Unapologetically Mundane » fun times on the subway

Caught in the Train Doors

katie ett — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 16:00:37 +0000

This morning, a polite young man let me into a packed R train first, even though there was a chance he wasn’t going to fit in after me. I flattened myself as much as I could to allow him in, too, and as he tried to squeeze between the doors at the last minute, the sleeve of his leather jacket got caught. I stared at the fabric, pressed into the crack between the doors so tightly he couldn’t pull it out, and remembered a time when the same thing happened to me.

I was wearing a plaid cape and flew into the 4 train, superhero style, in the last seconds before the doors closed. One side of the cape got caught in the doors, and in the moments before I knew the train would begin to move, I had all of these terrifying daymares about what might happen as we moved through the tunnel:

Read the rest here!

Aint Wet

plumpdumpling — Fri, 05 Aug 2011 16:00:48 +0000

I’ve had this picture waiting on my hard drive in my special Things to Eventually Post on UM folder since 2008. That was the last time I saw one of these deconstructed “wet paint” signs. And probably also the last time the MTA did any repairs on the subway platforms!

j/k, MTA, j/k.

Padded Seats and Warmed Hearts

plumpdumpling — Tue, 12 Jul 2011 16:00:23 +0000

Jack, Nik, and me as photographed by Kamran on the Long Island Rail Road (or Railroad, in my opinion) on the way to our friend Anthony’s house two weekends ago with our friends Eric and Christine for cheeses, habanero vodka, and fun times in the schoolyard pretending to be cast members from The Breakfast Club:

I’m not sure I remember the scene where Anthony Michael Hall gets a titty-twister from Judd Nelson, but I’m sure it happened.

Who Will Join Me in “Ave Maria” at the Rat Funeral?

plumpdumpling — Wed, 08 Dec 2010 17:00:24 +0000

I love the 34th Street subway station at Herald Square. The street above is tourist shopping heaven–every awful American retail chain, plus the Manhattan Mall, and Macy’s, which claims to be the largest store in the world–with all of the annoying crowdedness of Times Square but none of the pretty lights to distract from the family in front of me walking 8-wide across the sidewalk and stopping every five feet to decide which Jonas Brothers photo they want to buy from the street vendors.

But in the station itself, when you’re waiting for the N/Q/R train, you can peer down the platform and see into the tunnel for what must be blocks. All of the different lights, the spot where the express and local tracks come together, the way the train comes around the bend seeming so small and slow but roars past you seconds later–I still get a thrill out of that after seeing it for more than five years.

The only thing that could possibly make it more exciting for me? The dead rat I saw on the tracks yesterday.

It’s getting pretty hard to be seen in public photographing dead animals, half-eaten food, and what is probably urine. But I do it all for you, dear reader.

RAT ATTACK! (7)
In Which a Black Rat Crosses My Path on Friday the 13th (8)
Caught in the Train Doors (10)
Crazy Cat Lady (20)
The Practice Thanksgiving (16)
Aint Wet (4)
Padded Seats and Warmed Hearts (15)
Avian Holocaust (16)
Dog Debris (9)
Giant Rats Sneer at Construction Scabs (8)

RAT ATTACK!

plumpdumpling — Fri, 12 Nov 2010 17:00:20 +0000

Okay, more like RAT RUN AWAY!

One of my very favourite NYC sights either way.

Can My Karma Withstand Altercations with Two Old Ladies in One Week?

plumpdumpling — Wed, 13 Oct 2010 16:00:29 +0000

I was alone at the bus stop yesterday morning and standing at the far corner of the glass enclosure, which is where I always like to stand when it’s available, because it shields me from the wind coming off the river. A younger man approached, and rather than walk past me to also stand in the enclosure, he stood just on the outside, as if he was lining up beside me. A few more people walked up as we waited, and all of them also stood outside in line, and I was thinking, “What a civilized people we are.” I moved to the other side of the enclosure so all of them would feel free to move over and come inside, too.

When the bus pulled up moments later, it stopped directly in front of me, and I casually stepped forward to claim my rightful position as first on, when out of nowhere, this older lady rushed over from the right and attempted to intercept me. I have no idea how long she had been waiting there, because the right side of the bus stop enclosure is covered over with an ad for an opera singer who looks like Russell Crowe. All that was clear to me was that I had been the very first person at the bus stop, so no matter how long she’d been hiding, I’d been there longer.

Read the rest!

The Subway Makes Me Want My Mommy, Too

plumpdumpling — Fri, 17 Sep 2010 19:30:05 +0000

Just before I manhandled some poor old lady on the R train on Tuesday, I was relaxing with the first book of the Sookie Stackhouse series on my Kindle on my way home from work. Bill kept saying Sookie’s name, and I kept thinking about the way he draws it out all low and slow like some emo 15-year-old in “True Blood”, the TV adaptation of the books, and I was enjoying the thought.

