Day 34: Busker Meltdown – Buh Bye!

Sunday, February 24, 2019

Decided to wear my incendiary red MAGA hat today while running errands in Manhattan.

I’m riding the R train from Union Square to Lower Manhattan. Some people stare, as usual, but most ignore me. Fine.

But, it’s New York; you never know when a crazy person is about to intrude into your personal space. A busker – guitarist, male, 30-ish – enters the train. The insane expression on his face gives him away. I instantly size him up: probable frequent pot intake + Trump Derangement Syndrome = cray cray.

I’m sitting towards the end of the car; he walks to the center of the car and starts playing. I glance his way a couple of times to watch him play his guitar. Each time he’s staring right at me. Each time I smile.

When the car stops, he walks past me while exiting the train and says ominously, “you have to expect people to make comments when you wear that hat.”

I don’t take the bait; I merely look at him with a neutral expression.

Then he escalates his attack and lobs a juvenile insult as he steps out of the car: “your hat is restricting blood to your brain!”

How pathetic is that? When the subway doors close, I give him a friendly royal wave (keeping my wrist immobile as I slightly rotate my hand). His cray-cray expression becomes even more extreme as he screams “that’s the Queen’s wave.”

I smile, give him another royal wave, and then give him a thumbs up. As the train pulls out of the station, I get a glimpse of his extremely perplexed expression.

It’s so much fun to play with libtards’ minds. They don’t know how to react when you don’t play their game . . . so, bzzt, their brains short-circuit.

Later that day, on the 4 train in the vicinity of Union Square, I felt someone staring at me. I looked over and saw a Social Justice Warriorette trying to shame me by staring at me.

I simply maintained a pleasant expression and calmly returned her stare until she turned away. But I continued to stare, which made her visibly uncomfortable. I could feel the synapses quietly misfiring in her brain.

I doubt she was intelligent enough to realize that I was simply doing to her exactly what she had been doing to me.

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