This morning at Grand Central, there was a hold-up going through one of the turnstiles into the subway, and I couldn’t figure out why. The people in front of me kept getting in line behind this one guy, pausing for a second, and then stepping into another line instead of, say, punching him in the spleen and catapulting themselves over his crumpled body. So I waltz up all pardon-me-ladies-while-I-take-care-of-bizness, and then I hear the guy say, “I’ll call the police on you, I swear.” And I see that he’s face-to-face with an angry girl on the other side of the turnstile, neither of them getting out of the way to let the other through. I naturally side with the girl, both because I want to keep up this strange chivalry thing society has going and because I’ve been shoved aside by one too many businessmen commuters from Jersey in the morning. He’s wearing a brown tweed blazer with mismatched olive pants and has a pretentious leather bag slung over his shoulder, while she’s some greasy-haired teenager in a t-shirt, probably on her way to school. He might try to play the Respect Your Elders card if he was five years older, but it might not matter, because this is the kind of girl who mocks back, “Did you really just say you’d call the cops?” He gives up that angles and instead tries, “I already swiped!”, and at first I’m pissed for him that she’s trying to make him waste his $2, but then I figure he probably saw her coming and swiped his MetroCard anyway just to ensure he’d get in before she could come out. Because that’s how commuter businessmen from Jersey roll. Especially ones that then say to young girls, “Move, or I WILL CUT YOUR THROAT.”

Awesome!