There were exactly 4 people in my train car, because it was still before rush hour. I was sitting at the end of a three-seater, and there was a girl on the other end of it, one seat away from me. Two guys were sitting together farther down the car, and every single other seat was empty.

At City Hall, the doors opened, and in my peripheral vision, I saw what I can only describe as an ogre barreling onto the train. I didn’t look up, because I try not to stare at obviously-crazy people, but from over my Kindle, all I could see were these giant–I mean GIANT–feet leading the way. It wasn’t just that they were longer than I’ve ever seen; they were super-thick, too, as if he was wearing black platform moonboots. He took these enormously wide steps, too, like he had been straddling a horse for months and had lost the ability to unbend his knees.

Read the rest here.

Also, it’s been a super-busy week on UNBREADED, donuts4dinner, and even Lost and Lonely Leftovers. I must have been bored.

Wait Your Turn, Grandma

plumpdumpling — Thu, 16 Sep 2010 16:00:22 +0000

I met a friend for dinner Tuesday night and told her I was so glad to be seeing her just so I could get this story off of my chest and never have to publicly admit to it, but of course I have to publicly admit to it. It’s not that I think I was in the wrong, because I know I was in the right, but I still can’t help feeling guilty about physically intimidating an old lady in the train. Yes. You read that right.

I was on the R coming uptown from work. As the train neared Union Square, I turned off my Kindle and casually headed for the door. I don’t like to rush right over and potentially block someone who might be in a bigger hurry than I am, but I also need to make it clear that I’m getting off so I don’t get trapped inside the car by all the crazy people coming in. Because they are always crazy.

So by the time the train came to a stop, I was firmly in front of the doors and ready to plow through the group outside on the platform who were inching closer and closer like classic horror-movie zombies in a feeding frenzy. I could see that there was this wiry white-shirted person right in front of one of the windows, but I didn’t make eye contact, because it’s easier to make people think I might cut them if I don’t show them my innocent, doe-like eyes.

Read the rest here.

The Case for Gagging Subway Passengers

plumpdumpling — Tue, 01 Jun 2010 17:00:28 +0000

Sometimes something will make me rethink my distaste for children. I’ll be watching the episode of “The Real Housewives of New Jersey” where Jacqueline gives birth to baby Nicholas, and I’ll think, “Wow, I’ll bet that one is a lot less ugly than her daughter, Ashley, was.” (Because seriously, all through the episode where Ashley was doing a photoshoot and kept complaining that the photographer wasn’t getting any good shots, I kept waiting for Jacqueline to tell her the problem is actually her face.) But Nicholas, even hours after his birth, was a lot less alien-esque than almost every baby I’ve seen recently, and it made me question whether I was getting soft on children.

And then, a couple of days ago, I was on the downtown 4 on my way to work when someone let one rip. I don’t care how much air they have swirling around the train cars; an enclosed space is an enclosed space, and the space around me filled up with nasty-smelling air that lingered for more than a minute. This happens from time to time, and I desperately want to go around sniffing butts until I figure out who dropped the bomb, but I never have the guts. I want to scream, “I can smell your shame!”, but I’m always unwilling to draw attention to myself.

Read the rest here.

Is It Racist?

plumpdumpling — Tue, 18 May 2010 16:00:50 +0000

Yesterday morning, I got to Grand Central fairly late, so the morning rush had mostly passed, and I got a comfortable spot on the train. It was held at the station for a few minutes, though, so my comfortable spot soon became cramped as more and more people came down to the platform and tried to pack themselves into the train. Just before the doors closed, a large black man crammed himself in as far as he could, but it wasn’t enough. The doors kept trying to close and then opening back up again, and the man kept thrusting his belly farther and farther into people’s backs to make room, hoping he would finally fit.

A white lady near me got annoyed finally and said, “Get out! There’s not enough room for you.” The man said, “There would be enough room if people would move in.” I disagreed with this, as I was crushed against the person next to me to the point that I couldn’t retrieve my Kindle from my bag, and I was at the point in my book where a vampire baby was about to be born to a human, so you know I would’ve done anything I could to get to it. The woman also disagreed and said, “Where am I supposed to go?! The huge empty space over there?” She was being sarcastic. The guy said, “All of the hot air coming out of you sure is taking up a lot of room.” The woman said, “Oh, great. Another one of them with an attitude.”

The black woman next to me whipped her head around to look at the white lady so fast that I could hear the wind she created whooshing by me, but . . . surely that’s not what she meant, right?

exCUUUUUZE MAAAAAAY!

plumpdumpling — Wed, 12 May 2010 15:30:51 +0000

(I’m not going to make you click on the link to Examiner.com to finish the story like usual, but if you want to earn me a little cash, anyway, here’s the link. Thanks!)

