Like what you see?

New Jersey shopping malls are terrible representations of the people who hail from the Garden State.  When I tell someone I’m from New Jersey, they confuse me with this guy.  That asshole comes from New York or North Jersey (aka Other York).  His kind slowly creeps down during the summer months from Brooklyn, Staten Island and Westchester.  A few summers ago, I was walking through a local NJ mall with a friend when someone just like this guy was walking towards us.

As if it was a formula that every Benny follows, his girlfriend had the biggest fake tits and I just couldn’t help but stare.  Not in admiration; rather, in awe that so much could fit beneath stretched skin.  And then this guy caught me staring at his investment.  “Like what you see?” asked the Benny.

Growing up, I was picked on for being chubby and socially awkward by guys like him.  As I became older, I grew a set of balls and a rotten habit of making this New Yauwk, alpha-male type look foolish as much as possible.  Turning around to face the couple, I looked straight into his eyes from about 30 feet, proclaimed “Yes, I’m enjoying the show,” stood there motionless as his face turned a deeper shade of orange and watched as his concubine whisked him away while urging him to not start a fight.

I thought my mission was accomplished.  Hoping that jerk was somewhere near Macy’s, emasculated by my quick and unexpected response, I was shocked to hear, “Hey you.”  There he was, standing not 5 feet behind me.  Like a Silverback gorilla with a blowout, this dickhead must have spent the past ten minutes boiling and was about to burst his fist through my face.  My friend braced himself for a fight and I could see Barbie trailing behind because of her heels.  “Want to repeat what you just said?”

About half the people I meet for the first time mistake me for being gay.  It’s believable if you stare at me long enough.  My expressions are softer and my mannerisms during excitable times are questionable.  There’s no doubt in my mind that I could easily pass as a gay man without surprising a single person.  This thought came to mind exactly when it was needed the most.  “I said I was enjoying the show…  And I still am” were my exact words.

I was willing to bet he wanted to hear more before taking a swing.  “So you think it’s right to stare at another man’s girl like that?”  “Your girl?” I asked.  “No sweetheart.  I was looking at you.”  He was shocked as I gave him the full-body glance, starting from his feet, pausing near his crotch and ending in his eyes.  With his finger pointed in my face and a look that screamed “I’m the world’s largest homophobe,” Fred Flintstone backed off and went on his merry way.

Pulling the gay card worked wonderfully.  I went home and was so excited about how I handled myself that I told my family this exact story.  But when I was finished telling the story, expecting laughter, there was only silence until my mother spoke up, “It’s OK if you are, we’ll love you all the same.”

This story was suggested by Jake Byrne