Ba Bump Bump
I’ve never seen anyone fall all the way down on the subway before. I’ve seen people fall one quarter, one half, even three quarters of the way down, clutching and dragging on fellow passengers to avoid the horror of the dirt greased subway floor. I’ve heard excuse me’s, pardon me’s, and so sorry’s all in the space of the long seconds it takes to plunge from standing to almost (not quite!) “down for the count.”
Today was the very first day I saw someone go down. Downtown, Charlie Brown.
She was awful the second she entered the car. She had a catcher’s mitt face, black eyeliner, bad dye job, and a full length coat destined to jack her ass. She sashayed in, took inventory, and decided to stand on my shadow with her ass firmly planted 5 inches from my face. I’m in the hot crescendo of The Tommyknockers, lucky for her, or she might’ve gotten a surprise.
Before the train moved, she decided she didn’t want to stand here, she wanted to stand over there. Not sit, but stand. Same amount of people, all breathing their annoying breaths, but I guess it just looked nicer somewhere else. Maybe she felt my half-hearted ill will.
She didn’t hustle, scamper, or sprint. She moseyed. What an asshole. Did she forget that the train, in its deepest, most intimate motivations, lives only to move? Who can say. Or care. Except for that poor, poor woman who broke her fall, of course. She probably would have liked for Mz. Slowpants Longcoat to get a move on and grab the damn pole.
The train moved. She went down. She went down slllowwwww. She clutched here, snatched there, clung to the poor, poor woman who never asked to be involved in this mess. All the while (and the best goddamned part), the man opposite the poor, poor woman provided sportscaster commentary:
"OH what is this? Hey! Hey! What is the- Hey! Can I help you? Hey! Ma’am? Ma’am?
Hey! What is going on? Hello? Ma’am? Are you- Hey! Alright? "
And so on. And it didn’t end there. As she lounged on the floor, she proceeded to answer the man’s queries. (“No, no, no. Quite fine. No, I don’t need a seat. Everything is quite alright.” Etc.) It seemed like she was down there forever. Maybe she considered riding it out all the way.
Eventually she was torn off the floor by the fellow passengers (except for the poor, poor woman, who actually almost seemed to box at Longcoat as she slo-mo’d to the floor) and insisted on standing for at least into Brooklyn. She eventually sat down and proceeded to glare at everyone else on the train like a kicked cat.
As a side note, but important: She did NOT seem drunk. Or even high or on ludes. As we are all aware, people on ludes should not drive…or ride the damn train. But she seemed just too lazy to care for herself…until she was halfway down, of course. You should have boxed her damn ass, poor, poor woman!
Today was the very first day I saw someone go down. Downtown, Charlie Brown.
She was awful the second she entered the car. She had a catcher’s mitt face, black eyeliner, bad dye job, and a full length coat destined to jack her ass. She sashayed in, took inventory, and decided to stand on my shadow with her ass firmly planted 5 inches from my face. I’m in the hot crescendo of The Tommyknockers, lucky for her, or she might’ve gotten a surprise.
Before the train moved, she decided she didn’t want to stand here, she wanted to stand over there. Not sit, but stand. Same amount of people, all breathing their annoying breaths, but I guess it just looked nicer somewhere else. Maybe she felt my half-hearted ill will.
She didn’t hustle, scamper, or sprint. She moseyed. What an asshole. Did she forget that the train, in its deepest, most intimate motivations, lives only to move? Who can say. Or care. Except for that poor, poor woman who broke her fall, of course. She probably would have liked for Mz. Slowpants Longcoat to get a move on and grab the damn pole.
The train moved. She went down. She went down slllowwwww. She clutched here, snatched there, clung to the poor, poor woman who never asked to be involved in this mess. All the while (and the best goddamned part), the man opposite the poor, poor woman provided sportscaster commentary:
"OH what is this? Hey! Hey! What is the- Hey! Can I help you? Hey! Ma’am? Ma’am?
Hey! What is going on? Hello? Ma’am? Are you- Hey! Alright? "
And so on. And it didn’t end there. As she lounged on the floor, she proceeded to answer the man’s queries. (“No, no, no. Quite fine. No, I don’t need a seat. Everything is quite alright.” Etc.) It seemed like she was down there forever. Maybe she considered riding it out all the way.
Eventually she was torn off the floor by the fellow passengers (except for the poor, poor woman, who actually almost seemed to box at Longcoat as she slo-mo’d to the floor) and insisted on standing for at least into Brooklyn. She eventually sat down and proceeded to glare at everyone else on the train like a kicked cat.
As a side note, but important: She did NOT seem drunk. Or even high or on ludes. As we are all aware, people on ludes should not drive…or ride the damn train. But she seemed just too lazy to care for herself…until she was halfway down, of course. You should have boxed her damn ass, poor, poor woman!
Labels: Train Stories
posted by Shiny at 9:30 PM
2 comments
