Thanks to the power of the shuffle feature on my iPod I’ve rediscovered a favorite – The Fratellis “Flathead”.
“Then stood and said oh my God til she said, Bara bap bara ra ra ra bara bap bara ra ra ra.”
And I’ve basically been listening to it on repeat for days. It’s the kind of song that makes me want to dance. And sometimes I do. Yes, I’m *that* girl on the subway, rocking out. I have no shame. All about embracing the happy place. And being the chick grooving on the E train beats being one of the crazies or the smellies in my opinion.
But nothing ruins my good happy place like the rude and the clueless. So tonight I’m all about those people on the commute in and the commute home who make me mutter, Seriously? I mean, not for nothing, but….
(To be honest I’ve been know to drop an f-bomb or two on occasion, but I’m trying to keep this PG-13 for as long as I can.)
And we’re off to the races.
The subway is a crowded place. So, why, for the love of God are you, a grown man, wearing a backpack that appears to hold every textbook you carried around in high school? Did you forget your locker combination or are you being hazed in some man-fraternity. Did someone say Old School? Listen, guy, who I’m sure is not remotely as funny as Vince Vaughn…adding three feet of literal baggage to your back (and then turning left and right to ensure you bang into people with said baggage) is annoying. Pretending that you don’t know you’re taking up the space for four people with your one body and backpack is obnoxious. Learn your surroundings. Respect your fellow commuter. Leave the friggin backpack at home. You’re so not my boy, Blue.
People who carry ridiculously ginormous umbrellas. There are some NYC streets where, if you’re lucky, two people can walk side-by-side (thank you piles of snow and garbage that has yet to be picked up). If you insist on carrying an umbrella that could cover Hawaii, then maybe you should move to Hawaii. Of course I don’t think they get much rain, but it will be a great shield from the sun. Just be sure to ask the rest of the island if they want to live in a solar eclipse.
When the weather isn’t crappy I walk home. I love that there are countless ways to go the forty blocks from point A to point B. What I’m not loving is the people who cut me off on the sidewalk to get ahead, only to then walk soooooo painfully slow, a Nana in a walker could pass them. What’s the point of passing me only to walk like a Nana in a walker? Is it a power trip thing to get ahead of me? Suddenly you’re no longer in a rush? Well, I love a challenge, so will happily pass you right back. The difference is I’ll keep walking. Though will probably throw a dirty look over my shoulder and depending on my mood, potentially the aforementioned f-bomb.
Tourists. I know they’re the bread and butter of the city and all that jazz. I’ve *been* a tourist in other people’s cities. But like Ferris said, “life moves pretty fast”. Well so does NYC. So take pictures, visit the landmarks, enjoy the lights of Times Square and pose in Rockefeller Center. I get it. But that’s also my path home so stopping short in the middle of the sidewalk to look up at a building…totally unacceptable. It’s a building. There are plenty more to see. Posing for a pic with a group so large that you create a human traffic jam…equally annoying.
Then there's the tourist who poses in front of the Juicy Couture on Fifth Avenue. Why? “Remember that great vacation when we stood outside the store that sells velour track suits?” And the tourists taking pics with police horses? Doesn’t really get in my way, but I just don’t get it. Plus I have visions of someone’s camera flash sending one of these horses into a bizarro epileptic seizure and trampling me in the process. That’s just sort of how my luck goes.
Next.
People who run down the street like they’re being chased by the cops. (People on the street clearly tweak my nerves the most, hmmmm?) They’re either trying to catch a bus, flag a taxi or get across the street before the light changes. News flash! Not only do you look ridiculous and cause all sorts of chaos by shoving your way through the peeps just walking down the street, but history should tell you, the bus rarely waits, the taxi will already be taken and you just might fall down. (Snicker! Snicker!) And that would be very sad. (Snicker!) And embarrassing. For you. (And yes, I’m laughing at you, so long as you’re not seriously hurt because I’m a bitch and you’re an asshole and you probably sideswiped me on your way by).
And lastly, people eating on the subway. The popcorn they sell in subway stations always smells like feet. It’s the case in New York. It was the case in Boston. I love popcorn. I hate feet. I beg you. Please stop ruining a good thing for me.
And for that matter, any kind of street meat, fast food, unidentifiable something in a Styrofoam container (often also smells like feet, though now dipped in poo). Or food that requires hand-to-mouth eating (chips, M&M’s…you follow me). And then that hand that’s got your saliva all over it is now touching the pole. (Never mind what might be on that pole that you’ve now put in your mouth. Time for a tetanus shot.) Plus, I may also have to hold onto that pole when my balance is off and I need to make sure I don’t fall over like a drunk 21-year-old on her birthday.
At one of my old jobs we got a memo that said, if we were going to eat at our desks to please do so “quietly and discreetly”. I think the MTA should issue the same. Could be legendary.
Or not. But a girl can dream.
And for anyone keeping track, I survived the dentist yesterday. And score one for his office – they got massaging chairs and I swear to God it’s the best idea EVER. I have never once felt so relaxed and so happily distracted while having someone scrape my teeth, while that little vacuum things sucks up the drool in my mouth. Made me hate the dentist a little less.
And to celebrate my stellar experience? I picked up a bag of Conversation Hearts on the way home. What? I didn’t have any cavities. Don’t judge.
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