Tag Archives: fun times on the subway

INCINERATION IN THE SUBWAY!

Posted by plumpdumpling on July 21, 2008 – 11:21 am
Filed under fun times on the subway, living in new york sucks so hard, my uber-confrontational personality
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When I got down to the 4/5/6 train platform at Grand Central this morning, there was a glob of about twice as many people as usual waiting. I stayed in the back of the crowd, because I believe in things like letting the people who were there first get on the train first. When it arrived, I let the glob shove their way in and then took my position at the edge of the platform, primed to get in first when the next train came. Only when it did, this squat white lady in a blouse bought too big to fit over her old lady boobs tried to pummel her way in front of me, but oh no, I gave her a hard elbow jab to the neck and took up as much space as I could inside the car just to spite her.

So I was reading my New York magazine and holding onto the metal bar above my head in order to keep my armpits aired out when the train stopped at Wall Street and lingered a little too long there. The doors closed a minute later, but we still didn’t move, so I took a seat and relaxed with an article about a Jewish woman from my neighborhood who rejected her faith and had her baby stolen from her by her zealot husband. (Exciting!) Another minute later, the air conditioning suddenly went off. Now, the air conditioning goes off all the time, but that’s just for a second while it resets itself, and you almost welcome it going off for that second because it feels so good coming back on.

This time, though, the air stayed off, and the car became eerily silent. The conductor came on over the loudspeaker and told us that the next station had a smoke problem and that the air conditioning needed to be off so that our train wouldn’t vent it in. We sat pretending to be cool about the whole thing for a while despite the fact that it would’ve been nice of them to, you know, at least open the doors while we were stuck there, but then a woman across from me started going on about how ridiculous it was, how “someone should call 911,” because they were trying to “incinerate” us. The temperature went from slightly too warm to nearly unbearable, and we all looked at each other scornfully, thinking, This is all YOUR fault.

And then someone farted.

Which made getting off at the next station and having to cough through a corridor of dirty smoke feel like quite a nice change, actually.

Book Slut

Posted by plumpdumpling on June 24, 2008 – 10:19 am
Filed under all of my friends are prettier than i am, fun times on the subway, readin' and writin'
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I feel like a different and better person when I have reading material in public, especially hardcover books. Back when I worked for Barnes & Noble and had all the hardcovers I could ever need and want at my disposal, I ripped through everything the day it was released, wanting to look all-knowing in front of customers. “Oh, the new Junot Diaz? I mean, it’s interesting, but I don’t get the hype,” I’d say as I led them instead to the Miranda July collection of short stories. “No, no, don’t get that Augusten Burroughs,” I’d command, adding, “You really need to read Running with Scissorsfirst if you want to enjoy Dry, and you can skip Sellovision altogether.” Once I quit there, though, I realized that I couldn’t afford to buy the hardcovers I was used to getting for free, and I’m not the kind of girl to own paperbacks.

I’ve been making due with library books for months now, but it’s not the same. I know that people see the little Dewey Decimal number on the spine and think less of me; the New York Public Library, after all, is only for doctoral candidate research and minorities who want to look at porn but can’t afford to have the Internet in their own homes (unlike the Columbus Metropolitan Library, where I used to work in Ohio, which provides what its users want and not what looks most pretentious on paper and is a beacon for the community, so ha). So thank god for my extremely generous co-worker Adam, who without any urging on my part, purchased the new David Sedaris book, When You Are Engulfed in Flames, for me out of the goodness of his heart a couple of weeks ago.

Now when I’m on the train, I feel people looking at me differently. Not only are they thinking, Look at that girl with her expensive hardcover,” they’re also thinking, Oh, David Sedaris has a new book? My, aren’t I behind the times. The only problem is that I find myself reading this book sooooo slowly, just to make it last longer. I read the same paragraphs over and over to really suck all the worth out of them and take every chance to close the book after only reading a page or two. My subway stop is five stations away, so I’d better just, uh, put this back in my bag and, uh, concentrate on where I’m going, I’ll tell myself.

I’ve been wondering what I’ll do when the pages inevitably run out. Sure, I can reread it a couple of times without anyone noticing, but then what? Submit to paperbacks just to be able to hide them inside the Sedaris? Take to stealing dust jackets of even newer, more expensive books to slap on $5.98 copies of leftover bargain bin chick lit? Actually reading my copy of the 688-page I Am Charlotte Simmons like Adam’s been pushing me to just because I know it’ll take me two years to finish it?

LIFE IS NOT WORTH LIVING IF I CAN’T HOLD A BOOK FACE-OUT AGAINST MY CHEST FAUX-ABSENTMINDEDLY AND ALLOW PEOPLE TO ADMIRE ME.

