Walking down Eighth Avenue to meet Andie for a dinner of shepherd’s pie and Guinness, I overheard some dude in a parked van direct a shout-out to a duo of young ladies passing by on the sidewalk.
I’m embarrassed for my gender to admit catcalls frequent my work neighborhood: random young men, of the slouchy jeans set, will holler after a lady. Typically it’s a highly obvious, frequently offensive and always unoriginal commentary on her walk or a specific part or region of her body, as if there’s a chance she’d stop and coo, “Take me now, you silver-tongued lothario!”
The guy I passed was directing his affection toward a young lady wearing black Chucks, jeans in the Barney-iest of purples, a jacket in a giant black-and-white houndstooth pattern and huge triangular earrings that appeared to be made of pewter formed to resemble bamboo. But I must give mild respect to this guy, for after his initial “Hey!” and a honk of his van’s horn for emphasis, he suggested that he sought a sassily dressed girl with street smarts by shouting “Bamboo earrings, at least two pair!” quoting one of my favorite rap classics of all time. The ladies paid him no mind. And yet: a refreshingly inventive holler, my good man!