An unpleasant encounter

I am lucky to have come across merely a few dangerously unstable people in my life. Here is one of them.

It was 1996, it was the end of the workday, and I was exiting the office of my Web 1.0 job. I was the managing editor of a webzine. We called them webzines, sadly. It was the kind of webzine that purposely misspelled words, and interviewed super-hip bands I had never heard of. I was 27, but I already felt too old to work there. One of my fellow editors was still in college. That seemed about right. During my first pitch meeting I mentioned this thing I heard about called “Burning Man.” It was new to me, but from the looks on everyone’s faces, I might as well have suggested we write about Jewel. The editor-in-chief rolled her eyes and I knew I would never recover from that faux pas, or any of the trillion others I would commit because I had no idea what was cool. I spent most of my days at the webzine trying to look like I understood what everyone was talking about, or cringing at all the ironic typos.

We were housed in a small, narrow office building just north of Houston Street (of course), the kind which is mostly occupied by business that employ leggy German models (as one does). Just standing in the elevator among all those cheekbones was enough to destroy any last shreds of self-confidence I had left by the end of the day. I was rushing out of the elevator on the day in question when I saw a woman just outside the door, studying the directory. She was a handsome lady—in her late forties or fifties, I’d say, blonde and immaculate, and let’s just all picture Martha Stewart, because I would swear that’s who it was. Although I’m sure it wasn’t. I’m 83% sure.

While she studied the directory, she was blocking the exit. I was sure she saw me, and anyway in order to leave I had to hit a red button that emitted a piercing beep when the door unlatched. You could not help but hear this when you were outside. It deafened anyone within a block radius. I assumed, therefore, that when I hit the button she would look up and move. I waved at her, but she kept gazing at the directory. The pride of Deutschland was lined up behind me. I hit the button, paused, and slowly opened the door. I opened it a few inches so I could say “excuse me,” but before I could say anything I saw that she was bending over, like she was examining something on the ground.

“Oh my God,” she gasped. “Oh God.” She was clutching her ankle. Which, it immediately became clear, I had hit with the door. Now, because I hadn’t opened the door so much as gently nudged it forward, I could only imagine that she had some sort of injury that I had aggravated, with my door-opening. Still, I felt terrible. My frantic need to get some distance from the building had caused me to injure an innocent bystander.

I began to apologize. A lot. What else could I do? I apologized and apologized. She wouldn’t acknowledge me. Her hands were trembling. I shuffled aside to let the assorted beautiful people out. They were unaffected by our non-leggy psychodrama and they glided down the sidewalk, leaving me alone, standing behind Martha Stewart. She was hissing some stuff. I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know what she was hissing.

“I’m really sorry,” I repeated. “Can I get you something? Oh dear. I guess you didn’t hear the alarm go off, huh?”

This, it turned out, was the wrong thing to say. When you strike a person, accidentally or not, you do not imply that it was in fact their fault. Especially if, say, they’re looking for a reason to come unglued.

“You mhurrhurr,” she muttered, and I gingerly touched her shoulder to ask her if I should get her some ice. And then I was on the ground.

I did not expect this turn of events. Even today, I’m not clear on how I got down there. She must have knocked me down, but all I can recall is how confused I was. I was up there and now I am down here. Well.

What happened next occurred in a matter of seconds. Martha Stewart screamed “You little twit. Look at what you did. Look at what you did.” And every time she said “you did,” she thrust her foot toward me, only it was into me, so actually she was kicking me, right around the knee area.

I was trying to figure out if she was kicking me with the injured foot or putting all her weight on the injured foot in order to kick me--because after all, if you have an injury, you should really wait a few days before you use that body part as a weapon—when the people arrived. Almost immediately a crowd had gathered. This is the wonderful thing about New York City. People will not hesitate to step into the middle of any fight—at least, when the involved parties are unarmed, female, and one of them is wearing an expensive pantsuit.

“She assaulted me,” Martha Stewart screeched. She really seemed to mean it. I assaulted her! Could it be true? Was I carrying so much pent-up rage throughout my day that I had to unleash it on someone’s ankle?

But before anyone could even turn to me to get my side of the story, my victim headed off (without a limp) down the street, shrugging people off of her, screaming expletives until she could no longer be seen.

