You usually get a heads up with this sort of thing. A person’s talking to himself wearing three baseball hats and playing a kazoo, it’s safe to say he might have a little more crazy where that came from. Nothing about this woman in her Chanel-looking suit and expensive heels screamed INSANE.
Eileen Kelly
Inside, I'm, like, “Holy crap! This woman is carrying around a dead dog!”
But this was New York, so I was cool with it. I’m a Jersey Girl through and through, but I love the pulse, the culture, the strength, the grittiness, the experiences you can only have across the river.
Cross the Hudson and you can almost be guaranteed to see something that is certifiably bananas and in accordance with New York City law, you will act like it is completely normal.
By the same subway token, you never know when the Big Apple is going to throw a little luck your way.
I’m on my way to the Lower East Side and as I ascend the subway stairs on Houston Street, I notice an elderly woman. Maybe not quite homeless but certainly down on her luck. She’s leaning against a wall, many of her belongings piled high in a city grocery cart, looking down the stairs.
“Are you going down to the train?” I ask.
“Yes,” she answers.
“Would you like some help with your cart?”
“Aw, are you sure? That would be great! Just great!“ she answers with a smile that’s contagious.
I grab the cart and run it down to the turnstiles as she carefully makes her way down the stairs, clutching the handrail to steady herself. It takes a few minutes for her to make the journey.
“Aw ya must have someplace to be,” she shouts in a voice that sounds like Burgess Meredith. “You can leave it!”
“I’ve got time. It’s no trouble.”
“Aw that’s just great!” She takes hold of her cart. “God luck to ya!” she says, swatting at the air in front of her like she’s shooing a pesky fly. “Good luck to ya forever!”
She doesn’t bless me, as is often the custom with this segment of the population and this endears her to me even more.
“Good luck to ya!” she yells again as I head up the stairs. “Good luck to ya forever!”
I decide that this is what I want on my tombstone. An epitaph bestowing eternal luck on all who pass by.
You never know who you’re going to meet on the streets of Manhattan. If you read my column, you already know about Peaches. Peaches is right up there with the guy on Houston Street.
Let me preface this next part with a question. Do you know what the Irish curse is for women?
A flat butt. Every time I shop for jeans I try on 30 pairs hoping one will give me Jennifer Lopez’s butt. So I’m walking down Houston Street and I’m wearing a long jacket and I pass this homeless black guy. I point out his race because traditionally black and Latina women have the best rear ends in the world. So I pass this guy and he yells, “Whooo….wee! Even under a jacket you can’t hide that gorgeous ass!”
I felt like I had won the Miss America pageant.
“Me? Really? Omigosh, OK, well I’d like to thank the incline feature on my treadmill (deep breath, fanning face with a dramatic flourish) and also Citizens of Humanity Jeans for making this moment possible. That $187 was so worth it!”
Where else are you going to get that kind of spontaneous, unsolicited ego boost? Only in New York, baby. Only in New York.
Eileen Kelly was a semi-finalist in Nick at Nite’s “Search for the Funniest Mom in America,” and made a name for herself with " My Pony's in the Garage," which premiered at the NY Fringe Festival. She is currently writing a memoir based on her solo show and has written several treatments and spec scripts for television. She likes Springsteen, cheap beer and good Italian bread. Did we mention she’s from Jersey?
