Wednesday Weirdness

Magick Sandwich is your source for
strange encounters in and around the Big Apple.

It's time for me to take a phrase I coined in college out of mental mothballs: freak show magnet. For that, ladies and gentleman, is what I am. Here's a modest example.

I was on my way to the post office when I saw this truck.

The company's name was lame but its tag line endearingly silly. Its play on words was so far off from what I assume was its point of reference--nip it in the bud--that it brought two things to mind. It could reflect the strenuous effort to tart up something you're stuck with after all the good names have been taken. Or it could be a quaint malapropism born of speaking English as a second or third language.

So I decided to take a picture of it. A couple of women were walking by and I waited for them to pass to take the shot. As is usually the case, passersby will slow down and rubberneck, trying to figure out why one is taking a photo of something so seemingly mundane.

When I look up after taking the picture, one of the women has stopped, turned around and is staring at me. I smile politely, holding her gaze for longer than I imagine is comfortable for either of us. Finally, she says angrily, "Did you take my picture?"

She's a gray-haired Slavic woman in a dowdy floral skirt, just this side of elderly, with no obvious deformities. Standard sidewalk fare here in Queens. And she is pissed.

"No," I tell her. "I took a picture of the truck."

She squeezes her hands into fists: no signs of rheumatoid arthritis, no bulging funhouse-mirror knuckles. Good for her.

"I swear, only the truck."

Why is she so upset? Does she think I've stolen her soul? That I'm going to Photoshop her onto Princess Leia's gold bikini-clad body? Does she think I'm scouting subjects for Sacha Baron Cohen's next movie or that she's being Punk'd? Is she on the lam?

She's not budging, so I offer to show her the photo. She barges over and harrumphs at the image as if disappointed she has no excuse to knock my block off, then turns on her heel and storms off. I say, "See, no reason to get upset" to her receding back. No hunch, no limp. She clearly takes care of herself. I imagine her drinking raw eggs and doing chin ups on a bar installed in a door frame.

I'm still not sure why she was upset with me. I wouldn't have been surprised if she had asked why I was taking the picture. That's just natural curiosity. Her aggressiveness momentarily silenced my inner smart aleck. I didn't think of weaving a yarn about it being my truck or carrying on my great grandfather's bug stomping concern. It didn't even occur to me to go ahead and take her photo as she walked away. I wouldn't have wanted her to catch me at it, that's for sure.

That old lady would have kicked my ass.

More weirdness:
Good Samaritan Gone Bad