And what did I do? I ran the hell away (in the other direction). People were looking to me for clarification, but more than anything, I wanted to escape. I got on the subway and tried to make sense of it, but it was like trying to decipher the angry rantings of a paranoiac. I hit a lady and she yelled and then I was on the ground and kick run what? I told the story to Scott, and maybe a friend or two, and then stopped. It was not a fun story to tell. It exhausted and confused me. Then there was the secret conviction that it was actually my fault. Why hadn’t I waited a second longer before opening the door? Why had I mentioned the alarm?

I probably shouldn’t add that I spent weeks unable to sleep because I was frantically recreating the incident so that I said the right thing and she didn’t call me names. Fortunately I was in therapy at the time. Not enough therapy, I suspect. At any rate, I am happy to report that I no longer believe I was the responsible party. Mostly. I’ve made some real progress!

I’m not even sure why I’m telling you this story now, 14 years later. I guess because I still think about it. I wonder about that lady. What did she think actually occurred? Did she tell her friends over cocktails about the young woman wearing crushed velvet and platform shoes who brutalized her foot? Or did she slow down after a few blocks, realize she wasn’t limping, and think, “Dear me, I seem to have overreacted again”? Maybe I can get on her show someday, and ask her.

Comments

[Zina]

You're letting yourself off much too easy. Of COURSE it was all your fault. Can't you entitled, frenzied New Yorkers wait a mere 15 minutes for someone to finish reading a directory before you rush for the exit?

[Zina]

P.S. I really, really hope that you do get on her show and ask her about it.

[Amanda]

Oh my. This sounds like something that I would do - and then continue to worry about for the next 16 years or so. Only, in my version, I would start crying as soon as I left the scene. And then I would rush home, bake meany Martha Stewart some apology cookies, and spend the next day wandering up and down Houston, searching for her and the opportunity to explain myself.

Why is it so much easier to believe of ourselves that we are secretly sinister, black-hearted people than it is to believe that sometimes, other people are just jerks for no reason?

[Kristen]

I totally do wonder what went on in that addled brain of hers. I mean, was it too many Cosmos at lunch? Was she looking to sue you (because, by the sound of it, you looked TOTALLY like a person someone like her should be suing ...).

I kind of wish I could kick her in the ankle and then start screaming about how she assaulted me. I'll do it -- would it make you feel better?

[Kim]

And I shall spend the next 14 years wondering if this really is a story about your meeting Martha Stewart, cleverly written to protect yourself. If she'd beat you senseless for hitting her ankle, imagine what her attorneys would do for your writing about it.

[juliejulie]

It's clear to me that you ruined her pedicure. So of course she was upset. I mean, if I had a dollar for every time I punched someone out over a pedicure infraction, accidental or otherwise...well...I could probably afford to live in NYC.

[Kizz]

This is the point at which I wish we had some sort of Sliding Doors, alternate reality option. What would have happened if you'd had a wardrobe malfunction a few feet from the door? You stop to adjust a shoe and one of the Cheekbone Brigade winds up operating the door in the face of Probably Martha. They would have used that door to flatten her into the directory and stepped gracefully over her writhing corpse, right? Or would a full scale cat fight have ensued? Maybe Probably Martha would have apologized to them because she was blinded by the cheekbones? WHY can we not go back and see?!?!??!?!

[Swedish Pankakes]

I believe this is reason enough to eat loads and loads of chocolate cake ... the reasons, being:
1 - that you may drown your sorrows in decadent goodness, and
2 - that when the next person tries to hurl you to the ground, they will find that you are actually too heavy.

[hi kooky]

I'm pretty sure she didn't stop to wonder if she overreacted again. She most likely still wonders "What's with all the twits who do things to me?" I'm sorry that nutcake totally ruined your day(s). Freaky.

[LivewithFlair]

Maybe the injured woman has been sublimated into your mind so that she represents a version of your worst self. Freud would have so much fun with you. www.livewithflair.blogspot.com

[Margaret]

Oh my god! I think you ran into my crazy former boss! (Well, probably not, given that she rarely deigns to leave Midtown, but it sure sounds like her. Right down to the lack of sleep and obsessing about how I could have done things better.)

[Katie]

I choose to believe she went straight to her shrink to ask for a medication tweak. And I say that with mental health medication coursing through my veins.

You eased the door open. She...was in need of some sort of professional assistance. A few sandwiches short of a picnic, if you will. And I mean that in the best way, as I know people are mentally ill, not batshit crazy, blah blah blah disclaimer. But seriously. Batshit crazy.

[madge]

I worked on Broadway btwn Houston & Prince in 1996. I feel like I might have had an interaction with the same lady. Right after she finished peeing in our elevator. In those days, it was models or crazies and nothing in between.