In Which a Black Rat Crosses My Path on Friday the 13th

Posted by plumpdumpling on June 14, 2008 – 6:24 pm
Filed under fun times on the subway, jobby jobby job job, living in new york is neat, my uber-confrontational personality, super furry animals
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Last summer, I made a bet with myself that every single time I waited for the subway, I’d see a rat running along the tracks. And wouldn’t you know it–every time I had more than a moment’s wait, I’d spot one, and more than a few times, I saw two chasing each other. I guess it got to be too normal an occurrence after a while, because I rarely think to do it anymore. But yesterday morning, I didn’t have to.

I’ve been reading magazines on the subway a lot lately, finding that it relaxes me to the point that I’m not bothered by things like the seated person in front of me kicking my feet repeatedly while I stand crushed between two unshowered men, gripping the slimy metal bar above my head. I like to get on the last car of the downtown 4/5 train in the morning, get off still reading, and keep on reading while I leisurely walk to the staircase that exits the station, mostly because it really seems to piss off all the people who’re in a major hurry.

Yesterday when the doors to the car opened at Bowling Green, I stepped out holding my magazine and then almost dropped it a second later when A RAT up and RAN ACROSS THE PLATFORM right in FRONT OF ME. Some people gasped. Some people broke the no-talking-in-the-morning-on-the-subway rule and murmured to themselves. Everyone turned and watched it bound to the end of the platform. One man–out of place amongst the business suits and briefcases in a t-shirt and a backpack–pointed his finger and lifted his thumb to make a gun shape and pretended to shoot the thing until it jumped onto the tracks and disappeared.

Ahhhhh, Friday the 13th.

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Wouldn’t You Know It–Lady is My Middle Name

Posted by plumpdumpling on June 6, 2008 – 11:03 am
Filed under fun times on the subway, narcissism
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Randomly seen all over the subway:

Why’s everybody always picking on me?

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Please Stand Clear of the Closing Doors

Posted by plumpdumpling on May 29, 2008 – 12:09 pm
Filed under fun times on the subway, living in new york is neat, my uber-confrontational personality
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I was riding into Manhattan from my apartment in Brooklyn one Saturday night at 10 p.m. not too long ago when a little Latina lady with frizzy red hair, a tiny brown tee, and 80s jeans stepped into my car and planted herself in the doorway, one foot in the train and one foot on the platform. The doors tried to close several times, but she kept pushing them open and yelling something back to some unseen person in the station. Finally, a very tall, very well-dressed, very clean-cut young black man said in a friendly, familiar tone, “Mami, please decide if you’re in or out. I have to get to work.” Without a moment’s hesitation, the woman shouted back, “FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY?! I’M RIGHT HERE! I’M RIGHT HERE! SAY IT!”

At that moment, her son ran into the car with a scooter, which he must have had problems getting through the turnstile. The man kept his friendly tone and told her that he was just trying to keep things moving for everyone else, but the woman screamed over him, “WHAT’S YOUR POINT?! WHAT’S YOUR POINT?! I’M RIGHT HERE! IT’S A FREE COUNTRY!” The man kept on talking in a level tone, but I couldn’t hear him, because the woman kept shouting, “MY OTHER SON WILL FUCK YOU UP! MY OTHER SON WILL FUCK YOU UP! GET OFF AT 103RD STREET WITH ME! MY SON IS LOUIE, AND HE WILL TEAR YOUR ASS UP!”

The man was talking quietly, but he was evidently getting into the spirit and egging the woman on, because she got even angrier and yelled, “YOU CAN SUCK MY PUSSY!” At this point, I naturally had to uncontrollably laugh out loud and say, “Oh, my god!”, which prompted the entire train to turn and look at me. Except for the woman, of course, who screamed, “GET OFF AT 103RD STREET WITH ME, MY NIGGA! 103RD AND LEX, MY NIGGA!” Her young son finally got embarrassed by the display and patted her stomach, saying, “Mooo-ooom. Stop it.” The woman advanced on the black guy and said, “YOU EXPECT ME TO LEAVE MY 9-YEAR-OLD SON BEHIND?! MY OTHER SON LOUIE IS YOUR AGE! HE’S AS TALL AS YOU! HE WILL FUCK YOU UP!” Her son grabbed her arm to hold her back and half-smiled at how ridiculous she was acting.

A random white guy seated between the two of them suddenly clapped his hands several times very loudly and said, “You must calm down!” The woman yelled, “HE STARTED IT! I WAS JUST DEFENDING MYSELF!” The white guy said, “I know, I know,” trying to appease her, but she couldn’t seem to lower her voice. People throughout the train were laughing at her, and the black man had stopped talking back to her, but she continued shouting, repeating phrases that didn’t make sense in context. We were all looking at each other like, “This woman is insane.”

The train stopped at Grand Central, and as a bunch of us filed out of the car–the air filled with the sort of shared feeling of relief that all survivors must feel–the black man turned to us, smiled, and said, “Sorry about that, everyone.” And then he continued on his way to work.

YES!

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