Strange strangers

One of the great things about living in a big city is the running commentary you receive from complete strangers. They vary greatly in substance, yet little in eloquence.

For example, this morning I left my apartment to go to Starbucks, when I beheld an old homeless lady ahead of me mumbling nonsensically. As I walked right by her, I heard her say something scathingly to me that ended with the words ringing in my ear, "you damn bitch." I continued to walk, and came to a traffic light that just turned yellow, which I always interpret to mean "run before the light turns red." As I ran across the street, an irate cab driver leaned on his horn at me for about ten straight seconds (his light was also yellow). I held my hand up as I ran in front of his car and he leaned out of his window to inform me that I was a "fucking bitch."

All of this occurred in the span of ten minutes.

Of course, I consider these comments with the other commentary from complete strangers, the kind that any female with two legs and a pulse will receive walking down the street in a large city, ranging from "How you doing, sexy?" to "Damn girl I wanna eat you up!"

What is it about the city that disinhibits people to be so candid? Is it the close quarters that lead to an openness that allows bums and cab drivers and construction workers to comment on whether you're a bitch or damn fine? Perhaps the excess carbon monoxide from all the traffic has an effect on people's social boundaries. It's a very interesting phenomenon, one that I suspect doesn't exist in suburbs or small towns.

At any rate, while I grow more and more desnsensitized to the randomness of strangers, I will be rest assured that I'm somewhere between a fucking bitch and a sexy fine thing.