Oh, and Madonna. She took yoga across the street.

[Chris]

I used to work at a marina during one of my summer jobs before starting college. One day, a man drove his rust covered dinghy to the gas dock to fuel up. It was my job to lend a hand with docking and ring up the customer and generally be polite and/or invisible as needed at the resort. But this guy was headed straight for the dock with such a speed I could tell the impact would harm the dock, his boat, and possibly him as well. As he got closer he eased up enough that I felt safe enough to try and “catch “ the dinghy by leaning out to meet it. Why I sacrificed my body for minimum wage and no hazard pay is beyond me. Although let’s hope I’ve become smarter about that since college. Anyway, I manage to slow the thing enough that it only creates a small dent, at which point the man cuts the engine. Only I don’t notice him cutting the engine as I’m trying to save the dock/myself/etc, so it ends up bouncing off the dock as I unwittingly push it away. He starts throwing a fit and accusing me of harming his bucket of rust that he’d driven at me at 80mph. After another attempt, we manage to get his boat secured. Except he’s still spewing hate and I call in a “Code Blue” which just meant I had an angry customer and wanted someone else to come take care of it.
So the moral is, I hate that guy, but I got to look bad-ass by saying “code blue” into my walkie-talkie. So, you know, I’ve got that going for me.

[Erol]

The real fault lies with the person who put the directory where someone reading it is in danger of being hit by a door. Also, doors open, so anyone who stands where they can be hit by a door opening needs to look out for that.

[megansquared]

This sounds kind of like the one time this guy at Nordstrom Rack followed me around and tried to get me to meet up with him later, except in your case, Martha wasn't a pedophile. He did end up somehow finding my phone number several months later.

Crazy unstable people? 2
Terrified, bewildered normal people? 0

[Suzanne]

Back before kids, I lived in a building that required key card access after 6 pm. There was a desk guy whose job it was to let in the idiots who had forgotten their cards, but when this story occurred he was in the bathroom or something.

I had just gotten back from 12 hours on a plane and it was after midnight and I was trying to drag my luggage to the elevator when these people started screaming at me from inside the vestibule. Apparently they had been standing their for several minutes waiting for someone to let them into the building. I apologized and said I would go find the guy who worked the desk when the husband started calling me...not nice things. Bad words. Because he needed to be inside RIGHT NOW. So instead of opening the door I explained to them I had no idea if they lived in the building and wasn't about to let a couple of crazy (probably drunk) people in at 1 am. I may have also called his wife a "stupid frog" because she spoke with a French accent. Not my proudest moment. Then I went to wait for my elevator, trying not to cry because they were MEAN and I was tired.

So of course the doorman comes back just then and lets them in so they're standing right next to me at the elevator and we ride up 13 floors together while I sob quietly and they stare and me and call me a bitch in French. I was terrified of running into them again the entire time I lived in that building and seriously considered moving.

[E]

I had a similar experience (also in NYC, of course---except I did not end up on the ground---I am sorry that happened to you!)

I was on the Upper East Side, on a weekend, waiting at a corner with my husband (we were walking up to go running in the Park). A woman was also standing on the corner waiting to cross. I think she was wearing a leotard. She was really pretty---not typical, Upper East Side, Martha Stewart pretty (like your lady), but more German model pretty, I guess.

Anyway, I looked at her out of the corner of my eye (I was wearing sunglasses) for a moment and looked away. Like I said, she was pretty in an unusual way (for the Upper East Side, on a weekend). And she was wearing a leotard.

The woman began screaming at me to STOP LOOKING AT HER! I told her I wasn't looking at her (which was sort of true--I had only glanced), but she continued screaming. I don't remember what else she said, but I was worried that she was going to beat me up, and she screamed at me the entire time we crossed the street. I think my husband told her she was crazy.

Weird. For weeks I looked at NO ONE. What a shame to be so pretty yet so crazy. And why do these things only happen in New York??

[Leslie Turnbull]

Horrid encounter. Let's all move on.

Crushed velvet and platforms? Really?

Awesome!

[Kari]

You should have kicked her in the good leg. Then she really would have had something to freak out over. What a kook!

