I’m back home, but please let me tell you how I know I’m back home. As I descended from the Air Train into the subway station at JFK (oh and yeah, I no longer take a taxi from the airport…I’m just too damn cheap to spend $60.00 to get car sick in the back of a car that smells of a man who has spent the last 12 hours simmering in his own juices—sometimes it’s a delightful curry stew—other times not so much). But I digress; as I entered into the subway station, a lovely lady exited her car and shouted with great enthusiasm, “GODDAMN, MOTHER-FUCKER!!!” It could have been at me or it could have just been her way of saying she’s happy to be alive. Either way it made me smile and confirmed my plane did in fact land in New York City and I was home.
But the confirmations didn’t stop there. About 20 minutes into my subway ride from the airport, I noticed the door in between my car and the next car open. Now this is never a good sign because it means either someone is fleeing from the police or we have a traveling salesman. Now a traveling salesman, as I call them, are really the businessmen (or women) of the underground…those who possess that entrepreneurial spirit but only where the sun can’t reach. This happened to be a salesman and not a fleeing man.
Now to properly deal with a traveling salesman you really have 3 options…
1. Have your earphones in and pretend you don’t hear them.
2. Start talking to yourself while adding in a slight twitch---this is preemptive action because it scares them off before they even approach you (crazies don’t like interacting with crazies, the combined force will be too great).
3. Pat your pockets and shake your head no as if you have no money; this can work too, but you run the risk of being called a liar and being chased down the street.
In order to choose the appropriate action, you must first gage the salesman and what they are offering. This particular salesman was offering goods I had never seen before. Usually, its candy to help keep an underprivileged “kid” (really an adult) from growing up in a gang. Or even better a person that is oh-so generously selling the feeling of charity and goodwill to the giver because they are offering nothing in return—I like this entrepreneur because he or she knows the value of having no overhead in their business and just flat out asks for money.
The item this salesman chose to sell was batteries; yep, that’s right…batteries. I believe he had 7 batteries all together. If memory serves, there were 3 AAA batteries and maybe 4 AA’s, so he did have a wide selection to choose from. He also had a good sales pitch, “Duracell for dalla.” What an amazing deal…your choice AA or AAA for one dollar!!! I did however suspect that these batteries might have been used. Like my dad always says, “If you can’t make an honest dollar…make a dollar!” Even if he was buying at wholesale prices to stock his warehouse, how could he afford to sell them at a dollar a piece? They were also suspiciously packed in a slightly browned Ziploc baggie, not the original packaging as I’m used to. It was for these reasons I decided to pass on the purchase, but had I had my portable CD player from High school or my Walkman from elementary, I might have splurged.
Now that I made my no decision it was time to decide which action to choose. Quickly too, because he's heading my way. Since I didn’t have my headphones on already, option 1 was out. And since I really haven’t practiced the art of talking to myself and twitching in public, I decided to go with number 3 and risk being called a liar. Well this time it went over pretty well, good thing to because this salesman had both of his legs and could have chased me for a while. In retrospect, I suppose this salesman was used to hearing “no,” after all he was in a very competitive field.
He moved on to the next car and shortly after I was at my stop. As I carried my 43.2-pound bag up the stairway to the street, I was pleasantly greeted with a cool breeze. The heat wave was over and now I was standing at the corner of the park just a few blocks from home. Suddenly, and without warning my face twitched and “funny-face” paralyzed my cheeks. I was no longer in control of my facial muscles and my hands were full so I couldn’t cover up my silly look of happiness. Funny face…yet another reason how I knew I was home.
It was my first time returning home and I couldn’t wait to get in the apartment. I was greeted by Kevin, who was just as happy to see me, as I was to see him. He had set up my room as much as possible so I would feel like the apartment was complete and then cooked me a great dinner as we exchanged stories of our adventures.
GODDAMN MOTHER-FUCKER, I’m happy to be alive.
