Monday, April 24, 2006

The Wacky Mack-Attack-y

mack (mk) Slang v 1. to hit on

I was sitting inside the coffice at a table by the window. I noticed a woman walking down the sidewalk, wildly gesticulating and talking energetically to no one in particular. She stopped in front of my window and turned to face me. I avoided eye contact, not wanting to become embroiled in whatever she was embroiled in, but could see out of the corner of my eye that her gestures and her monologue had become particularly emphatic. I didn't know, nor did I want to know, if these were directed at her reflection or at me.

She came into the coffice, walked up to me and asked to borrow a pen.

"Um, sure."

"Can I borrow something to write on, one of those cards?"

"Here you go."

She sat down in the chair opposite me and began writing. She was small, with an explosion of tightly curled, brown hair, an oversized, shiny, embroidered jacket, and a look of bug-eyed wonder on her face. In the absence of normal stylistic and behavioral cues, it was surprisingly hard to pin down her age, but she wasn't old.

She muttered to herself as she wrote, "... lower case 'c'... 'o'...". I assumed she was writing some sort of note to herself along the lines of:
"To do:
  • Walk up and down Magazine Street, wildly gesticulating.
  • Talk energetically to no one in particular.
  • Make strangers uncomfortable.
After several minutes of intensely focused writing, she turned the card over, wrote "Thank you" on the back, and slid it across the table to me.

Oh, it was a note for me. She stood up, noticed the ring on my hand, nervously laughed and said, "You're married. Oh, well. Ha!" Oh, it was that kind of note for me. Then she sidled up next to me, gave me a little half-hug, walked out the door, and stood on the sidewalk, staring through the window, waiting for me to look at it.

I turned the card over, expecting some strange and detailed proclamation of love. It was only an email address with an elaborately scrolled filigree underneath. I turned to her, feebly smiled, and waved. She nodded and marched away down the sidewalk, continuing her earnest monologue.

Ask and ye shall receive.


  1. Anonymous4:58 PM

    I don't know if I should feel jealous, knowing that will never, ever happen to me; or if I should feel overjoyed, knowing that will never, ever happen to me.

  2. Another gem post

  3. Thanks for this, delightfully reported and so so funny! Aren't cities the greatest, where people do the nuttiest things. It is worth living where we do, so says this New Yorker anyway. Your NOLA posts continue to be a delight. Many thanks.

  4. Thank you. And I do love that (not quite as big as it used to be) city livin'.

  5. How funny. I'm similarly befuddled by this behavior. I can't decide if the gesture was sweet or if you should have told her you're in a domestic partnership with a satanic cult leader and you need fresh sacrificial flesh.

  6. Who told you about my domestic partnership with a satanic cult leader and our need fresh sacrificial flesh?!