There are not many things that I've yet to accomplish since moving to New York. One of them, however, was having a legitimate conversation with a crazy person. And not only was she crazy, she was uppity as well.
Therefore, she is named CrazyUppity.
Last night, I convinced some friends to go watch the D.C. United - Red Bulls game at a bar around the corner from hockey practice. The bar was nothing special (I don't even remember the name) and, though it had been confirmed they'd show the game, had only Wheel of Fortune on their one television when we walked in. There were two people at the other end of the bar and CrazyUppity hanging out on the end near us. We took our seats.
Next to us sat a blond woman of obvious New York ancestry, probably in the 50 - 55 age range and not sharing her burger and beer with anyone. She looked like many of my relatives and certainly sounded as if she had just come in from the Island with an accent thick enough off which to bounce a ball.
After politely asking the bartender to change the channel to the Red Bulls, CrazyUppity asks us what that is. I respond, nicely, that it's a soccer game.
"Fuck that," was her reply. She instructed the bartender to put the Yankees or Mets game or some other real sport and that soccer was awful. Not asked, mind you, but instructed.
CU: Soccer's awful. Put on a real sport.
Me: What's wrong with soccer?
CU: It's a boring ass sport that only pansies play.
My friend quickly commented that the Yankees game wasn't on (even though I think it was) and she eventually relented.
But she wasn't done. CrazyUppity continued railing against soccer and all the variations thereof. According to her, she hates the American team but is happy that Italy one because she's an "American-born of Italian descent." It kills me that at this point I completely forgot to ask her why she hated America.
Me: Are you a communist?
CU: No, I'm a pure-blooded American.
Me: Then why didn't you root for America?
CU: Cause I hate them. I'm glad everyone beat their asses. Especially Italy, which is my team. (ed note: We tied Italy 1-1 in the only good game we played
) I'm American-born of Italian descent.
Me: You should like the American team if you're a real American (ed note: If you have Hulk Hogan's entrance theme in your head now, my apologies
CU: I'm glad when Brazil beat their asses.
Me: We actually beat Brazil last time we played them in Copa America.
CU: Whatever, I hate the American team.
I did ask her if she's a communist, though. She said she wasn't. She also thought her idiot friends are insane because they were all rooting for Brazil for some reason.
Wait. It gets better.
After some brief quiet time, she tells me I must not be from around here. Did I move to the South? I thought those of us below the Mason-Dixon had dibs on the phrase.
Anyway, a heated argument ensues.
CU: You weren't born here, though.
Me: I have a long lineage from this city.
CU: But you're not from here.
CU: Where are you from?
Me: North Carolina.
CU: Winston-Salem or Greensboro? Those are both awful towns.
Me: Greensboro. And I don't appreciate that.
CU: Then what are you doing here? You don't live here.
Me: Actually, I do live here.
CU: Makes sense. This is where it's at. There's nothing down in North Carolina but rednecks. It's so slow. This is the center of civilization. It's bad enough you're from Greensboro unlike those idiots in Winston-Salem. (ed note: That's the first time anyone outside of my high school has ever insulted Winston-Salem specifically.
Most of the time was spent with my friends pleading with me to stop jousting with her. True, it's something I wouldn't have done five years ago but, hey, this is the new me, capable of verbal reparté with crazy people.
We played four country songs on the jukebox when we left and, frankly, I totally want to go back and go at it with her again. I still don't believe I didn't ask her why she hated America.