[Shannon]

Oh man, I can totally understand how that would stay in your head for a long time. I have one of those too, although it didn't actually involve physical violence. I worked as a server in a family restaurant ten years ago. There was a buffet as well as menu service. On the night in question one of 3 servers had failed to show up for work so I was serving about 15 tables during the supper rush. I was running around madly trying to take care of a lot of tables and anyone with half a brain could have observed that. Two middle aged women came and ordered the buffet so after getting them drinks and giving instructions regarding the buffet I left them to themselves. When they were done they got up to leave and I hurried over to give them their bill (they had to pay at a reception area outside the dining room) meeting them in front of the line of people waiting to be seated. One of the ladies freaked out on me saying I was "the MOST IGNORANT" person she had ever met and that I had not served them well etc. etc. She browbeat me in front of other customers for several minutes and refused to accept my apologies (although what I was apologizing for I still don't know) and eventually snatched the bill and went off to pay. She bitched to the cashier and anyone who would listen. I was so taken aback as I had been so incredibly busy and while they may have waited a little longer than normal to receive their bill, it can't have been that long. I went into the kitchen and bawled my face off. Luckily the other servers were sympathetic. I have learned there are some people who don't want an apology and need to spew their anger anywhere they can and unfortunately some of us lucky people get to be their targets! Even though I know it wasn't my fault I still feel sick about the encounter to this day. Nice to know I'm not alone!

[NISHANT]

u should have to broke her leg at that time. so she shouldnot mess with anyone else.

[barb.]

Those things do stick, don't they? I was in a crowded grocery store around Thanksgiving last year with two small children and this woman came barreling around the corner and ran into my basket. She screeched that I needed to watch where I was going (uh...what?) and I have for months now replayed that scene over and over trying to figure out if it really was my fault or if she was simply a lunatic on the loose. I still don't know. But somehow I can't trying to figure out what happened.

[Bev]

"Pride of Deutschland"....hysterical!!

Always happy to see a post from you show up in my reader. :)

[Teresa]

I can almost guarantee she has no idea what happened. I was attacked walking out of a port a potty at an outdoor festival. After all was said and done, the lady stated to the cops that she attacked me because I threw beer on her. Who carries their beer into a port a potty? Not I said the fly.

[Erika]

When I hear stories like this, I feel better about my little anger management issue. I have NEVER done anything remotely approaching what that lunatic did but, I won't ever have to worry about being treated that way either. Although, it might have turned out a little worse had she knocked me down, then kicked me. So maybe I shouldn't feel better after all?

[Erin]

This story totally fits in with my image of Martha as portrayed by Cybill Shepherd in the made-for-TV movie "Martha Inc."

[minor catastrophes]

When I encounter someone like that, I just think how miserable that must feel to be inside that person's mind and body, trapped there with all that anger...Do people like that eventually spontaneously combust?

[victoria]

I was in Victoria's Secret where a salesperson helped me find just the right tool of seduction. I was appropriately grateful for this marriage-saving retail intervention, so I approached the salesperson, who was by then talking with another customer.

Their conversation was protracted. I interrupted, politely, "Excuse me, sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to thank you for helping me."

The other customer huffed off.

Then, while I was standing in line, the other customer confronted me and told me I was "racist" because I had interrupted her colloquy with the salesperson and would certainly have not done so if she were white.

I was stunned, speechless.

After a few seconds, I confronted her: "You have no idea who I am. In fact, just before coming here I made a significant donation to a charity that provides legal service to poor people. That was the last thing I did before coming here. You are insane if you think my thanking a salesperson makes me a racist."

"Jesus, lady, get over it," she replied.

[Orion]

I always knew Martha was like this...now I have proof.

[Ellen]

I got yelled at in a parking lot because I parked TOO CLOSE to some woman's SUV (she was on the white line! and I was in my space). I only squeezed in there to begin with to get as close to the store as possible so I wouldn't have to walk as far ON MY BROKEN FOOT.

[Kate]

Hillarious! You are a wonderful story teller.

[Mauigirl]

What a weird encounter! I would guess she probably realized later she overreacted. Could be she had had a few drinks at lunch AND was totally menopausal. Or perhaps bipolar and off her meds. In which case she probably would not feel she overreacted. But it certainly wasn't your fault! I too would still brood over something like that too - we tend to worry too much about what we do wrong. I find Xanax cures that, LOL!

[theresa]

Ok, people are just plain weird! She was nothing more than a manipulative, bully and you were her victim that day. The little girl across the street acts the same way towards my daughter. My daughter is no longer allowed to play with her because I finally got sick of try to explain "Honey, it's not your fault, you didn't do anything. So and so hit you and that's not ok." ARGH! Sorry!!

[Alexandra]

I LOVE how you tell a story.

I LOVE IT.

