Monday, October 10, 2005

Metropolitan Diary

Going Home

Last week I went to downtown NYPD office to get my finger prints. I need to send them to FBI to prove that I have not done anything wrong in my tenure of staying in this country.

A mid-aged woman walked slowly 2 feet ahead of me when I walked toward the main entrance.

She showed ID to the security guard. The guard pointed us to a side entrance. "All visitors that way".

We both turned toward the side entrance, got into the door, and walked in front of a security check point like what you have in airports. All bags were to be scanned.

The lady took off her bag and put them on the belt.

"Where are you going" The security woman asked.

"Going home." She answered in a normal voice and pointed toward the back.

Silence fell. Everyone including myself was trying to figure out the following:

-Is she serious or joking
-Is she insane or normal
-Does anyone lives in a NYPD office
-Are there secret prison cells in the building or cheap hotel for that matter
-Does she look like some detainees or deportee
-What has Bush done lately

"Home" She said again, slowly and very good naturedly, point toward the street at the other side of the entrance.

Pause and slience.

"You can not go home through here. You have to get out and take the street". The security guard sounds like she was daydreaming.

"OK." The lady just took the bag and walked out slowly, so business as usual.

Everyone looked at her while she walked out, still stunned.

After another 20-second pause and the lady was already out of the door. "Nobody goes home through here! " The security woman behaved like she just woke up and was close to being angry.

"Where are you going?"

"Good Conduct Office". I indeed felt that I am conducing only good here--by not trying to go home via a security check point.

They nodded and I was in. Once inside, I felt more relaxed and could not hold back my curiosity, " Is there a short cut through here?".

They looked at me with angry eyes " There is not short cut here, this is a police station".

"Right." I gave a apologetic look and headed quicly toward my Good Conduct Office.

But I was laughing non-stop while walking the next 100 yards toward the building where the Good Conduct Office locates, hardly a home for good conductors like me,

That is, if keeping secret blog identity is not counted as bad conduct.

I Love Dirty Feet

I was walking toward my apartment on 55 streent one weekend afternoon and overheard following conversation by a couple behind me:

"You know, I love dirty feet." The woman said.
"Why". The man asked.
"You know. Because when you wash them up, they look so clean and fresh! "

I was thinking, that is pretty philosophical.

For example, in that spirit, we may love a man or woman who are not good in relationship because how refreshing and satisfactory it will be for people like this to redeem themselves one day. It will be like the birth of a new life.

Loyal man, devoting woman and clean feet bore us. Life is not always rational, isn't it.

It gave me a good laugh and then I felt a bit sad too.

Oh well.


Blogger Matthew said...

My sister likes to let the floor become really dirty before she vacuums it, because she finds it more satisfying to see all of the dirt being vacuumed.

6:33 AM  
Blogger New York Red said...

I guess this is pretty universal then....;-)

1:03 PM  
Blogger Thomas said...

Where are you from, new york red?

10:12 PM  
Blogger Joe said...

hmm that is a good excuse, Matthew, when I don't clean the floor enough.

thanks for the link Red.

11:46 PM  
Blogger New York Red said...


12:36 AM  
Blogger New York Red said...

You are welcome Joe.

12:44 AM  

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