Williamsburg Living I

Here's an example of what you may experience during your next trip to Williamsburg. It rather makes the Brooklyn experience for me:

Descending the stairs of the Marcy JMZ stop, I already have my eyes locked on the fruit stand across the street. I have a mission: mangoes.

To my dismay, the mangoes are rock hard. Instead I pounce on the strawberries. Three for $5? What's the difference between the two for $4 and the three for $5. Sigh. No matter, I just get some strawberries. The fruit seller urges me to go for the mangoes but I have to decline. He counters:

- 'Sooooo are you married?'
- 'No of course not -- I'm only 25 years old'
- 'Where are you from? Korea?'
- 'California'
-'Ahhh American'
-'Yes, American'
- 'So you're not married? Why not?'
-'Why so? I'm only 25. Where are you from?'
-'I'm from Bangladesh'
-'Ah'
-'So you're not married'

I hand over the money and take the black bag of fruit (rather feels as though I'm buying something on the black market, these sketchy black plastic bags). Mr. Fruit Seller then reaches for a mango and shoves it in my bag. 'A Gift' I am told. Of course this gift follows with a grab for my hand and the whispered promises of more mangoes to come. Yuuuuummmmmm

I round the corner and pass the McDonald's where the local wheelchair bound panhandler is stationed. As I pick up momentum I hear a 'Do you want to get married' from his direction. 'No!' I volley back. 'Well I do!' was his decided counter attack.

After the friendly 'Ohh pretty' from my empanada man (I love his chicken empanadas with lots of hot sauce), I was flattery free for the rest of the walk home.

Gosh, a girl can get a big head from all of these pretty words--and that would be a travesty for me. My head is already as big as it can been. With the added cushion of hair, good luck trying to find a hat that fits on my head and doesn't look ridiculous.