overheard on the Q60
8 min @ the midtown Hilton, NYC
November 1 2012
She is the queen of 60. She reigns the only Queens bus that takes you all the way to Manhattan. She’s actually 55.
No sleuthing necessary as she grills the young South Asian on her way to the mall. “How old are you?” She lobs the four words gently, smiling all the while. The girl does that side to side look seeking an ally against the crazy attack in the crowded confines of the public bus. There are none.
“Sixteen? You look sixteen. Am I right? Sixteen right?” The queen is on full attack now, barely leaving the girl any room to breathe or think. The girl is young and buckles.
“Yeah, sixteen.”
“Hah, I knewed it!” The queen shouts this back over her shoulder to her travel companion who does not exist. “Lookit dat! I hit it on the head! Sixteen! I knewed it!”
And then comes the sucker punch.
“I’m fifty-five. You see dat sign? You sittin’ in the senior seat… uhhuh.” She graciously waits for the adolescent to confirm for herself that she is in breach of social etiquette. The teen reads without comprehension. The queen is a queen and therefore imperious.
“Yeah, dat’s right, lemme have a rest young’un. I’ll let you set in a bit. We’ll take turns. That’s the way it should work. Everyone should take turns.”
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