Customs and Courtesies
The Public Transportation System in Puerto Rico is new. Or better yet, its new to me since I haven't been home in almost seven years and I don't remember it being around back then. So I decided to hop on the psuedo subway train thing and head down to Old San Juan. It was either that or stay with my grandmother all afternoon and listen to her gripe and gossip about all of my Father's Wives and Ex-Wives. As appealing as that sounds, I needed some Solo time after having spent the past few years surrounded by over the top and loud mouthed alpha male wanna-bes.
Unfortunately, there are only a handfull of stops that the new subway system makes, so I had to jump onto a bus for the rest of the trip. Not a problem, well, at least not for me. But it was for a lot of other people. The bus was way crowded. It was hot, sweaty, and everyone around me seemed to be bitching and moaning. Typical Civilians.
At one of the bus-stops, an Elderly Lady comes aboard. I wasn't sitting, I was standing because I didn't mind having to, and I wasn't bothered by the pressing crowd. But if I had been sitting, I would have given up my seat for the Elderly Lady. Its just the common sense thing to do. Yet there we were standing, and some late twenties looking guy in a wife beater and an unshaven face is just sitting there gazing back and forth out the windows. He must not have seen the Elderly Lady, so I gave him a few minutes for the benefit of the doubt.
Then the few minutes go by, and the guy just sits there, looking into the crowd, scowling, then looking back out the window as if he's been annoyed to hell. Typical Civilian.
I tapped him on the shoulder.
"Levantate para que la Senora se pueda sentar."
He seemed startled that I had addressed him. He nodded, then looked back out the window. At this point, I had to dig my nails into my hand to control the rage. It just came over me, but I recognized it and kept it in check. However, something had to be done about this Douchebag.
I tapped him harder on the shoulder, hard enough to push him into the back of his seat and grind his shoulder blade into the uncomfortable plastic. Then I pointed towards the Elderly Lady. He got the idea.
"Oh! Ok." Then he gets up.
Typical Civilian.
I motion over to the Lady and she and the other females onboard thank me and tell me what a kind young man I am (if only they had been younger and good looking). I nod and give a small smile so their appreciation doesn't go unnoticed, but to be honest I was just pissed at the guy more than anything.
You could tell by the slouched demeanor of his stance that he felt like a dumbass for having been singled out as the bad guy. Fuck if I care about his feelings. Then a young American Couple (blond and heavely sunburned, obviously tourists) motion him over and asked for the Douchbag's backpack. He nods to them and in perfect English says "Thanks, it was getting heavy."
Apparently, he's an American tourist too. Probably didn't understand me when I spoke to him in Spanish. That was the second I felt like a dick for thinking so ill of him. And trust me, it was only for that One second.
"As beautiful as this Island is, I can't wait to get back to New York so I don't have to deal with these Retarded Puertorican Punks... Oh wait, we have Retarded Puertorican Punks back in New York too."
In their seats, the American Couple snicker at the loaded sarcasm. Typical Civilians.
Normally, this kind of retardation doesn't get to me, and I'm definately not one of those Puertoricans who proudly flies the Puertorican flag at any chance. I don't even go out of my way to tell people I'm from Puerto Rico (I'm pretty sure all my friends think I'm Italian.) But again, something had to be done about this Douchebag, and again, I even gave him the benefit of the doubt.
He must have thought I couldn't hear him since he would have to be a complete and total idiot to assume that I couldn't understand his English. And clearly, he must have noticed that my muscular build shows more definition in a t-shirt than his does in a wifebeater, and only a complete and total idiot would start talking trash if he knew he'd get his ass whoopped. Therefore, he must have simply wanted to regain face with his two Civilian friends and thought he was speaking low enough for me not to hear. I would have left it at that, but he did happen to call me a "Retarded Puertorican Punk." Don't worry though, (and don't try reading ahead) I went easy on him.
Rather calmly, I pulled the Dog Tags out from under my under my t-shirt and jingled them loud enough to catch his attention. If the military "High and Tight" hair style didn't get noticed before, it did at that point.
"I'm not a Retarded Puertorican Punk. I'm a United States Marine. Now I don't know how they do it where you're from, but in the Marines, we have certain Customs and Courtesies that we extend to Civilians like you. But if thats too hard for you to comprehend, then lets you and I get off at the next stop and I'll give you a more up close and personal translation."
His jaw dropped. Literally.
"Holy shit, I'm sorry man! I didn't know you were an American!"
So much for my benefit of the doubt.
"So you're a Marine? Thats cool man! I support the Military and all that stuff." He's trying to change the subject. Typical Civilian.
I simply stared at him with the look of a hunter getting ready to rip the throat out of its prey. The look is Standard Goverment Issue to all Marines. With good reason, the Douchebag turned around and tried to hide by looking out the window.
No one else bitched and moaned for the rest of the ride. In fact, no one said pretty much of anything.
The silence gave me time to reminisce about my father and chuckle at the gossip of him and his wives. Heh. What a crazy old man.
