So I said, "Noirdic?"
And he said "...."
"... yeah, that actually sounds a lot better, doesn't it. Actually, you say it like that, and it sounds more like it could come from a Scandinavian language, too."
Noirdic(k), people! Who's with me?
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I swear to god, I feel like that scene from "The Craft" where Fairuza Balk and her mom move from the trailer park into the high-rise.
I mean ... my current apartment is by no means a hardship, but you know what? I looked around the apartment today, and not a single drawer is made from a filing cabinet! And I don't have to walk up three flights of stairs! Closet doors? They open and close smoothly. And the bathroom is, well, big! With a window, even!
So now we just have to get through the packing (Thursday) and actual moving (Friday). May the move be as smooth as the action on my closets ....
Go forth. Read it. And then come and dissect it with me ....
So, what happened tonight?
As I was walking home from the subway, I saw a man and a woman arguing on the corner outside a bar. Okay, cool, business as usual for the UWS on a Saturday night. And then I heard footsteps on the other side of the street ... a woman's, in the rapid staccato of a gal in heels trying to get somewhere fast. The heels were accompanied by shouts: "No!" and "Get away from me!" and "I'm not ready for you to do that!" and "I'll call the cops." All delivered in a loud, powerful, serious tone, to a guy who was keeping two to five steps behind her, stumbling once in a while but not badly, and periodically trying to grab or hug her while speaking in a tone I couldn't catch.
Overly importunate random acquaintance? Bad blind date? Boyfriend discovered cheating? I honestly couldn't tell, and past a certain point, I sort of didn't care: if you're making somebody shout like that, you're doing something wrong.
So I crossed the street and asked her if she needed help. Phone in one hand, pepper spray in the other (in my pocket, 'cause, hey, escalation). She said no ... a little hesitantly, so I asked again. Hey, I'll call the cops, I'll pepper spray him if there's an immediate risk, whatever. At which point, dude is outraged. He would love me to call the cops. Do I know how often they've had cause for domestic violence complaints because of her?
Do I believe him? Not necessarily, because I think he was a douche ... not because of his Preppie-Killer-chic popped collar, but because he didn't think it was a big deal to get his female companion shouting in public. Even if she's the most histrionic person in the world, we're all responsible for our own actions, and if you follow someone who's upset and telling you to go away, you're throwing fuel on the fire, and more so by repeatedly touching them when they tell you not to. And, oh, yeah, you're doing an awesome impersonation of an abusive partner in the process.
After a couple of queries, I walked away, because she genuinely seemed to know him and to not want cops, mace, or a stranger involved. I hope that was the right choice, and that she's okay. But PSA to all y'all: if it feels like a bad scene, it probably looks like a bad scene, and I think (hope?) that post Kitty Genoese, you're going to get some attention.
Knowing when to walk away is apparently a lost art. The lady did: the dude didn't, so, in my head, he's the bad guy. He's that bad guy. Don't be That Guy, folks: to quote Tomato Nation, nobody likes that guy.
P.S. - In retrospect, I do feel guilty about interfering. But I would have felt guiltier if I didn't, y'know?