Censorship? Not in my city!
Remember that movie starring Eddie Murphy–”Coming to America?” He played an African prince who traveled to New York City to get a regular job in a fast food chain. Upon reaching his destination, he joyously yelled out the window, and the city yelled back “F**K You!” Or words to that effect. Sort of a celebration of straight talking New Yorkers. And the ubiquitous four letter words that float through the air like the scent of hotdogs and sauerkraut.
I also remember my fellow New Yorkers on the subway trains, without fail–every time–jumping out of their seats to hold the doors open as I passed through them with my son in his stroller. Or picking up one end of his stroller to help me carry it up the subway station stairs. And the marijuana merchants on my corner at Columbus Avenue & 73rd always helping me and my roommate carry our grocery bags down to the other end of the block.
Now four letter words to me are just part of the vocabulary, but try to explain that to a lifelong Southerner. (Other than Miami, which is part Havana north and part New York South) They don’t get it.
When you’re working in a non air-conditioned seafood factory, and the machine that’s taping the boxes that you have to stack on a pallet keeps malfunctioning, as a native New Yorker my natural reponse was: “Why the &*#! doesn’t somebody fix these m*^tha&*#!in’ machines?”
The natural response of my Southern Baptist raised supervisors was to “counsel” me, (Strangely they say nothing to foul mouthed male co workers) and warn me that “profanity” is not tolerated, bla, bla, bla….
I had to explain to my union rep that this is the way I talk. F**k is an adjective, as in this f**king machine keeps breaking, and that this is the way I–and most New Yorkers I know–talk. With all due diligence to protecting the delicate ears of my elderly auntie and others like her. No big deal. To me, it’s a hell of a lot more important how you treat people than how you talk. I distinguish between calling somebody’s mama a F**kin’?B**ch??(something?I’d never do, because it’s a personal attack) and commenting that the weather is F**kin” hot as hell!(which is Truth).
I’m sure as hell no African prince, but after ten years in exile here in the Southern USA, I look forward to the day when I can hang out a New York City window, and yell: “Good Fucking Morning, New York!”
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