The Public Transportation System in Puerto Rico is new. Or better yet, its new to me since I haven't been home in almost seven years and I don't remember it being around back then. So I decided to hop on the psuedo subway train thing and head down to Old San Juan. It was either that or stay with my grandmother all afternoon and listen to her gripe and gossip about all of my Father's Wives and Ex-Wives. As appealing as that sounds, I needed some Solo time after having spent the past few years surrounded by over the top and loud mouthed alpha male wanna-bes.
Unfortunately, there are only a handfull of stops that the new subway system makes, so I had to jump onto a bus for the rest of the trip. Not a problem, well, at least not for me. But it was for a lot of other people. The bus was way crowded. It was hot, sweaty, and everyone around me seemed to be bitching and moaning. Typical Civilians.
At one of the bus-stops, an Elderly Lady comes aboard. I wasn't sitting, I was standing because I didn't mind having to, and I wasn't bothered by the pressing crowd. But if I had been sitting, I would have given up my seat for the Elderly Lady. Its just the common sense thing to do. Yet there we were standing, and some late twenties looking guy in a wife beater and an unshaven face is just sitting there gazing back and forth out the windows. He must not have seen the Elderly Lady, so I gave him a few minutes for the benefit of the doubt.
Then the few minutes go by, and the guy just sits there, looking into the crowd, scowling, then looking back out the window as if he's been annoyed to hell. Typical Civilian.
I tapped him on the shoulder.
"Levantate para que la Senora se pueda sentar."
He seemed startled that I had addressed him. He nodded, then looked back out the window. At this point, I had to dig my nails into my hand to control the rage. It just came over me, but I recognized it and kept it in check. However, something had to be done about this Douchebag.
I tapped him harder on the shoulder, hard enough to push him into the back of his seat and grind his shoulder blade into the uncomfortable plastic. Then I pointed towards the Elderly Lady. He got the idea.
"Oh! Ok." Then he gets up.
Typical Civilian.
I motion over to the Lady and she and the other females onboard thank me and tell me what a kind young man I am (if only they had been younger and good looking). I nod and give a small smile so their appreciation doesn't go unnoticed, but to be honest I was just pissed at the guy more than anything.
You could tell by the slouched demeanor of his stance that he felt like a dumbass for having been singled out as the bad guy. Fuck if I care about his feelings. Then a young American Couple (blond and heavely sunburned, obviously tourists) motion him over and asked for the Douchbag's backpack. He nods to them and in perfect English says "Thanks, it was getting heavy."
Apparently, he's an American tourist too. Probably didn't understand me when I spoke to him in Spanish. That was the second I felt like a dick for thinking so ill of him. And trust me, it was only for that One second.
"As beautiful as this Island is, I can't wait to get back to New York so I don't have to deal with these Retarded Puertorican Punks... Oh wait, we have Retarded Puertorican Punks back in New York too."
In their seats, the American Couple snicker at the loaded sarcasm. Typical Civilians.
Normally, this kind of retardation doesn't get to me, and I'm definately not one of those Puertoricans who proudly flies the Puertorican flag at any chance. I don't even go out of my way to tell people I'm from Puerto Rico (I'm pretty sure all my friends think I'm Italian.) But again, something had to be done about this Douchebag, and again, I even gave him the benefit of the doubt.
He must have thought I couldn't hear him since he would have to be a complete and total idiot to assume that I couldn't understand his English. And clearly, he must have noticed that my muscular build shows more definition in a t-shirt than his does in a wifebeater, and only a complete and total idiot would start talking trash if he knew he'd get his ass whoopped. Therefore, he must have simply wanted to regain face with his two Civilian friends and thought he was speaking low enough for me not to hear. I would have left it at that, but he did happen to call me a "Retarded Puertorican Punk." Don't worry though, (and don't try reading ahead) I went easy on him.
Rather calmly, I pulled the Dog Tags out from under my under my t-shirt and jingled them loud enough to catch his attention. If the military "High and Tight" hair style didn't get noticed before, it did at that point.
"I'm not a Retarded Puertorican Punk. I'm a United States Marine. Now I don't know how they do it where you're from, but in the Marines, we have certain Customs and Courtesies that we extend to Civilians like you. But if thats too hard for you to comprehend, then lets you and I get off at the next stop and I'll give you a more up close and personal translation."
His jaw dropped. Literally.
"Holy shit, I'm sorry man! I didn't know you were an American!"
So much for my benefit of the doubt.
"So you're a Marine? Thats cool man! I support the Military and all that stuff." He's trying to change the subject. Typical Civilian.
I simply stared at him with the look of a hunter getting ready to rip the throat out of its prey. The look is Standard Goverment Issue to all Marines. With good reason, the Douchebag turned around and tried to hide by looking out the window.
No one else bitched and moaned for the rest of the ride. In fact, no one said pretty much of anything.
The silence gave me time to reminisce about my father and chuckle at the gossip of him and his wives. Heh. What a crazy old man.