I don’t know about you, but I get nervous around screaming people on the street.
I know from a number of incidents in Toronto that making eye contact basically invites a screaming crazy person to twist your nipples and take your wallet, so my usual modus operandi is complete and utter denial that the screaming is happening.
Our neighbourhood is rife with screaming people, but after three years, you start to get to know them – Angry Bob, Pissed-Off Denise, “I’ll Cut You” Mike – and you can tell when they’re just screaming for fun and when they’re really having a bad day and you steer clear when you need to. But every now and then, a new screamer appears on the scene and I immediately go into nipple protection mode.
So yesterday, I was standing at a stoplight with Emmy Lou when I started to hear this very angry woman about a block behind me. Man, she was angry. Shouting out obscenities, stomping down the sidewalk – really furious and unavoidably loud. She seemed to be moving pretty fast and I didn’t want to risk turning around and getting the nip twist, so I stood stock still and stared straight ahead, willing the light to change. But then the dog blew it.
Me: Be cool, dog. Be cool.
Emmy: What’s that noise?
Me: BE COOL, DOG.
Emmy: You HAVE to be hearing this. What IS that?
Despite my subtle attempts to keep her facing forward, the dog twisted around and stared right at the source of the screaming. Right behind me, I hear:
At least that FUCKING DOG is listening to me!! ‘Cause you sure as hell aren’t!!!! JESUS!
Naturally, I assumed she was talking to me. I held my breath. Then the light changed and the angry woman – with her silent, chastised male partner – brushed past me, crossed the street and continued their one-sided fight.
I watched as they stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and she continued to berate him. My nipples relaxed. I turned to Emmy Lou, who was now lovingly nuzzling some garbage on the curb.
Me: Good work. I think it’s nice she felt listened to.
Emmy: Yeah. Look, I have the wrapper here but the Filet ‘o Fish seems to be missing.
On my way home, I started to think about therapy dogs and how Emmy Lou could finally start giving back instead of laying around the house and gassing us. Sure, she would suck at letting children or the elderly pet her, but she might be a good listener. I mean, come on…
Who wouldn’t want to tell their deepest secrets to this face?
Thanks to my brother-in-law Drew for the picture, which I stole off his Facebook page.
