Spitterbugs

By Rachel Sokol/Greenwich Village Gazette

othing grosses me out more than watching grown men SPIT on the streets of Manhattan. I'm talking hocking some gross "loogies" on to the sidewalks, in front of everyone. Not only do I find this "loogie" hocking incredibly gross and unbecoming, but it's unsanitary. Come on-we have enough pollution on the streets of New York. We don't need any spitwads adding to the masses.

I've really lost count of how many times I've witnessed a grown man make a gurgling sound in his throat and just let 'er rip-leaving a nasty spit puddle on the street. I feel my own stomach churn when I see this. Men of all ages and occupations spit loogies, causing a rumble in my stomach…that uncomfortable, "I'm going to be sick," rumble.

I once saw a man decked out in an Armani Suit carrying a sharp looking briefcase just spit in front of the SoHo Sephora, much to the chagrin of the female shoppers. Ugh! Listen up, men! Spitting in front of a circle of ladies will NOT impress them.

This week, I've decided I've had enough with the loogie-hocking on MY streets. I was walking to the subway on Monday morning from my apartment when I heard someone behind me gasp than gurgle. I spun around and saw a man gurgle in his throat for about 10 second, purse his lips, and just let a spitwad RIP right behind me. The sound went, "Kew-WUP!" I cringed as saliva dripped down his chin. I literally felt chills run up my spine. Not to mention, we were both walking in front of a Holiday Inn hotel, where many other people witnessed his spitbomb.

I decided I had enough of the loogie-hocking. It's one thing if you have a coughing fit or a sneeze attack on the street. But to SPIT phlegm and saliva out in the middle of the sidewalk-no. No way. That's just not cool. I had a vision of that spitwad on the sidewalk landing in my hair or on my clothes. I had a vision that this man had some fatal disease and that his germs just spread to me via a loogie. Completely repulsed and shocked, I shot him a nasty look and said, "That's disgusting." I was so creeped out, I felt as if someone had just run their fingernails down a chalkboard.

Apparently, the man didn't like my comment. "It didn't get in your hair, lady," he snarled. "I had something in my throat." Oh, okay, sir, that makes everything alright. It's bad enough men don't put down toilet seats and shake your hands so fervently after their hands have been god-only-knows-where.

I crossed to the other side of the street, gasping for air to avoid totally losing my breakfast. I'm really not a big germa-phobe, but I'd like to avoid most illnesses, thank you very much-especially if they involve spit. How would a man feel if a woman dropped a used tampon on his dinner plate? He'd probably feel disgusted, repulsed, invaded, nauseated. A disgusting example, I agree, and certainly no comparison. But in my eyes, hoching a loogie on the street, complete with that gurgle-throat sound, is on the same level of gross as leaving female products out for display.

Just before I sat down to type this article, I saw a man spit on the C train tracks. He was casually waiting next to me for a downtrain train when he just leaned over and spit on the track. I would have said something, but even a chatterbox such as myself has her limits. Besides, what if he pushed me on to the subway tracks for criticizing his loogie? I just walked away, my hands balled, silently wishing some people were not so disgusting. Leave the loogies for the bathroom. Please.

My question is this: Why do men like to spit? Is there some please that comes from spitting? I guess spitting is considered a sport, since so many boys have spitting contests-who can hoch the farthest loogie? When girls were playing Barbie, were boys hoching loogies? Was there some secret "learn to hock a loogie" club boys were in when I was in Girl Scouts? I remember staring out the window in Hebrew School and Grammar school when I was ten years old watching my male classmates roll up bits of paper and spit them out against the back wall of the school. I mean, I don't know about you, but I'd rather play racquetball or badminton than spitball. But-OKAY-whatever floats your spitty boat.

Apparently, when the fifth grade girls were taken out of classroom to watch the 'coming of age' movie straight of the 70's, boys were taught how to spit. And when these boys grew up, they forgot the names of most girls they slept with, but never-EVER-forgot how to spit a juicy one. Something to be proud of, eh, fellows?

I'm not bitter. Really, I'm not. I'm just a woman (with a weak stomach) on a mission to stop the loogies. Keep New York beautiful-and please use the bathroom for all your gurgling needs. And while you're at it-leave the toilet seat down.

Thank you.

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