Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Safe Trip (or "Get In Line, Effie!")

This morning, I schlepped up the stairs toward the N train (still at least half asleep), shuffled over to the turnstile, reached into my pocket for my MetroCard, and swiped. It was not accepted. “What the bloody eff is the problem now,” I grumbled audibly. “I just refilled this... Why can nothing just work in this LIFE???” I glanced around, hoping to receive a little support from the crowd, or maybe even an empathetic “hear hear!” But nothing. Then I looked down and realized that the MetroCard I'd attempted to swipe was actually a condom. “Oh that must be the problem,” I thought. The old woman at the turnstile next to me caught this and shot me a horrible, disapproving look. Hoping to win her over, I joked, “Well the damn thing sure didn’t get me in last night – Why should it work this morning??” I held for laughter and a rimshot..... Nothing. She was not amused. So I just threw it at her.

Now, hold your judgments! I don’t normally have spare rubbers just floatin’ around like that. It so happens, the very fancy establishment at which I spent my Happy Hour last night had a fishbowl of them on the bar. And perhaps in an overzealous effort to give my fellow patrons the impression that I was promiscuous responsible, I may have grabbed a generous handful and shoved them into my pocket. I guess I forgot. Who are you to judge me??

Anyway, moral of the story: The MTA is apparently not recognizing contraceptives as acceptable fare for subway travel. Just so you know…

Later, I was burdened again by some spastic about to exit the train at my stop. I’d been standing, she’d been sitting. We were still in the tunnel and a good fifty-two seconds from our final destination when she began to rise from her seat. “Excuse me,” she begged, implying that I should somehow relocate in the suffocated mass of this moving train car (a feat that would have rivaled doing a time step inside an envelope.) “Excuse me… Excuse me…

Ooooh no, Lady! We still got a minute to go. Don’t you start saying your excuse-me’s now! (I hate when people do this.) “I’ll be getting off at this stop, too,” I assured her. [“So just hold onto your tits and calm down!”]

Once we came to a stop - before the doors even opened - she began to shove me repeatedly (as though I had the option to walk directly through the 900-pound Eskimo standing before me, and simply was not choosing it.) Then she started yelling at me: “Push, push, push! PUSH!!!” She was screaming like a lunatic!

Lady, if I push any harder, I’m gonna give birth to something. Back off!

I hate people.
(Not you.)

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