It

A true story by Erick Sahler

This week I met pure evil.

It was in the form of a squatty androgyne geezer in the seat next to me on the ferry to Rockaway Beach.

To set the scene, Tracy and I were near the front of the line as ferry boarding began. Knowing we needed to be on the exposed upper deck to shoot photos of Jamaica Bay for an upcoming project, we hustled through the cabin from bow to stern and then up the stairs.

Half of the seats were already taken, so I grabbed the two remaining in a line of three facing the port side — the direction we needed to shoot — and sat in the middle seat.

The instant my bottom hit the hard plastic, It growled, “I’d appreciate you not sitting in my lap. I’m a mean junkyard dog. Do NOT mess with me.”

Huh?

I looked at my lap.

It was entirely in my seat.

And I’ll be the first to admit, I’m a big guy with an above-average caboose. But I’m certain my caboose had not strayed from its track.

Maybe I misheard. Or maybe It was talking to someone else. Maybe on a cell phone.

I was too afraid to look.

A few minutes later, I felt It squirming next to me. I sneaked a quick look. It was opening a wrapped bagel, covered in fish and raw onions.

So that’s what It feeds on, I thought to myself. Eww. Makes sense.

As our hour-long voyage got under way, Tracy stood to shoot photos. To save her seat, I grabbed her camera bag from the deck and placed it in her seat.

As I sat upright, I saw it and felt it at the same instant, like when lightning strikes so close you see it, hear it and smell it all at once.

KA-BAM!

It pulled It’s knees together then quickly slammed It’s left knee into my right knee! Hard. Middle school bully hard.

Did that really just happen?

And was it intentional?

And who does that?

And why?

My brain tried to rationalize the situation. Perhaps I imagined it?

But the pain in my right knee assured me that it had really happened.

OK, I thought, take the high road. Don’t respond. Don’t say anything. What would Jesus do? Turn the other cheek? Do unto others? All that.

When It finished It’s fish-onion bagel, It stood up and I finally got a glimpse of It’s face. It certainly looked harmless enough. The mug of an ancient co-worker from the composing room of the newspaper I worked at in the 1990s. All bark, no bite, I thought to myself. If anything else happens, just charm It.

So I tried to relax.

Clear your head, I told myself. Enjoy the boat ride. The sunshine. The wind. The salty spray. The ever-changing views of New York harbor.

Then It spoke directly at me.

“I’m about to sit down now. I’d appreciate it if you’d get out of my seat.”

I looked at my lap again. It was perfectly in my seat. Even the puckers of my shorts were within the bounds of my seat.

And I snapped.

“I’M IN MY SEAT,” I shouted. “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

“I’m a New Yorker,” It growled back. “And I work with the police. So do NOT mess with me.”

“OH. MY. GOD,” I shouted.

I actually said “Oh. My. God.” With the words AND the periods.

“You’re going to need more help than your precious God can provide,” It growled.

Then the Little Erick on my shoulder twisted my earlobe, “Pull out right now. You can not get into a fistfight on a ferry with an old man/woman. Nothing good will come from this.”

So I shut my hole.

And It did too.

For a second.

Because just then a cheery blonde appeared, wearing a too-cute sailor suit, and sweetly asked if It would like to fill out a customer service survey about It’s ferry ride.

“YOU DON’T WANT TO KNOW WHAT I THINK,” It roared.

I actually witnessed the sailor girl's smile turn upside down. It even made that sad trombone sound.

Things quieted down after that, but the whole scene kept replaying in my head.

Does It really work with the police?

Is my God not enough?

And why does my knee ache? Oh, yeah.

About 10 minutes before we reached the Rockaway Beach ferry terminal, It rose from It’s seat and descended the stairs at the stern of the ferry. I never saw It again.

Tracy and I held back, but as we finally exited the ferry, I saw two NYPD cars parked at the end of our pier. With their lights flashing.

Oh. My. God, I thought. It really does work with the police. I am going to spend the night in the New York City jail.

I kept going, casually looking away as I strolled past the officers and slipped into the crowd headed for the beach. But I admit, I did keep checking over my shoulder every few minutes for the rest of the day.

I met pure evil in the form of a squatty androgyne geezer on the ferry from Wall Street to Rockaway Beach.