I could learn from you, cuz you focused, and you could learn from me, so I’m tryna ask if I could be your friend.
Then I get off the train and try to powerwalk away from him but he catches up to me and asks, “Damn why you walk so fast?” and tries to see if I’m catching a cab so we can split it and asks if we’re going to exchange numbers and I just look at him. SIR. HAVE YOU BEEN PAYING ATTENTION TO ANY OF MY BODY LANGUAGE OR MY SINGLE-WORD-RESPONSES? WE ARE NOT GOING TO BE FRIENDS. I WANT TO GET AS FAR AWAY FROM YOU AS POSSIBLE AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE.
Me: I don’t give my number to strangers, sorry.
Juve: But how bout if I call you tonight and we can talk and then we won’t be strangers?
Me: I don’t give my number to strangers. It’s a rule.
Juve: Okay then I’ll give you my number…
Me: *rolls eyes*
Juve: You ain’t gon call me. How we gon be friends if I can’t have your number?
Juve: We ain’t gon be friends are we?
Me: I’m sorry. I have to get home now. *walks away very quickly, laughing to herself about what a great blog post this will make*
MEN WHO AIN’T SHIT, CONSIDER THIS YOUR WARNING. YOU WILL NOT GET MY NUMBER. YOU WILL GET ON MY LAST DAMN NERVES. YOU WILL BE PUT ON BLAST. So the next time you see a fine-ass woman who obviously has her shit together reading on the train with her headphones in, LEAVE HER THE FUCK ALONE.