The platform was crowded at Grand Central this morning, and it would’ve certainly been reasonable for me to hang back for the next train, but I could see through the windows that people weren’t moving to the center of the car to make room, and I wasn’t going to let them think that was okay.

So I pushed my way on with everyone else, and I fit just fine. The guy behind me kept rearranging himself, though, so I was getting pushed into the woman in front of me. Who, by the way, was one of those stop-immediately-inside-the-door-and-block-it-for-everyone-else types. I figured that being punched in the ribs a little is one of the most charming aspects of the morning commute, but I guess I got shoved into her one too many times, because she turned and said with the grossest pinched-nose accent, “EXCUSE ME!” Except it sound like, “exCUUUUUZE MAAAAAAY!” I was a good three inches taller than her, and I was still pressed up against her, so I looked down at her in all of her blue-eyeshadowed glory with my most intimidating face and said, “It’s not my fault, lady; I’m being pushed. Calm. The fuck. Down.“

Ohhhhhhhhhhhh, yeah. “Calm the fuck down.” You think being told to calm down in an argument cuts? Insert the word fuck at 8:30 a.m.

I had to stand there next to her until we got down to Union Square, and it was uncomfortable, sure, but I felt justified, and she had luckily turned her head away from me. When the train doors opened, people left, we repositioned ourselves in different parts of the car, and I got my Kindle out to continue reading book 4 of the Twilight series. (What?) I didn’t think about her again.

And then, safely inside my office building, guess who walked into my elevator. Future work BFFs!

Although I Don’t Necessarily Want Them Touching a Seat I May Someday Sit on, Either

plumpdumpling — Tue, 30 Mar 2010 13:45:27 +0000

The other day, I saw a man on the train so fat that his testicles bulged between his legs like a cantaloupe in the crotch of his navy blue sweatpants. I wondered how you get to a point where you’d rather sit and let everyone see your melon-shaped balls than stand and conceal them between your tree trunk thighs.

Deep-Fried Homesickness (10)
Caught in the Train Doors (10)
Circleville Pumpkin Show 2011! (16)
Doughy Deschanel, Zooey’s Fat Sister (63)
Off to the Circleville Pumpkin Show 2011! (13)
Aint Wet (4)
The Great Hot Dog Cookoff 2011 (14)
Padded Seats and Warmed Hearts (15)
Like a Dog, I Only Love You When You Feed Me (18)
Cover Up That Caesarean Scar, Fatty (15)

The World is Your Trash Can

plumpdumpling — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 23:45:58 +0000

I had to run an errand mid-morning today and got on an uncrowded 4 train going uptown. At the Wall Street stop, the young mother in the seat opposite me went to one set of doors and threw her Styrofoam cup out onto the station platform. The lid came off, ice and watered-down soda remnants leaked everywhere, and she sat back down casually.

I scrunched up my face into its most disapproving and judgemental form and stared at her hard, but she didn’t look at me. No one else on the train appeared to notice what had happened, though it’s impossible that anyone missed it. I’ve seen so many people set their empty cups or bags on the floor and been disgusted, but this made that look almost polite.

Read the rest here, because I’m too busy to actually write anything of interest to you.

I Said Excuse Me

plumpdumpling — Thu, 18 Feb 2010 15:30:50 +0000

My train this morning was not crowded. There was barely anyone on the 4/5 platform at Grand Central, and the few people who were there effortlessly filled the space inside the door of the train that pulled up. A few people were waiting to get on after me, though, so I wanted to move to the center of the car, which was loaded with free room. Two men were blocking my way, though, so I politely said “excuse me” to them as I always do.

One of them moved. He was young, good-looking, and probably has a beautiful penthouse apartment on the Upper East Side full of multiple women who love him and aren’t jealous of each other. He probably has a great job with a boss who allows him creative freedom and doesn’t mind when he comes in 15 minutes late.

The other man did not. He was in his 50s, probably lives in Westchester, probably has a wife who stopped loving him years ago, and probably never gets the promotions he thinks he deserves but all of his co-workers know he doesn’t. He stood right where he was, giant leather shoulder bag totally blocking my way. But I’m a farm girl, and having muscles means you don’t have to wait for people to be nice, so I just pushed his bag aside and stepped past him into acres of empty space.

As I did, though, the guy muttered a mean name* under his breath.

Read the rest here.

*Exclusive to this blog: that name was ASSHOLE! Unbelievable, right? Girls are not assholes!

How Do You Deal with Jerks on the Train?

plumpdumpling — Thu, 28 Jan 2010 17:00:42 +0000

When I got on the train this morning, I walked past the jerk standing in the doorway and moved to the center of the car like good girls do. I immediately regretted it, because immediately behind me was a woman about my age with an obnoxiously puffy coat and a cellphone loudly playing music. It’s a favorite pastime of New Yorkers to select their new ringtone while on the very public train, so I figured at first that she was scanning through all of her possibilities, but I quickly realized she was just plain listening to a song. One of those annoying hip-hop ballads, at that. And not on a cellphone with good speakers.

