Day 2: I’m Not Alone

Wednesday, January 23, 2019

On my way to work, decided to take a detour and head up to Trump Tower to buy another MAGA hat (red isn’t my color, and the red hat makes me look a bit like Elmer Fudd. Although, I will continue to wear the red one sometimes, simply because it is now iconic and hard to ignore).

On the ferry to Manhattan, a sort of tough-looking guy wearing a hoodie and camouflage pants came over and sat across from me. I braced myself for who knows what, and then he said, “nice hat.” I thanked him and said I was heading uptown to buy another one. We had a good chat, just two patriotic American guys shooting the breeze (now vilified as “rightwing extremists” by the far-left fascist media propagandists, who, of course, are the true extremists in our country).

When I arrived at Trump Tower, wearing my MAGA hat, one of the formidable guards at the entrance said “Welcome, sir!” That had never happened in my numerous visits to Trump Tower since Trump’s election. Bought a flattering blue MAGA hat and wore it as I walked down Fifth Avenue to catch the F train to Brooklyn, making a point of walking through Rockefeller Center, one of my favorite buildings in New York. While sailing along, admiring the beautiful capitalist-created architecture, sculpture and murals (it’s amazing how quickly the novelty of wearing the hat was beginning to wear off after less than 24 hours), a handsome man in a pack of hotties called out “like your hat” as we passed each other.

I wore the hat on the F train, then the R train, then on the bus into Red Hook without incident. There may have been some nasty stares thrown my way (or friendly stares), but at that point I had pretty much reverted to my usual New York zoned-out commuting self, so I don’t know if anyone was reacting or not.

After leaving work, I felt like annoying some libtards, so headed over to the Trader Joe’s on Sixth Avenue in Manhattan. While I was there, I only noticed one person glaring at me, a girly man who apparently was having a mild case of the vapors upon seeing my hat. I pretended he didn’t exist.

Then, back to the Staten Island ferry to take me home. As I was boarding the ferry, one of the guards with the bomb-sniffing dogs said, sotto voce, “nice hat.” I smiled, said thanks, gave him a friendly wave and boarded the ferry . . . and decided that I would stop calling New York City “New York Shitty.”

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