Tuesday, October 09, 2007
New Change
I was, again, on the bus, in my seat, watching the afternoon fade into evening outside the window, listening to something on my headphones I’d probably memorized months, if not years, prior, when someone boarded who could not be ignored.
In the crowded center aisle stood a shaveheaded Irish-looking lout with big tribal tats, a tight t-shirt over tight muscles, and faded fatigue pants; behind him was a tall, slim, pretty, and fashionable office chick in patent pumps and a short but demure skirt.
And between these two he inserted himself, pushing on board through a back door into an already heavy crowd. He wore worn stained jeans and a statue of liberty t-shirt; on his knapsack he’d pinned another t-shirt, folded so only its iron-on message was displayed – something about the Bush Crime Family. He wore three armbands with the symbol of the Puerto Rican flag on each arm, and a ball cap on his head with the Cuban flag on it. His skin was coffee-brown and looked almost oiled; his hair was short and tightly curled, and he carried a big sign with him as he worked his way on board and between the lout and the chick.
His sign was about three feet by four, carefully hand-lettered on both sides in several lines of black printing on white foamcore that he’s clearly protected with careful diligence. It was hard to read what it said through the crowd; I could just pick out words like “respect,” “people,” “rights”, “gay,” and such. He had a message to share that was just busting out of him – you could see it in the gladsome way he sought eye contact with everybody around him as he insinuated himself into the crowd, and soon enough, that message got shared out loud:
“Hey, how’s all the liars and the crooks? Is the mayor a playah? Haha, it’s okay it’s okay, if you VOTE FOR OBAMA FOR A NEW CHANGE! New Change! Don’t let’em tellya we not ready. We ready! Ready! Ready for change! Am I right? We gonna have to bring the blacks and the latinos into the capital markets! We can’t have all the capital concentrated in the hands of just the white people! I’m just sayin’! That’s no offense to any white people here on this bus, but we got to achieve equality! New change! Big change! Because otherwise, Clinton’s in with all them finance people and the big money! You gotta have vision and break free!”
He starts to manipulate his big clumsy sign, making it nearly impossible for those around him to continue to ignore him. “You guys can read it now,” he advises us cheerfully, though we really can’t – he keeps moving it around and there are too many people jamming up the sightlines anyway. He’s waving it up and down, eventually holding it sideways so it’s marginally less obtrusive upon his neighbors, who seem assiduously to be staring at their pantcuffs. “Well, anyway,” he concludes, realizing, perhaps, that his sign really is unreadable in this venue, and that he’s alienating all the white capitalists surrounding him. “Okay. Vote Obama For A New Change!” The bus pulls over at Leavenworth and he gets out. The Irishish lout looks visibly relieved. The stylish young woman does not change her expression one bit. She hadn’t so much as batted an eyelash the whole damn time.