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sorry, i mistook you for a person i see now that you could not possibly be

March 16th, 2010 · 114 Comments · Uncategorized

A few weeks ago, I was on my way to the Side, you know on the Upper East portion of that island, to perform some freelancing duties (not anything dirty, unfortunately) and I was really excited. I was covering new ground! I was walking around neighborhoods and subway platforms that I didn’t often walk around! New York was fresh and new! Then, waiting for the 4 train, I spotted someone who looked really very familiar.

I kind of hastily started walking towards who I thought was my beloved, pasty, missing in action okay/gosh partner in crime. I thought this was the aforementioned person because I immediately recognized the long puffy coat and the … indescribable reddish orange hair. And the awkward slouch. And so much more, man. Really. Including the forlorn expression, the lack of interest. I could go on. I already have, though. And I really ought to be careful in these situations because so many times, I literally start rushing towards someone and start saying something creepy only to realize that I have NO IDEA who this person is and I’ve stumbled upon yet another case of mistaken identity. So I should have thought of that. Instead, I thought of this time that I saw Kristen on a train and I started pounding on the window to the train and she looked at me like a crazy person, and then I finally got on the train and she kind of acted like she didn’t know who I was, like I was one of those festering homeless people (to her credit, I usually dress like a homeless person) because she didn’t want to creep out her coworker, who was obviously creeped out by behavior and then they got off the train and I realized that I was on the V instead of the F and the whole terribly awkward situation could have been avoided if only I had paid attention. That’s a lesson for the children.

So that’s what I thought of, and good thing because right when I slowed down and kind of just acted like I was only waiting for the train, the girl turned around. Indeed, it was not my friend, but a random person. A random African-American individual. Yes, I mistook a black person for my pasty Polish friend. (You are Polish, right?) It was embarrassing. I obviously told everyone I knew as soon as I once again had access to the internet.

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