overheard on the F train

"That bitch got so many roaches up in her house. I came in, she asked me if I wanted to sit down, I was like, 'nah.' She asked me if I wanted some food, I was like, 'nah.' I don't want those roaches crawlin on me. Shit."

the R train rumble

It's been a relatively slow week in subway news, aside from the nerdy guy with an NYU tote bag who I caught taking pictures of himself with his cell phone this morning. On a rush-hour train! What a lame-ass. He actually held his phone at arm's length at one point, checked to see if anyone was looking (I was, but he didn't notice!) and snapped a photo of himself looking all coy. And then he took two more. Geek alert x 500!

Sooo... I thought I'd take this opportunity to tell a postmortem story about my crazy run-in with some ghetto assholes on the R train last Friday. It never ceases to amaze me the type of trash that Queens breeds. Or that the world breeds in general, really.

After a (very rainy) night on the town with my two lady friends starting immediately after work, I was exhausted by 10:30 pm. I decide to take the local train all the way to Queens because I'm so tired I don't even feel like getting up to switch to the other side of the platform and wait. Somewhere between 34th & 42nd streets, a few hispanic (just giving you the visuals here!! don't write me any letters) thug-like fellows get on the train. they are loud and annoying, probably in their early 20s, if even that. Anyhow, let's get back to the fact that I am extremely sleepy and I am closing my eyes, because that's what people do when they're tired. This did not deter two of these idiots from sitting on either side(!!) of me and proceeding to say things about how "beautiful" i was and if they could "talk to me," and finally, how me closing my eyes was my "defense". what the fuck?! perhaps the black bandana around my head had confused them into thinking I was into thug-life, but seriously, did these guys really think i'd 1) be interested in them, and 2) that it wasn't going to annoy the shit out of me to try to talk to me while i was trying to sleep???

After one stop of this nonsense, I had had it. I got up and said, "I'm exhausted and I don't want to fucking talk to anyone." Waiting for the train to stop, one of the guys was all like, "Oh, you gettin' nervous? That's yo defense o somethin?" To which I quickly and nastily replied, "I don't get nervous." And then they said something like "you smell like asshole" or something like that which, in retrospect, was pretty funny. but at the time my blood was boiling and I just yelled a few expletives in their direction! I got out and went into the next train car to resume my slumber. Two stops later... I hear a jumble of unintelligible ghettospeak. I open my eyes to a very loud "Guess who's bizzack" and a stare in my direction from about 10 feet away. I was about to commit homicide.

Although the train was crowded, I shouted across the people between me and this idiotic monkey and was like, "Really? Did you really come into the next train car just to bother me?" to which the guy says "yo, don't gas yo'self up, yo. i'm just sayin', guess who's bizzack." I say "Then don't look at me when you speak." I then go on to hear them mumble stuff about how "she think she a 10 but she really like a 5, yo." again, what the fuck?! did these elementary-school dropouts really think I cared about their opinion of me? i would care more about what a stink-emitting homeless man doused in booze thought of me. and obviously this situation makes no sense since THEY were the ones trying to talk to ME! anyway, I decided not to feed the feeble minds of these pieces of trash and ignored them for the rest of the ride home. it worked, because they really didn't say anything after that but did proceed to try to fight with an innocent-looking middle-aged mexican man who they felt was staring at them. the poor guy was probably tired, coming home from work (he had work boots on), staring at them because they were making a scene and there was nothing more interesting to look at. they even approached him and tried to start something, but he was so passive about everything that I guess they didn't get the response they were looking for and became disinterested.

My question is: With the world already frightening overpopulated, why must people like this exist? What's the point? Men(?) with no respect for ladies and whose main aspiration is to fight and talk about fighting. Makes me sad for them.

black-eyed betty

I woke up with a shiner on Sunday morning. Bar brawl, you ask? F'ed some bitches up and walked away with only a black eye as my damage? Alas, I am not that tough/cool, and the reality is...my eye fell into a pole. Yea. I'm a big ass. But come on, it's pretty funny, no?

Dozing off on the F train Saturday night, the train jerked, and, mid-slumber, so did my head. Unlucky for me, I was sitting in the corner of a three-seater right next to...a pole. At first it just hurt as you might expect your eye bone(?) to hurt after being slammed into a piece of metal. A few moments later I noticed there was a little bump next to my eye, but didn't really think much of it, as the pain had subsided as quickly as it came. My glasses were unharmed, so I was happy about that. Went back to dozing off, got up at my stop, and went to bed all fine and dandy. The next morning, I looked like this:



Two days later, it's still purple and it hurts when I squint or close my eyes too tightly...What a jerk!! Anyhow, if at least one of you gets a good laugh outta this story, then I think putting myself in harm's way was all worth it.

the leg-spreader.

