This place is a zoo

They say you never run into freaks when you're looking for them, so it makes sense that when I wasn't looking I ran directly into a freak.

I was on auto-pilot on my usual route through Union station when I collided with what at first struck me as very smelly wall.  In reality it was a very smelly person. Seems common enough, but instead of the usual "excuse me" (pronounced "fuck you" in New York), this freak responded with something completely unexpected.

"I'm tall."

When I looked up, I saw something completely unexpected.  He wasn't tall.  His natural human height was actually quite diminutive, but he'd added an attachment, a stuffed giraffe he'd cut off at the neck and made into a hat. 

Sensing my puzzlement, the freak repeated "I'm tall," and flashed me a dolphin-happy grin.

I wondered if he'd been confused by the term "concrete jungle," and not realized that the giraffe's natural habitat is the grasslands.  But I concluded that the get-up was simply for protection.  According to wiki:  "The hairs in a giraffe's fur work as a chemical defense, giving the animal a distinctive pungent odor."

My nose agreed that this defense could disarm any threat a giraffe might encounter in the subway.

The Rat-Like Freak

The rat-like freak I encoutered in Bryant Park station was actually a rat. But he was also a freak.

Because unlike his filthy vermin friends he wasn't scampering around looking for food or dodging trains. Instead he sat at the edge of the platform expectantly, as if he too were waiting for the train. Completely calm and unusually self-assured, the rat-like freak didn't even flinch when a group of loud Germans almost stepped on him. It wouldn't have surprised me in the least if he had pulled out a newspaper and started reading. I stared at him for a while and thought about how cute he would look with a tiny iPod and mini earbuds.

When I got on the next train, the rat-like freak remained on the platform, obviously waiting for the express. As my train rolled away I looked out the window, and he tipped the hat I imagined he was wearing towards me as if to say "welcome to New York." Feeling a bond with the creature, I gazed back into his beady little eyes and responded with a look that said "you are not invited to my future apartment."

The Plucker

I encountered my first freak, The Plucker, on the Q train from Brooklyn.  He was very pale, and completely hairless.  From watching his behavior it was fairly obvious why.  During the entire train ride, which lasted 20 minutes, he was plucking his face with tweezers.  He'd focus on one small area at a time, plucking furiously for about a minute.  Afterwards he'd rub his fingers over the newly smoothed skin, and then start plucking furiously all over again. Every once in a while he'd wipe the hair off the tweezers and brush it off of his pants onto the subway floor.

It was hard to look away, and a few times I accidentally made eye contact.  Maybe it was paranoia, or a fear of hairlessness, but when I got off the train I was certain he was following me.  Fortunately a busy train had just arrived so I quickly darted into the crowd.  The Plucker got lost in the shuffle and I safely made it home, unplucked.