[88 Highbury Corner]

As my husband once commented about New York, there's no shortage of crazy people. And I think that I worked in the same building only around the corner.

[MJ]

If it's any consolation, the statute of limitations on anything relating to this incident passed long ago. So it's time to let yourself off the hook as well. I'd like to think that you would handle the situation differently today.

[Brianna]

If it's any consolation...I live in CT and am friends with someone who worked for her back in her pre-famous Martha days. She's nuts. It's so not you.

[Swistle]

Oh yes, YES, frantically recreating the incident so that it goes right! I recognize!

[heyjoe00]

Dearest Alice,

I will pray that you get a shady spot in hell.

Blessedly,
Joe

[Linda]

The worst part of an encounter like this is the constant replay in your head in which you are saying clever, witty things instead of just standing there like a twit while some a@@hole heaps abuse on you. At least, that's how it usually works for me.

[EOMama]

Whatever, Martha! Crazy betch.

[Teresa Bruce]

Wow - wonder how that attitude went over behind bars. "YOU SLOPPED THAT CASSEROLE ONTO MY TRAY!"

[Beth]

Oh my. I still have in my head the image of the woman with the cane who was standing perilously close to the people walker, and when I was thrown off of it and into her cane, hissed "B*tch" at me in such a scary way I almost wet my pants.

My New York story does not involve a crazy person, but it could only happen in New York. It's a slushy grey day and I am hurrying along 8th street. I round the corner and there's a frame skip in my mental movie, and somehow I am lying down in the slush and my butt is burning hot. I actually think to myself in a sentence, "Why am I lying in this gutter and why is my butt burning?" I stagger up and this poor girl helps me, stammering, "I am so, so sorry! My tea! Are you OK?" Turns out she had banged into me, knocked me into the gutter, and her tea had sloshed out of its cup and onto my butt, burning said appendage. But I was very magnanimous about it.

[Tilly]

I've always been suspicious about her....

[Kate]

Why I feel the need to share this with you after reading that, I'm not sure, but here goes: in 2000, I was in my mid-twenties. The Internet was new enough and I was cheap enough that I actually went to the public library to check email and that kind of thing, since I didn't have Internet access at my apartment. There were about 4 computer stations, and you had to sign up for 1/2 hour time slots. I was waiting my turn, and the person ahead of me started to run over his time slot by a few minutes. Oh, I should mention. He was 9 or 10 years old. I gently tapped him on the shoulder and politely told him, "I think your time is up." So he went about his way, and, (as I would find out about 2 minutes later)...proceeded to go outside, get on his bike to leave, cross the street, and get hit by a car. He was killed by this car instantly! He died! In one sense, I know that this was not at all my fault. But 10 years later, I still can't shake the occasional bad feeling that if only I hadn't rushed him off the computer this never would have happened.
Okay, sorry to burden you with this terrible tale. I guess your story just reminded me of it.

[Marie]

Some people glory in anything that gives them the excuse to rip into innocent bystanders for some imagined wrong. I used to have a so-called friend like that. It was crazy bad. (And I still have a sibling with similar tendencies. Oy.) This leads me to believe that this incident was so NOT your fault!

The sad thing about crazy people is that they are good at sucking you into their crazy, so it messes you up while you are recovering from *their* assault, even years later. A pox on that lady.

[Suzanne]

I moved to the South from Chicago. Little did I know that when faced with a double-doored entrance, people here invariably choose the door on the left to enter a building, instead of the one on the right (as any civilized northerner would). So, here I am, properly exiting through the right side (opaque) door when I encounter a howling banshee of a woman screaming that I've BROKEN HER NAIL!!! My look of confusion only served to heighten her fury as she began to beat me about the head and shoulders with her fully-weighted Dooney and Bourke satchel. I recall croaking out 'Someone help me!' before her friend dragged her away, frothing at the mouth. Yes, she was quite the delicate Southern Belle, that one.

[Kendra]

I completely identify with the replaying the incident over and over to clarify exactly your role in it so you know exactly how much blame to assign. THere are stories I will never tell anyone, but which I consistently revisit to see if I can determine exactly which ratio of guilt, shame, and outrage is appropriate.

[haley]

Wow, seeing as how it's impossible to go anywhere in NY without someone accidentally hitting you, slamming bags into you, walking into you, etc.. this lady must have similar episodes throughout the day. She was obviously just plain crazy! The good news is she probably did something similar to an equally crazy person and received her karmic retribution (probably in the form of an actual injury : P).