You've all met him several times—perhaps even several times within one day, if you're unlucky. He's the guy with his legs spread so far apart he's spilling into three seats at once.

Now, I understand that guys have junk. And even though I don't have have this junk, I can understand how it might get uncomfortable sitting in one position for a long time with one leg very close to the other, especially in a sweltering train car. But for the love of Jesus Christ, is it really necessary to spread your legs that far?? The other night, I was reduced to nearly half of my seat because the guy sitting next to me wanted to pretend he was using his knees to hold a yardstick. Sure, he was a bigger dude, but if your stuff is really that annoying, can't you just stand up instead of making those sans scrotum so uncomfortable? Pisses me off.

madness

I apologize, ahead of time, to anyone who is bored by this typical AM-commute horror story, but 100% pure hatred toward the F train was really the only emotion I was capable of feeling this morning.

so, i'm late for work by about 15 minutes, to begin with. no biggie, since I knew today would be a slow day anyway. however, on top of this, the train doesn't come for about 10 minutes. you may believe differently, but personally, I think that's simply an unacceptable amount of time to be waiting for a rush-hour train. four minutes should be the cut-off, then we get refunded for our fare. that's just how i would run things.

anyway, i have my gym bag, purse, and lunch tote bag with me. that's a lot of bags. of course, there were zero seats and there was nearly zero space to stand. whatever, at least the A/C was on full blast, which was a lovely & unexpected surprise. needless to say, however, my ride was still not a pleasant one by any means. everyone kept moving around and repositioning themselves, so with my gym bag on the floor, i had to constantly shuffle it between my feet or pick it up if people wanted to get by. annoying, but i can deal. then there was the large sweaty man behind me who kept grazing his back against mine. disgusting. but again, nothing i haven't survived before.

but the clincher here is that the train stopped at EVERY station, lingering for several minutes. there were also few "trains ahead of us, will be moving shortly" announcements, but i wondered how that could possibly be when I waited ten minutes for the train to even arrive AND it was moving at the pace of a paraplegic snail?!? (i know, that analogy does not really make sense since snails don't have legs, but whatever. it was fucking slow as shit is what i'm trying to say.) how was it that this train had caught up to any train ahead of it? liars.

then it gets stuck between stations about three times. THEN, when I finally think we're in the clear, at 34th st., one station away from 23rd, where I work, the conductor announces that the next stop will be West 4th. (!!!!!!) i almost completely lost it at that point, but I didn't want to come off as the crazy redheaded cursing bag lady, so i merely said "you're fucking kidding me" and exited the train. waiting for the next F/V train to arrive, i was hit by yet another fun surprise: a signal malfunction in midtown had caused all trains to run at slower speeds. there was no next arriving F/V train!!! so after 10 minutes, i decided i'd just walk from 34th to 23rd, which was actually a good idea because the walk calmed my nerves a bit and i was able to leave a message for my boss (who, it turns out, wasn't coming in until an hour later than usual anyway). in total, door to door, it took me 1 hour and 20 minutes to get to work today. this is why i hate the F train.

i love that when i have to be at a cancer walk in times square on a saturday morning at 6:45, however, i can get there in 25 minutes. this does not make sense.

deodorant and cigarettes

Never a dull moment on the Manhattan/Brooklyn-bound F train.

Monday was Cinco de Mayo, and since I love all things Mexican—guacamole, Chipotle, the hat dance, my friend Connie—I had decided to celebrate as long into the night as possible. Things went as planned. Four hours of sleep and many ounces of alcohol later, at the Van Wyck-Briarwood platform, I prayed to the subway gods that I would get a seat. Lo and behold, the last three (!!) cars had seats aplenty, so I walked into the one with the most seats available, assuming I would get my pick of the litter. Little did I realize the reason for this plethora of seats: a crazy homeless man with two teeth in the corner of the car.

Walking into the train, I observed that the area within a 3-seat circumference of this man was empty. However, I was a bit perplexed because that all too familiar Queens-homeless-person stink was nowhere to be found. "Sweet," I thought. "He must just look crazy, so everyone is staying away from him, but at least he doesn't smell like poo!"

Moments later, I understood why: He started spraying aerosol deodorant all over his body. At first I respected the fact that this hobo was hygiene-conscious and didn't want to offend fellow commuters with his stench. Until he continued to spray the deodorant continuously... for TEN WHOLE MINUTES. He likely used up the entire can, spraying himself, literally, from head to toe. Now, I am not opposed to hot-man-smelling deodorant. But imagine sitting 10 feet away from a corner in which an ENTIRE can had been sprayed. Pretty nauseating.

