Stranger, Why Do You Hate Me?

Last week I was on the subway homeward bound from the misery machine (my cute pet name for the office). I was laughing with my co-worker about something when a grimy man walked by, looked me in the eye and loudly and bitterly imitated my laugh.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I have always felt that mocking someone’s laugh is up there with the most hurtful things you can tease someone for. Laughter is joy escaping your body involuntarily, and then to have someone walk up to you and essentially say, “You sound retarded,” is a pretty hurtful thing.

I turned to my co-worker and said, “That was weird,” and continued talking. A few stops later we were talking about our weekend plans. I mentioned how my wife and I would be going futon shopping. The grimy man passed by again this time yelling at me, “Yeah right! Whatever!”

Now it would be a different story if he had been yelling at other people. I would then feel like part of a social clique. When you are the only one pointed out you feel more like a loser than anything else.

I answered him by saying, “See if you get to sleep over on my new futon. The couch is the best you’ll get!”

I started to get paranoid, why did this man hate me so much? Do I remind him of someone? Perhaps when I was in seventh grade he was the kid I laughed at when I heard over kids had put chocolate covered ex-lax in his desk and he gobbled it up. Maybe he was just around the corner and heard me laughing about it and has held a grudge all these years until it all came spilling out now during a chance meeting on the TTC.

Just before our stop he once again passed by and made a noise “blah-blagh-blah!” The man hated me so much he couldn’t find words to express himself.

We got off the subway to change subway lines and he was walking just ahead of us. He stopped a small Asian woman, pointed me out and said something more about me. I have no idea if the woman agreed with him or not. I was more concerned that he was recruiting people into his I Hate Jason Club.

My co-worker ever helpful suggested it might be my red coat, “He may be half bull or something.”