I was already having a bad day on Monday. Then there was a flash flood alert, and I, umbrella-less, braved the ten-minute walk to the train station. Quick shoutout to all those people who stared at me like I was a disgusting mess when I entered the station, because apparently the cause of my being drenched was perplexing.
On the way home the train stalled for a very long time. As every New Yorker knows, this is the worst thing that can possibly happen ever.
You know what definitely helped? That guy next to me who “muttered” louder than a yell, “Jesus fucking Christ. Goddamn worst train system EVER.”
It was really important that he said that, because otherwise I would have assumed that he, like the rest of us, was totally excited by the delay. I was really glad to know his feelings. And I’m sure the many children around were happy to learn some new words. The best part? His expression of feelings made the train start again!
(Well, not really, but I’m sure when the train eventually did start moving, it was because of him.)
Ranked from least to most offensive.
5. People selling overpriced candy bars. If it were just kids I’d semi-understand, but when grown ass dude are trying to get me to pay $5 for Welch’s fruit snacks I’m entitled to a little fury. The vending machine at work already rips me off.
4. People eating Cheetos/other gross foods. IMO if you absolutely must eat food during your 45-minute commute, it should be a clean, neat, odorless food. Carrot sticks. Celery. A banana. If I can smell your food it’s the wrong kind. If it’s staining your fingers a color that does not occur in nature, nope.
3. Mariachi bands. The Bachelor franchise treats them like they’re the mother of all romance. I hear them coming and want to switch subway cars.
2. People selling Jesus. Sample speech: “I was in a bad place, and then I found Jesus. You can do. Give me money.”
1. Showtimers. Nothing sends chills down my spine like the announcement “It’s showtime!” as two teenagers demand that everyone clears the aisle to show us their latest routine, which inevitably involves glorified pushups from the handlebars, hat-throwing, somersaults to the sound of pulsating music for which I am way too old. A third teenager stands to the side politely catcalling his friend: “That’s right. Way to go. All right.”
Honorable mentions go to:
-That guy who was sitting on the subway car floor with an entire amp/bass setup who played heavy metal from one stop to the next. Then he went around asking for money. When he got to me, he asked me to be his girlfriend. When I declined, he asked for my phone number. When I declined, he asked if he could walk me home. As much as I wanted him to know where I live, our romance was not to be. That could have been my future husband and I totally missed my chance.
-That guy selling copies of his self-published memoir. Point for creativity, Dude.