Posted by
• 02.26.10 10:00 am

READER SUBMITTED CONTENT It was a Tuesday. Or was it a Wednesday? Regardless, it was a weekday, and I was looking for something interesting to occur on an unusually dull afternoon, so I went to the one place where I’ve witnessed drunken brawls and men high on nitrous asking me for drugs, and have had meaningful conversations with wandering banjo players: Union Square.

It was a Tuesday. Or was it a Wednesday? Regardless, it was a weekday, and I was looking for something interesting to occur on an unusually dull afternoon, so I went to the one place where I’ve witnessed drunken brawls and men high on nitrous asking me for drugs, and have had meaningful conversations with wandering banjo players: Union Square. It’s a reliable place for a person like me to get their needed daily fix of the bizarre.

I sat by the statue of the guy on the horse (I haven’t bothered to look at the plaque explaining it), tried and then pretended to read a Samuel Beckett novel for one of my classes. In between re-reading the same sentence, I watched a nearby group of teenage skateboarders. After a few minutes, a guy I’ve seen in Union Square regularly dealing drugs came up to me. He asked why I was sitting on the dirty pavement and then told me that one of his friends (apparently one of the skateboarders) wanted to talk to me, but was too shy to. He asked me if it was alright if he came to speak with me, and I said it was fine. A minute later, this blond kid of about 17 came by and sat down next to me on his skateboard. He told me his name was Sasha and that he was born in Estonia (I’m not quite sure I believed him). Throughout our conversation he kept picking at an angry welt on his arm.

After five minutes, two of his friends came by and sat down with us. They consisted of a young and rather dazed looking girl in a peasant shirt and skirt and a boy in brown corduroys with wild, long brown hair. He reminded me of a very earnest 50-year-old ex-hippie who believed fiercely in the consciousness expanding properties of LSD, but had taken too much of it as a teenager, thus leaving him with a vacant stare. I talked to this kid about our various experiences on mushrooms and asked about the green paint covering his limbs, to which he responded, “I don’t remember how it got there, it happened at this guy Richard’s apartment, I think.”

I noticed the dazed girl was beginning to undress because “her nipples were showing” in her gauzy peasant top. She asked me if I thought so and I replied, “Well, I can see your nipples but who cares?” Disregarding my opinion, she took out another shirt from a plastic bag beside her and put it on. Then she took off her skirt and put on a pair of jeans from the bag. All of this took place in a very crowded Union Square, but no one seemed to notice a 15-year-old girl undressing. After she finished changing, Sasha asked me if I wanted to go drinking with him and his skateboard gang. I said sure and got up, saying goodbye to his two friends.

Carrying two six-packs of Blue Moon, we met up with the drug dealer and the gang at a restaurant on University Place. We didn’t buy anything and sat at an outdoor table drinking beer and obviously bothering the other customers. This was most likely due to the skateboard kid wearing a shirt with a woman being eaten out by a fat man (he claimed he got it at Trash and Vaudeville, but I think he made it, due to the fact that the picture was drawn on using Sharpie). He was laughing like a deranged child and wouldn’t stop making jokes as to how the froth in the beer bottles looked like “pussy froth.” I don’t know what the hell he was talking about. He was a fucking idiot, but his 14-year-old girlfriend found his jokes about mythical pussy froth endearing.

The next 15 minutes consisted of Sasha apologizing for his friends. I didn’t care, it was pretty entertaining. However, after about a half an hour one of the waiters came up to our table, telling us to get “the fuck out of his restaurant” if we weren’t going to buy anything. The drug dealer began violently arguing with the waiter in Spanish for a few minutes. We finally succumbed and retreated to a nearby stoop to finish the beers. The drug dealer asked me about my nationality. When he discovered I was one-eighth Cherokee he became incredulous, saying, “Everyone fucking says that, man, but I grew up on a fucking reservation. I’m pure blood.” I looked at him like he was crazy because this guy was obviously Puerto-Rican and apparently a pure-blood loving fascist. I said, “Wow, what reservation?”. He responded by mumbling, “Some place upstate.”

