Life Advice

Never Fight a Man in Swimming Goggles

So I’m minding my own business, strutting down 8th avenue on my way to buy my morning (11:28am) coffee at my go-to hip coffee shop near my apartment (McDonalds; $1 coffee with the app. Who’s laughing now?). On my way to the McCáfe, this unfolds: A man wearing what seems to be swimming goggles squared up with this black guy.

A lot to unpack here.

First, I know the audio probably doesn’t work since I recorded this on my iPhone 2, but the entire time, these two guys are both yelling at each other to throw the first punch. It reached a point where the tension got so high it turned sexual. At least for me. Bad day to be wearing gym shorts. It started as a standoff and quickly transformed into a dance of seduction.

Let’s start with the white guy. Huge wildcard here. He doesn’t seem homeless, but if he is, he’s upper class homeless. He’s dressed in homeless-professional attire. People forget that there’s a class system in the homeless community, which of course goes as follows:

The 1% 

This is the guy you see on the street who’s more put together than you, despite being addicted to crack. He has a tax shelter despite not having a living shelter. His funds are more protected than his feet. 

Upper Middle Class

The upper middle class hobo does surprisingly well, thanks to daddy’s money. Daddy, of course, is in reference to her pimp, Tyrone (he’s a white guy btw so don’t even start). 

Middle Class

This is more of your typical white picket shopping cart lifestyle. 

Lower Class

This is the dude you see who literally just head and maybe a torso who’s somehow a person. 

Anyway, I think this guy is my new best friend. I love everything about him, especially the goggles. Wearing swimming goggles casually in New York City is the ultimate fashion statement. Some will say goggles like that are impractical for the setting, but when you wear flaming red sweat pants like those, goggles are the best way to protect your eyes from all the wet panties. It’s like the splash zone at Sea World at that point.

Then there’s the black guy. I feel bad strictly referring to him as “the black guy”, but in a world where nothing is strictly black and white, this is quite literally black vs. white. He seems somewhat normal, but it’s pretty easy to come off that way when the only point of reference you can compare him to is a white guy in red sweat pants wearing swimming goggles in the middle of New York City. The red flag here is the fact that the black guy is even entertaining this lunatic. There are plenty of crazies here in the city, and I and most functioning people learn to just avoid them. I just pretend they don’t exist. I learned that trick from every girl I’ve ever tried to talk to.

He comes off surprisingly calm for the situation, which is a tell tale sign that this is a common occurrence for the man. You never want to fight a dude who isn’t scared of a crazy man.

All of this brings up a question as old as time: Would you rather fight a normal black dude or a crazy white guy?

The correct answer is normal black dude. See, with normal black dude, I know exactly what I’m getting into. I mean I’m definitely about to get my ass kicked, but at least I can go into it with some certainty. He’ll punch me a couple times. I’ll fall down and cry a little bit, then we’ll go our separate ways.

That’s not the case with a crazy white guy. Even if I win the fight against this crazy I still have to touch him. Even if I land a clean punch I’ll have to wash my hand in bleach after to get all the hobo germs off it. Also this guy looks like a biter. All it takes is one nibble then I have to spend the rest of the day in the hospital getting tested for rabies.

Overall, it’s just a shame that this fight ended before it started. Nevertheless, I persisted.

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