Today on the light rail, I thought I was going to die.

I love the days when I get to ride a “double train”. This means I actually have room to breath and sit. Today I was sitting near a couple looking at the want ads in the greensheet and a man who used a few backpacks to take up the seat next to him. I paid no attention to either of them until I saw something shiny out of the corner of my eye.

A knife.

I should probably inform you I never grew up around weapons of any sort. My family didn’t hunt, fish, or do anything outdoors for that matter. The first time I cut open an animal was on a fishing trip with my boyfriend my freshman year of college. I shot skeet once and asked to take one of the orange skeet things home. I couldn’t even tell you what I used to shoot said skeet, all I know is it hurt my shoulder and I vowed never to touch a gun of any sort ever again….well except the kiddy shotguns I cleaned at the summer camp I worked at. Regardless, I have no concept of weaponry of ANY kind.

I’ve had a pocket knife once when I was an Assistant Director at the beforementioned summer camp, but only because it was small and UT-orange. I think I used the scissors on it once. This man did NOT have a pocket knife. He had a knife you use to stab things. My heart began to race as soon as he pulled out his weapon of choice.

Was I really going to die on public transportation?

REALLY?

Can a knife kill people or just wound them?

All of these thoughts began to race through my mind and I was contemplating if it was time to say a few prayers. In that moment, I realized this homeless man was using his knife to cut the straps on his backpack. He was just being resourceful. I found myself staring at him and his knife with my mouth wide open. We made eye contact and he quickly put his knife away and gave me a half-way grin. He tied the two straps of his backpack together to make it more purse-like.

I was safe. He was harmless. And maybe I should take a class in weaponry…

Moral of the story: I didn’t know pocket knives came in multiple sizes.

Today on the light rail, I was invited to Hustler Mondays.

A man dressed in really long red shorts and a flat billed cap (with the sticker still on it, of course) steps onto the light rail a few stops before mine. He is carrying a bag and a box. He immediately sets both down on a seat and grabs a handful of flyers. He begins passing these out, starting with the people nearest him and working his way towards me and the cracked out woman to my left.

At first he seems pretty liberal with his target flyer-takers. He hands me a flyer and then starts to hand one to the woman next to me. She slowly raises her head to grab it from his hand.

Hustler: “Oh never mind.”
The woman is confused and reaches for it and mumbles something that sounds like “wwwhhaaaayyyyyyy???”
Hustler: “Oh hell naw I ain’t wastin’ this $1 flyer on your cracked out ass.”

The woman sighs and mumbles something that I thought resembles “Stupid dumbass.”

Hustler: “I ain’t givin you nothin. We don’t want people like you at this party. It ain’t for people like you.”

The woman puts her head back in her lap and appears to cry. I feel bad at first but finally take a look at the card.

“HUSTLER MONDAYS” it read on the front.

The back featured an explicit picture of a very voluptuous woman. Apparently this club showcases the sexist ladies, along with a full kitchen till 5 am. Now, with my 25th birthday approaching, I never thought I was old but I was unaware there were clubs in Houston open past 2 a.m. Now if we were in NYC, I would understand, but these late night party places in Houston are new to me. I don’t think I would fit in.

The man continues to pass out the flyers in the front of the train. I notice him almost hand one an old man, then quickly snatch it back. I started to feel lucky that I was invited to such an awesome event. I guess even on those ponytail days at 9 a.m., I somehow resemble a party animal.

He returns to his seat to open a box full of CDs. I was unaware people still made and/or bought CDs. He turns to the man sitting across his row.

Hustler: “Yo man dis my album. I wantchu to take a look at it. It’s dat new shit you been hearin bout yaknowwhatimsayin?”

Man: “Aight.”

The Hustler continues to pass out CDs, but this time he skips me. He has conversations with a few other people and then returns to grab some more CDs. By this time, we’re at my stop, so I inquire about the CDs.

Me: “Are you any good?”

Hustler: “Well what kinda music you like?”

Me: “I dunno … all kinds.”

Hustler: “Dis ain’t no country or no Katy Perry California Girls shit you white girls listen to … dis is pimpin music.”

Me: “Well I’ll probably like it.”

Hustler: “Naw man this is from da soul. Dis is hardcore. Ain’t for you. But imam see you at da club, right?”

The doors open and I exit the train. I guess I’m not cool enough for the CD.

Moral of the story: I don’t think I have the appropriate attire for Hustler Mondays.

(you can also view this post on CultureMap)