NYC comedian and jazz musician Camille Harris is the talent behind “Babies on The Subway.” Her new single, “Above The Trees” comes out today. Don’t miss her live FREE live show on Monday, December 12th at Rockwood Music Hall
Having lived in New York for the past 8 years, it is a very common occurrence to come in contact with individuals who I will label as ‘crazy.’ This doesn’t necessarily mean certifiable crazy, but it does mean that they’re crazy enough to prevent me from wanting to be in their personal space.
This condition, not entirely bat shit crazy but more in line with oh ‘that guy’ crazy, will rear its head every so often. Such was this case this past Monday when I emerged from the 2/5 train depot on Flatbush Avenue as part of my daily commute home. I meandered my way in the rain through the bus line and people trying to cross the street, when I found myself standing next to a black gentleman in a blue rain coat and baseball cap, not so casually yelling to himself and people around him. I said ‘oh, isn’t that adorable – a crazy guy yelling in the rain. I hope he finds his way home safely.
So I joined said crazy guy for a stroll across the street, which turned into a stroll down Flatbush Avenue. As we approached the driveway to my building, I saw him meander UP the driveway, which meant that he was headed MY way, which disturbed me a bit. Surely he couldn’t be a resident of MY building, the one for which I had to sit in front of an approval board and answer questions. I mean maybe he lived with his relatives who snuck him in the building once their financials were settled. Neverthless, as we both walked in the lobby and headed towards the elevator, I thought to myself – do I really have to be in an elevator with this guy? I know he’s going to start ask me questions and I’ll have to nod, laugh, and say ‘sure it is, ‘ regardless of the question. So there is a wait for the elevator, with said crazy guy standing next to two furniture delivery people. I quietly minded my own business and read a flyer on the wall, hoping that when the elevator arrive I would have no choice but to not get in for fear of crowding. So elevator door opens, and the two men get in along with my new crazy friend. I stand by idly, pretending to be distracted by my wall flyer, when I hear ‘you see that? That dude doesn’t want to get in the elevator with black folks.’ The door closes as I realize that now the crazy man thinks I’m racist for avoiding his company in the elevator. I want to stop the elevator, open the door and say ‘no, it’s not them, it’s YOU, but alas, it was too late.