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Random acts....
Dec. 14th, 2001 10:01 amA couple of days ago, a strange bum on the T told me I looked like Princess Di. I have no idea how he came to this conclusion, since I'm short, with long red hair and a thrift store wardrobe, but it was certainly interesting.
Actually, he was one of the most interesting strangers I've talked to in a long time. He was a very short, older (65, he said) black man, dressed in an amazingly gaudy pink and purple plaid shirt. His eyes were yellowed like old parchment, and his lips were grey and he smelled like tobacco and alcohol, but his mumbled words were intelligent and interesting. He asked me how I felt about sending black troops into Afghanistan - he said that with the way we treat different races in this country, he wouldn't blame them for deserting and opting to live there. He told me about his time spent in the army, and how he became a citizen of Barbados and had a family of four, and money hidden in secret bank accounts all over the world.
He started to leave at one point, and I went to shake his hand, and he seemed to get confused and a little bit offended. He said that I didn't have to, because I was a white woman and he was a black man. I don't know whether he thought I was being condescending, or making fun of him, but I wasn't. I told him that I didn't offer because I had to, but because I wanted to, and he seemed to find that acceptable. And he told me I looked like Princess Di, and I wished him a happy holiday, and the T rolled up to the stop and ended our conversation.
It makes me wonder, though, how people percieve each other and whether those perceptions have anything to do with reality. That's how I looked to him. Is my image of him as far off from his reality as his was of me? And what kind of stories are all the other people hiding?
Actually, he was one of the most interesting strangers I've talked to in a long time. He was a very short, older (65, he said) black man, dressed in an amazingly gaudy pink and purple plaid shirt. His eyes were yellowed like old parchment, and his lips were grey and he smelled like tobacco and alcohol, but his mumbled words were intelligent and interesting. He asked me how I felt about sending black troops into Afghanistan - he said that with the way we treat different races in this country, he wouldn't blame them for deserting and opting to live there. He told me about his time spent in the army, and how he became a citizen of Barbados and had a family of four, and money hidden in secret bank accounts all over the world.
He started to leave at one point, and I went to shake his hand, and he seemed to get confused and a little bit offended. He said that I didn't have to, because I was a white woman and he was a black man. I don't know whether he thought I was being condescending, or making fun of him, but I wasn't. I told him that I didn't offer because I had to, but because I wanted to, and he seemed to find that acceptable. And he told me I looked like Princess Di, and I wished him a happy holiday, and the T rolled up to the stop and ended our conversation.
It makes me wonder, though, how people percieve each other and whether those perceptions have anything to do with reality. That's how I looked to him. Is my image of him as far off from his reality as his was of me? And what kind of stories are all the other people hiding?
