Thirtysomething

Jewish Mafia

I'm standing at the check-out line of the grocery story and this kid, well, this guy, who is maybe in his early 20s, gets in line behind me. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that he's one of those sort of skater guys, with the jeans that have legs that bellbottom out so wide, they cover his shoes and zipped up sweatshirt with the hood up. I hear him mumble something behind me but have no idea what he said or if he was talking to me. Then he very deliberately leaned into me and said, "You agree with me, don't you?"

Here's the thing, if I don't know you and you talk to me, I assume you're crazy. I don't particularly enjoy people who I don't know and who are crazy.

So, I turn to look at this person, because if you're crazy or harmful or whatever, I want you to know that I know what you look like. And I can pick you out of a lineup. In doing this, I notice two things: that he has a scraggily red goatee-beard, you know one of those goatees, not a full beard, where the hair is about 5 inches long, and that his eyebrows have been recently plucked pencil thin.

Anyway, I don't say anything, totally planning to ignore this guy. I hear more mumbling, then "why you have to torture animals". Great, I think, looking at the chicken cutlets on the register belt in front of me, this guy is some PETA freak that's going to flip out that I'm buying meat. Then the guy leans towards me again and says in a low voice, "The thing about my family is that we're Jewish mafia and we kill people like you."

Well, well, this is getting more interesting I think to myself. I conclude that this guy isn't a PETA freak after all, but is probably high as a kite on crack, possibly with some bipolar disorder thrown in for good measure. I turn and glance at this guy again (oh my GOD, those eyebrows) and give him my best don't-fuck-with-me look, complete with one cocked eyebrow, the kind of look that has been known to freeze over parts of the Gulf of Mexico. He proceeded to mumble, presumably to me, about Lord only knows what. I pick up certain words like, "kill", "fucking", "mafia", "you" "animals".

I sigh, and wish for the millionth time that day that I lived in a time and place where I could say whatever I wanted and the repercussions would not involve me sustaining bodily harm. Because it took everything in me not to whip around and say, "First off, whoever does your eyebrows, THAT person should be killed. Second, I don't know who you think you are, but you need to shut the fuck up."

By this time I'm bagging my grocercies and the cashier is shooting the guy strange looks, possibily because of the eyebrows, but probably because of the muttering. She looks at me. I shrug my shoulders and indicate with a twirl of my finger near my head, that I think he's crazy. Cashier laughs.

I worried that Mr. Jewish Mafia/Eyebrow Freak would follow me once outside, because he only had two grocery items so he would be exiting the store quickly. As much as I joke about it, I'm fully aware of how dangerous people can be. So I booked it. And looked over my shoulder every few minutes.

Hopefully, that's the last time I'll be threatened by the mafia. Living in Philly, however, it will not be the last time I deal with a crazy.

posted by DJ Heavy D @ 6:34 AM