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
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.