I then wondered if this crazy man was trying to make a statement—like, "Oh, you think I stink like shit because of the natural odor created due to not showering? Wait til I smell like what is conventionally accepted as 'good,' but to the extreme!!" But I think this is giving him too much credit.

I then see him pull out a pack of cigarettes and toss it on the seat directly in front of him. He proceeded to pull one out, light it up, and smoke it leisurely while playing a crossword puzzle in the daily paper!! Just as I started feeling simultaneously enraged that I would have to deal with the smell of smoke and afraid that this man would set himself/the train car ablaze, it occurred to me that the smell of smoke was being overpowered by the scent of the deodorant! After one initial whiff of the smoke, I smelled it no longer.

Although this man continued to behave erratically, standing up a few times to hold his newspaper to the ceiling, letting his tongue hang sloppily out of his mouth, and coughing/hacking up phlegm (and possibly both lungs) to an extent I had never before witnessed, I wondered whether he was simply insane or perhaps he was trying to show some consideration for us smoke-hating commuters by masking it with deodorant. Or making an artsy statement. Maybe he wasn't even homeless.

5/2 - What a day for transport

Today on the 8:25 am Q from 7th Ave, Brooklyn:
1. Pole hugger - On a rush hour train!
2. Stroller (no! illegal!?) with psycho child
3. The above causing the illusion of space and lots of pushing and doors closing into people who refuse to step aside - so we don't leave right away to say the least.
4. Crazy giant umbrella swinger on the way up the stairs at 14th St. Watch out!

The above mentioned pole hugger was really, really hugging the pole - this was not a lean, it was an embrace. In my mind I am saying, "how can this be happening?" Then I realized he was reading from a prayer book and praying. Oh. Shut me up. Except that's still no excuse for pole hugging, am I right? There is NO excuse for pole hugging. You can do it on a 3am local E train back to Queens, but that's about it. You can even lay down on that train, really.

The stroller lady was feeding her kid crackers with peanut butter. Smelled real good. But, I guess he wasn't interested because he proceeded to scream and run around between people's legs and throw himself and his sticky peanut butter fingers onto the door and cry. Good morning to you, too.

So I moved to another pole cluster as best I could. But then, of course, the person who I had been standing over got up at DeKalb and some random chick got to sit down. Should have been me. Should have been me. Wait, is "should've" not a word? Spell check underlines it and I refuse to use improper spelling or grammar on a blog!

Looking forward to this weekend when every train I need is running on another train's track.

"Train's" is not a word? Spell check is crazy.

the good ol' days.

Let's talk a little bit about 1988.

Ronald Reagan was (sadly) in office as president. Ladies (including my mom) were in a tizzy over one-time-wonder RIck Astley's smash hit "Never Gonna Give You Up." Bad-ass kids were rocking out to Guns N Roses. But most importantly, it marked the end of an era in which graffiti ruled the subway stations, platforms, and cars in a way that has, quite tragically, been unrivaled to this day.

Check out the awesome website that inspired this post: http://www.subwayoutlaws.com

I was 5, and I recall being a wide-eyed kindergartener en route to P.S. 88 every weekday morning, waiting with my mom for the M train at Knickerbocker Avenue. It was the onset of my career as an NYC subway commuter. At the time, I believe that measures to clean up the graffiti "problem" had already started being taken, and harsh laws calling for jail time were soon to be imposed. But, lucky for me, there were still a bunch of trains on the JMZ line that showcased gorgeous works of art from some of the city's best graffiti artists. I remember being amazed by all the candy-colored designs that consumed entire train cars, and asking my mom if it was REALLY possible that these were created with a spray can of paint. I always imagined acrobatic artists, putting these pieces together while clinging to the top or the side of a train car in motion—I was too young (maybe too stupid?) to realize that trains, like cars!, parked in the evening.

Anyhow, there was always this air of mystique that surrounded these puffy, whimsical, three-dimensional tags and designs—in addition to them being just plain pretty to look at. Unfortunately, I missed the heyday of graffitied interiors, but I feel like this art would have really made riding the train a more inspiring, thought-provoking experience had it never been outlawed. Call me crazy! I love graffiti when it's done well and it's not just a tag scribbled over someone else's lame tag in black Sharpie. I appreciate good art in all forms, unless it's like, being used to deface someone's house or something. But the subway? Come on, guys! This is NYC, creativity capital of the world. Our tax dollars could have gone to such better use than making spray-paint-proof train cars a standard across the board. Who knows—maybe our fares would have still been lingering at a sweet $1.25!

I think that someone really needs to bring this art back to the NYC subway—whether it's something that can be done in a more organized manner, or whatever. In addition to promoting our community of artists, it just makes life as a commuter a little more interesting. Who wants to stare at a boring grey train for the next 30 years until they retire?