on the subway

[rm]

I watched a man hit on a woman on the subway today, and it disturbed me.

I only noticed it at first because he had been originally sitting next to me, and I was a little taken aback when he jumped out of his seat to take an equally cramped one across from me -- I know I can be off-putting but really. But then I saw him hold out his hand and introduce himself to the pretty Filipina woman he had sat down next to.

What surprised me was how receptive she was to him, immediately taking out her headphones, smiling at him, taking his hand. He wasn't bad looking, but he also wasn't anything memorable, not like her with perfect skin and a perfect smile and not knowing it all in a t-shirt and sweater.

What I do remember about him was his clothes, which were expensive and foppish in a non-appealing way: grey suit, nearly slick with the expense of its fabric; pink pin-stripped shirt with a white colar; ice blue-grey tie; hair clearly brittle from product and a smile that to me read as forced as the rest of it. He kept wringing his hands.

Now, of course, who wouldn't? He'd done something ridiculously ballsy, but something about his manner and clothes told me he was practiced in some manner for this -- either he'd taken a class on doing just this sort of thing, or had the easy false charm one expects from a broker (you don't like the man, but he makes you money, and he hits all the right notes so laughing at his jokes isn't too hard).

She was glowing, but she was also calculating. As much as she was enjoying the attention -- and he was doing all the right things, asking her about what she does and letting her talk about it passionately while he listened in a manner that was almost aggressive and certainly suited to more dark than a subway car offers -- she was also calculating. The clothes were expensive and she knew it and the look on her face wasn't that of someone who had hit the jackpot for felt chemistry with this man, but of someone who couldn't help by wonder what life would be like if it were just a little bit easier, if an $81 monthly Metrocard didn't have to be a critical line in her budget that determined how much she could spend on groceries each week.

It reminded me of the man who once hit on me in Gramercy Tavern with "I find a woman isn't resolved about her father until she cuts off her hair" -- mine was short then, and I was wearing leather pants and a long-sleeved black sweater. The man called me at 7am the next day, invited me to his place across the small park between us and fed me berries and yogurt as he showed me artifacts that he had stolen from various Asian nations.

It remains one of the most disturbing and mysterious incidents of my life; it felt like he wanted to keep me in a glass on his mantle and while that held no appeal my mind frantically flipped through everything it knew to figure out how to earn his approval and the ease of his money. It was very strange, and I remember the fellow wore an inordinately expensive pendant of his astrological sign wrought in gold with gems. It was tasteful, as far as such things go, but it was his fucking astrological sign. Really now!

The man hitting on the girl on the subway had the same vibe. And he took out his business card, wrote his more personal contact information on it for her, and then got off when it was his stop, shaking her hand again and carrying his $200 napsack -- he hikes on the weekend and is very concerned about his health.

I wonder if they will have breakfast. I wonder how long a fantasy of ease will amuse her. I wonder if she'll be scared or find a perfectly wonderful and explicable human being beneath this man's smile and suit or if she too will be left with a story of ultimately benign but unfathomable predation not quite glimpsed.

Comments

[imaginarycircus.livejournal.com]

This is the polar opposite of what I am going through in some ways now. My husband is supporting me financially while I write. It makes me weirdly uncomfortable when he gives me cash so I can take myself out for coffee. I'm really looking forward to having my own income again some day. I'm extremely grateful he is willing to support me, but it makes me feel like a child in some ways. I cannot fathom dating someone for money. I've seen people do it. But it makes me shudder.

[xo-kizzy-xo.livejournal.com]

It makes me shudder too. At university I knew a group of girls who'd purposely hang onto the foreign guys whose parents had tons of money. As my university was small, everyone knew who they were. Anyway, if you asked any of them, they'd tell you that no, they didn't particularly like them as people , nor did they care if all there was involved was a booty call. They had $. That's all that mattered.

Intellectually I can understand that. Females mature faster than males; the university-age male, for the most part, can be quite immature. The guys with $ were certainly better dressed, better mannered, and were worldly compared to most of us.

On an emotional level? I can't understand it. It's basically using someone for a material gain. How can you do that and maintain your integrity?

[imaginarycircus.livejournal.com]

The only way I can understand it is to remember that many people are not like me. Not a value judgment, not saying I am morally superior -- but we're just very different.

I once had a guy date me in college because he thought I came from money. when he figured out I really did not, he broke up with me. It was so weird.

[xo-kizzy-xo.livejournal.com]

I never thought of that particular angle before. I've always known that I'm just not like most other women. It's taken me a long time to realize that's OK. When I was younger, though, the difference devastated me.