At first, I thought, “Who does that?! Signs all around the subway cars clearly state there’s to be no smoking, no littering, and no radio-playing! If we give this one inconsiderate person a pass, anarchy will erupt!”

Then I thought, “Actually, a little music in the subway in the mornings would be nice.”

Then I thought, “No! 90% of this train probably hates this song, too, and if this woman wants to listen to it, she can put on headphones just like everyone else.”

Just then, another woman sitting near her must have asked/told her to turn it off, because she spat back, “I can do what I want.”

Read the rest here.

The Public Nature of Grieving in the City

plumpdumpling — Tue, 26 Jan 2010 18:00:04 +0000

The other day, my friend Nik told me the story of a crying woman on the 4/5 train who, it became apparent as she sobbed to a friend, was on her way downtown to identify the body of a loved one who had overdosed. It seemed that she had found out the bad news that morning and looked as if she had been crying nonstop since. Her friend comforted her as far as Union Square and then left the train, reminding her that she should call him and his wife if she needed anything.

The woman continued to sob alone until another woman excused herself from the mass of other passengers the train and asked if she could pray with the crying woman. They bowed heads and quietly murmured healing words to one another until other people from other parts of the train car came to rub her back, lay a hand on her shoulder, and whisper encouragement.

Read the rest here.

Even in New York City, People are Nice to You When You Vomit

plumpdumpling — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 17:00:02 +0000

Two days ago, I was on the green line express to Grand Central on my way home from work, leaning against the doorway as I meticulously typed a blog post about my newfound (and belated) love for Band of Horses on my BlackBerry, when a woman a foot away from me screamed, “Oh, my god!” and pushed everyone around her back toward the opposite end of the car. I looked up from my writing to see that the man sitting on the seat closest to me was vomiting all over the train floor, quietly but forcefully.

Read the rest here IF YOU DARE.

A Little Xenophobic Cheer for the Holidays

plumpdumpling — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 16:45:26 +0000

It’s the time of year when NYC is overrun with tourists who are somehow under the impression that the city in winter is worth spending $350 per night for a hotel on. The Rockefeller Center tree lighting, the display windows at Macy’s, the New Year’s Eve celebration in Times Square–these are all things that would be lovely in, say, Florida or California. But in New York, they’re painful and miserable because of the cold. So I guess those $350-per-night hotels are worth it, because that’s where they end up spending all of their time once they realize walking around Central Park isn’t so fun when the wind is eating your face off.

Anyway, I’m particularly annoyed by tourists for no good reason. I’m not one of those people who’s ever in a hurry, and I don’t have any horrible Christmas memories that make me want everyone else’s holidays to suck, but I require the subway to be quiet when I’m on my way to work. So when these massive groups of tourists all board one train car at 8:30 a.m. on their way to the Statue of Liberty every morning, I get my knickers in a bit of a twist.

On one particular morning, I was standing by one of the poles in the far end of a car, surrounded by French people. The French are especially bad, because they’re so darned happy. At least with the Germans, you get mean-sounding accents with harsh-sounding words that only perpetuate your bad morning mood, but the French are always kissing each other and pleasantly tying each other’s scarves around their delightfully pink necks, and all I want to do is knock them down a few notches.

Read the rest here and earn me some pennies.

Playing It Cool

plumpdumpling — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 20:29:10 +0000

I posted on Examiner, and it’s really too short for me to paste an excerpt here.

I would turn comments off so you didn’t feel obligated, but Feedburner puts the comment link at the bottom of the entry no matter what, so it’s moot.

Subway Seat Supply and Demand (7)
Someone Has Issues (17)
Caught in the Train Doors (10)
Bus Stop Line Jump (6)
Aint Wet (4)
“Big Brother” and the Inability to Accept Compliments (11)
Padded Seats and Warmed Hearts (15)
Cover Up That Caesarean Scar, Fatty (15)
I’m Certain All BFFs Are This Freaky (31)
Donut Hole Babies (25)

Making Friends with Perry Farrell

plumpdumpling — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 14:20:34 +0000

‘member how I said that I’d legitimately never stood next to someone listening to music and recognized the band? That was less than a month ago.

Wednesday morning, I was on the green line on my way to work, and the air conditioning suddenly turned off despite the fact that the subway is UNDERGROUND in an entirely ENCLOSED SPACE that doesn’t get ANY NATURAL AIR. Without the whooshing from the vents, I was able to hear the music coming from the headphones of the guy in front of me. I listened in for a second and dismissed it as some hip-hop crap, but during the bridge, I realized that I not only knew but loved the song!

Read the rest here.

Unapologetically Mundane » fun times on the subway

Caught in the Train Doors

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