MEMO: “No Sex and the City”
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- Three men stand in front of me. One is wearing a tight black shirt and some clean, crisp, deep grey dockers. They are flattering unlike many a khaki pant on a man where the butt seems to bubble out from underneath the belt. His shoes are elitist and European. He carries a J. Lindeberg shopping bag as a briefcase. I don’t know what this is but I make a memo and plan to google, post-haste [I have since googled: I move forward,
respecting his style as it most closely resembles my own compared of every other person frequenting public transportation today.
- To my right is a man in what I call “typical business attire.” Others from the grunge rock era may recognize this man under the title of “a suit.” He wears a long sleeved, white, blue pin-striped, button-up dress shirt, black pants, and a blackberry. He is very thin and seems unhappy with what he does except for the fact that it affords him to purchase his glistening watch, necklace, and sunglasses. Underneath his average and appealing exterior hides a very unhappy person. I expect he is insecure and cruel to his lovers. And, again,
I move forward.
- The third man makes less money than the first two, that is for sure. These days, and I never thought I would ever say this, it’s a huge consideration. I never had any respect for trophy wives until I started looking for jobs after college and realized what a nice life I would have if some doctor/lawyer/money-making-professional would just support me and my artistic lusting. This man is in shorts and a t-shirt with a backpack and silver running shoes with a lime green stripe across the entire bottom room where shoe-meets-floor. He takes out a library book from his pack and I see that the sewn-in place marker ribbon is already holding a place some ways into the book. I begin to think – people carry books for three reasons:
- they enjoy reading
- they are in school
- they want to impress people and look as if they are more intellectual than the person playing snake on his or her smart phone.
He slowly opens the pale pink/beige book and I squint to read the author and title. I never saw the title of the book but I can deduce that he is either a student or looking to appear smart. No one reads Plato for enjoyment. At least not on the subway. And,
I move forward.
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