Bench Warmer

Now I think I know why that lady was so angry.

I know it’s a pretty much a lost cause to yearn for silence in this world of bloviating blowhards, but I keep hoping.

Take last Thursday, for exampe, when I had an early morning doctor’s appointment near my gym, so I figured I’d work out, grab something to eat and then go see my sawbones.

The gym went fine, and I picked up a banana and a carton of yogurt at a local vegetable store and sat on a bench on 5th Avenue and 85th Street.

This was about 8AM and I was stunned at how quiet it was at this spot, which is usually buzzing with all kinds of noise and activity.

This is great, I thought as I unpeeled my banana, I’m going to eat, relax and enjoy the morning.

“I’m going to murder that woman...”

I looked up and saw this strange woman staring at me—or at least, staring in my direction as she made her death wish.

I was about to answer when I realized that she was operating on an entirely different wavelength and that it would be best to pretend I was invisible.

She walked a few feet and then spoke again to another person who wasn’t there.

My personal Jekyll and Hyde were bouncing all over conscience, as my good side felt sympathy for this poor woman, while my inner evildoer was bellyaching about how these nutbags always seem to find me.

I became less agitated as the woman and her imaginary enemy got further away me and I went back to enjoying the silence…for about 30 seconds.

As the ranter receded, my quiet morning was rattled again by the thump-thump-thump of a car stereo coming down the street.

It was like a twisted relay race with one freak handing the noise baton off to the other.

Okay, okay, I told myself, stay calm.

This bonehead is waiting for the light to change and then he and his hideous Middle Eastern disco music will roll out of my life and hopefully straight into a brick wall.

Next Up!

Only the music got louder. I turned around to see the car had stopped directly across the street from me.

I expected the driver to be some young twit, but the guy behind the wheel was easily in his sixties.

There used to be an expression “old enough to know better” but this butthead clearly didn’t know much of anything.

Unlike that deranged woman I didn’t have to feel sorry for this hump. I could hate him to my heart’s demented delight—and did I ever.

The shrinks and fortune cookie writers tell us that life is a lot easier when you don’t take things personally.

I try to apply that concept as often as possible, I really do, but there’s something about a human hemorrhoid blasting a car stereo that comes off as a 100-decibel “fuck you!”

I wanted to pick up the nearest litter basket and hurl it through the guy’s windshield, but, luckily for him, the thing was bolted down…and I’m also chicken.

I finally gave up and went to the doctor.

My good luck contined on Friday morning as I got up to enjoy my day off and read my paper in nearby Bliss Park.

The summer is already half over, and I want to take advantage of these warm mornings before winter makes us all prisoners again.

I went up to a little clearing where a group of elderly people do a tai chi routine—quietly—and sat on nearby bench. It was a very tranquil scene and I had just read the top headline when I heard some godawful music ruining the silence.

And, look, here comes some fat douchebag and his bloated mate heading my way with a blaring radio announcing their most unwelcomed arrival.

I didn't wait this time. I just got up and found another place in the park far away from this pair of twits. It's not fair, but we don't seem to have much choice.

This kind of behavior has become acceptable. People really don't seem to know that they're being rude.

I quit going to the movies long before Covid largely due to the yowling morons who talk, text and occasionally look at the screen.

If this keeps up I'll be the one walking down the street looking to murder someone.