Friday, January 25, 2019
Am heading into Manhattan on the Staten Island ferry. My moxie level is a bit low today because of a lingering sinus infection, so am wearing my blue MAGA hat instead of the apparently incendiary red one. No incidents . . . that I am aware of. Truth be told, I’ve grown somewhat bored with trying to monitor people’s reactions. If people speak to me / confront me / try to shame me (good luck with that), then all well and good. I keep my phone cocked and ready now, just in case some “open-minded, tolerant” progressive / Maoist / socialist / liberal / communist / democrat / feminazi / gelding / “journalist” / Alinskyite / Satanist / failed presidential candidate / (fill in the blank) goes berserk. At this point, I wish they would, if only to break up the monotony of commuting.
In the evening, I stopped in at the Trader Joe’s on 14th Street. While waiting in the long rush-hour dinner line, I started chatting with a spaced-out but friendly young man. We chatted the whole time, mainly about how wonderful Trader Joe’s is. He didn’t mention my hat or even appear to notice it. As we got to the head of the line, he went his way, I went mine, and we wished each other a good weekend. At one point, when I slowly turned around ostensibly to look for something (but really to give the entire line a nice big fat view of my hat), I noticed that the woman standing behind me was wearing an extremely aggrieved expression. “Whatever for,” I wondered. Bwahahahaaaa. So much fun to “trigger” the snowflakes. At the cash register, the clerk apparently didn’t notice my hat at first. When she did notice it, she burst out laughing, then said “I have a different version of that, but you probably don’t want to hear it.” I replied in a friendly tone, “probably not, but that’s ok.” It was a pleasant little détente, and I wished her a happy weekend.
Then took the crosstown bus down 14th Street. When I took my seat on the bus, I noticed that the woman sitting across from me was staring quite blatantly at me. It wasn’t an angry stare, more of an astonished stare. I simply maintained a friendly expression and pretended to ignore her because I wasn’t in the mood for any more conversations just then. She signaled to her friend to look at me by half-surreptitiously pointing at her forehead (I clearly saw what she did). Then she said in a loud voice “I really am surprised, really surprised,” obviously referring to me and my hat. It was not said maliciously, though, but as if I were invisible, the way some people talk in front of their servants. I found the whole thing quite amusing, so I had to really concentrate on maintaining a neutral expression. It helped in that endeavor to ponder the fact that the woman would probably be haunted by my hat for quite some time, and that the experience might – just might – play some small part in helping to liberate her imprisoned mind from the chains of the P.C. Thought Police. Here a bubble, there a bubble, everywhere a bubble bursting . . . and eventually we’ll have a free country again.
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