That’s the delightful manner in which I was roused from slumber this morning.
Picture it: Harlem, 7am – an irate man screaming obscenities at a young woman in the middle of the street, directly beneath my open bedroom window.
From what I could glean in my sleep-dulled haze, Rhonda* has been cheating on her longterm boyfriend Jamal* for the past several months and Jamal just found out about it.
[*Names have been made up on account of I don’t actually know these people.]
Rhonda, waiting at the bus stop, is either not speaking to Jamal, or is speaking in a reasonable tone rendering her inaudible from my vantage point.
In contrast, Jamal is screaming his fucking face off.
‘I been wit you for five years! FIVE YEARS! And this is how it is?’
I don’t know if Rhonda responded or not, but she briskly walked away from the bus stop (and Jamal) to the street corner in order to hail a cab. (Yes, obviously I was spying on them from my bedroom window. What?)
Jamal follows and continues to yell.
‘You don’t walk away from me, bitch! You don’t walk away from ME! I don’t need this! You a fat ass ho!’
Then Rhonda hopped in the cab, Jamal moved on to another block and the show ended rather abruptly, which sucks because I hate unresolved love stories.
Sadly, this sort of thing happens all the time. It’s par for the course when you live above a Mexican restaurant/bar that serves drinks until 4am, because drunk people LOVE yelling.
It is slightly rarer, though not unprecedented, to be treated to a screaming match in front of the bus stop (also conveniently located just outside my window) first thing on a Wednesday morning.
On the bright side, situations like this really make me want to sing:
‘It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood,
A beautiful day for a neighbor,
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?
Please won’t you be my neighbor?’
Good morning, Harlem!