My friend Chantee instant messaged me Wednesday morning about a fondling she received at the Hoyt-Schermerhorn subway station that night on her way home. We had been bowling with friends at Port Authority until well into the night, and Chantee is a classy lady, so she had worn a white button-down shirt with a grey patterned tie and was lookin’ good.
She took the A train to Hoyt-Schermerhorn after we finished our last incredibly low-scoring game, and as she was waiting for the G, an MTA night worker strolled by her on the platform and said, “Hey, beautiful.” Now, Chantee is a lovely lady with assets that are taken note of on an hourly–no, secondly–basis, so this sort of thing is old hat for her. She smiled politely and kept watching for the train, thinking that she hadn’t inadvertently issued any invitations for rape. She was wrong.
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Between this and the Prepubescent Dancing Hookers, I am officially scared or, as we say here in Louisiana, skeered of the New York City subway.
Dear Taxi Cabs: I love you so much. Yours in modesty and decency, Kel
The subway is basically awesome, and I only tell horror stories about it because I hate the people who wreck its perfection.
Taxis, though? THE WORST. I could write ten books on why I hate them. Especially their drivers.
At least you will be able to catch a cab in NYC.
They tend to not want to stop for us darker folks.
But cabs do suck for more reasons then just that, they drive like they are nuts, yell on their cell phones the whole drive while blasting middle eastern music mentioning Allah every 5 seconds.
Only the strong can survive a NYC cabride!
Katie, Last time I saw Chantee was 2 years ago and she had much…much more going for herself than just a tie….damn she must be letting herself go if that’s all a guy noticed.
I hate it when hot chicks get all old!
Just sad!