We returned to Union Square, where I met other members of the gang. One of the guys I met was this flamboyant gay man probably high on amphetamines or coke (he was talking a mile a minute and clenching his jaw constantly). He proudly told me he could guess any woman’s bra size on the first try. I said, “Go ahead, prove it.” He then paused and looked at my breasts. After thirty seconds he said, “You’re a 32 B.” “Wrong”, I said. “OK, then what is your size?” “32 C.” “No fair!” he shouted, “That’s a tricky fucking size! It’s unusual!” He did know a lot about breasts for a gay man. After a few more minutes of talking to him I excused myself, saying I had to get back to class, to which the gang responded, “Why the fuck do you wanna go back to class?”

A few days later I saw Sasha again. He was walking down Fourth Avenue wearing a private school uniform and pretended he didn’t see me. He was probably embarrassed by the tie and khakis, which are no substitute for ripped jeans and a skateboard, apparently.


Send “Open Mics” to

  1. yikes says:

    Not bad.

  2. anon says:

    kahdooz to you

  3. Billy Cox says:

    hahaaha sounds like me growing up, except none of us were private school kids

  4. Vane$$a says:

    You need an editor. You took too long getting to the halfway decent (albeit hackneyed) punchline(s) at the end. Still, making fun of poseurs never gets old. And stop reading 19th century English chimney sweep novels or whatever it is that’s making your prose revert into the cheap and pretentious.

  5. lol@u says:

    pussy froth is real.

  6. America First says:


  7. Treetop says:

    Are these all written by the same person?

  8. fredMS says:

    the bra-size guessing is pretty easy to do, but its a decent party trick.

  9. flickin'beans says:

    this reminds me of doing peer editing in 8th grade when the topic was “what was your favorite day over the summer”. fucking boring and probably not true.

  10. Spandrell says:

    “pussy froth is real.”

    all too real

  11. Casper says:

    That forth kid’s name is Telly, that niggah gave HIV to chloe sevigny.

  12. Ted Bundy says:

    Vane$$a I am going to get you 😉

  13. Barlow says:

    nice dream

  14. homeless. says:

    Vane$$A you have been on fire lately!

  15. RichardCheese says:

    i didn’t read it….already saw “kids”

  16. Anonymous says:


    This site is filled with English Major Dropouts with Shoe Fetishes.


  17. skull front says:

    future film makers and art school trust fund babies. it never ends…

  18. black person says:

    pussy froth is some real talk

  19. Really? says:

    That statue is motherfucking Washington. He’s on like half the money in your pocket. You know, the money you spend on huffing paint so you can’t recognize the first goddamn president when he’s 15′ tall and waving at you.

  20. OK says:

    does shit like this actually happen to people? all i’ve ever done at union square was get hustled by MEAN drug dealers

  21. OK says:

    p.s. the kid’s remark would be fun except the fact that you posted as “casper”. the guy who played him died.

  22. zoe says:

    yeah, this actually did happen, didn’t make anything up. and i’m sorry my expensive paint huffing habit makes me unable to recognize george washington statues. it’s a problem.

  23. skull front says:

    whatever.. call your mommy

  24. zoe says:


  25. Anonyourmom. says:

    Larry Clark just made (another) shitty movie about this blog post. It’s called “Next Friday”. Eh? Eh?

  26. OK says:

    zoe i wasn’t doubting that it happened, i’m surprised it did i totally wish i had good experiences like that!

  27. Hairy Sheets says:

    Hey Vanessa I bet Zoe is prettier than you. And I am, like, really perceptive.

  28. Anonymous says:

    i once hung out with some people, and like talked and stuff

  29. baracudaboy says:

    fake or not it felt endearing.

Leave A Reply