Horror on the Subway

Remember when I revealed my soul to you all and shared my irrational fears about moving to a new, big city? Of course you do, it was only two posts ago because we’re lazy and don’t post much. Remember how one of those fears was getting pushed onto the subway tracks by a crazy asshole?! It totally hasn’t happened yet, but today I had a terrible subway experience that I figured I should share with you, dear readers, because I know how devastatingly interested you are in my mundane life and because you’re my emotional punching bag. You’re welcome.

So rush hour is a bitch. Anyone who is alive and has a job that doesn’t involve being a crack dealer is aware of this. Actually, I bet even crack dealers know that rush hour is a bitch because they probably use regular working hours to do normal people shit like go see movies and therefore, get caught in rush hour at some point. Rush hour is even worse if you rely on public transit. Today I was coming home from work and there was a delay in the subway.




This means that the by the time I got down there, the platform was filled with 23,923 people EVERYONE IN THE FUCKING WORLD. Normally at this time of the day, there is a train that comes literally every two minutes. Four, terrifying minutes had passed by and still no train. The platform continued to fill up with people. Once it finally arrives, I manage to elbow and cram my way on and this is what I see:

My thought process as I’m approaching what looks like a seat: Is that a seat? It looks like a seat. Usually there’s three seats there. Oh God, it’s because that person is so large…they’re taking up one and a half seats. Should I sit there? CAN I sit there? Shit, I made eye contact with them. Then I looked at the seat. Now if I don’t sit there, they’re going to think that I’m calling them fat. BUT THEY ARE FAT! Oh God, I’m sitting. I’m doing this. Here we go….

And this is what resulted:

Yep. That’s me. With 89lbs of pure LEG crushing important things in my purse, not to mention an armpit dangerously close to enveloping my face. A poor choice that I regretted immediately, but I was stuck in this predicament for five stops. If I got up and chose to stand, I figured it would be painfully and awkwardly obvious that I was physically repulsed by the situation and apparently I’m just TOO GODDAMN NICE for my own good, so I stayed. Stuck. Silently sobbing.

And then…after two of five stops….they got off. I was free. But just as they waddled out of the train, I saw this coming straight at me:

Combover. Unibrow. Gold chain. Chest hair.


Before I can leap up out of my seat, he stops. Decides not to sit down. Hallelujah right?

WRONG. He chooses to stand.

Directly in front of me.

So that his crotch is directly in line with my face.

Unacceptable. There were still three more stops until mine, but my animalistic survival instincts took over and I bolted out of my seat and awkwardly pushed my way through the masses and stood at the doors until my stop finally arrived.

The moral of the story is that I blame whoever caused the delay on the subway for my severe discomfort and don’t ever let your laziness make decisions for you. Just stand. Don’t try to stretch the boundaries of physics and gravity in order to sit down for six minutes, especially after you’ve spent eight hours sitting at a desk. You lazy bitch.

I deserved it.




    1. For real. Those things should be considered weapons. Or maybe not…because there’s a few people (like Robert Downey Jr) who I would very much like to have point their weapon in my face. And wiggle it around.

  1. I loved EVERYTHING about this post except for the fact that you seem to have forgotten how useless the transit system is back home. FOUR MINUTES? Try forty. I’d deal with leg fat and armpits for that kind of reliability. At this point I already deal with people thinking that spiced meat on a crowded bus is ever a good idea.I mean, REALLY.

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