Monday, March 26, 2007

Fried Chicken Fight

I'm known for being a shut in, especially on the weekends, but I did manage to go to two whole parties on Saturday night. To get from one to the other, I had to take the R train from Prospect one stop to 9th street, transfer to the F, then get off two stops later at Carroll street. Your typical "hop, skip, and a jump."

The New York City subway system is known for a lot of things (dirty, leaky, poopy stations / late, stalled, sticky trains / the ever-lovin sick passenger) and one of its more charming traits is the colorful collection of psychopaths, mental defectives, and teenagers that litter the trains on the weekends. Couple that with infrequent schedules, stopping for no reason, and the rain mixing with the poo and you've got a really special Saturday jaunt lined up.

Strangely, almost everything about the trip could not have been more perfect. Coming from the end station at 95th street to the first party at Prospect was a breeze -- the train was waiting in the station, it left as soon as I boarded, there was no one on the train, and it took 15 minutes tops, zing-zing zang. On the way to the next party, the R came right away, and the F pulled up a few seconds after I walked into the station--wow! I mean, really: WOW. This is not typical Saturday behavior for the trains. Why I thought I would get by without some bullshit happening in the mere two stops between destination A and B, I'll never know.

Everything seemed fine. Then I saw a fried chicken leg fly through the air. We all looked over and there was a woman grabbing a bag from Nathan's (known for hotdogs, but not today) and throwing it in her boyfriend's face. It kept bouncing back, so she threw it over and over again. Each time, fried chicken pieces flew everywhere. She didn't start yelling until after the first chicken strike but it all amounted to him being a cheating bastard, that she knew where he was last night and he knew very well that she was not, indeed, a fool. Then she opened a bottle of water and doused him with it. It kind of reminded me of mass. A little. The whole time she was doing this, standing up and sitting down, pelting and dousing, yelling and growling, she was holding a toddler in her arms. The toddler seemed vaguely interested, nothing more.

What a world.

So, now I can add that to the list of Crap I Have Seen on The NYC Subway.


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