Tag Archives: grand central

In the Subway Station, Being Nice Gets You Nowhere

Posted by plumpdumpling on August 6, 2009 – 2:03 pm
Filed under fun times on the subway, living in new york sucks so hard, my uber-confrontational personality
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After work the other day, I was heading to my boyfriend’s apartment and exited the train at Grand Central. There was a throng of people gathered at the staircase on the platform, being inconsiderate to each other as usual. A man with a guitar case had been waiting by the stairs for someone to let him up for as long as I’d been waiting patiently toward the back of the mass, so when it was my turn to step onto the first stair, I held back for a second and motioned for him to go ahead. He smiled and thanked me, and I was left feeling like the greatest American hero, as my boyfriend says.

Then, on my way up the staircase from the station to the street, a woman was coming down on the wrong side. I find that sort of thing ridiculous in normal polite society, but in a city where we’re all two centimeters from colliding with one another, it’s totally inexcusable. I was going to give her the what-for, but then I thought, “Hey, it’s raining, and if I’m nice to the guitar guy AND the wrong-side lady, my karma will be off the chart.” Not that I believe in that sort of thing.

But as soon as I was through congratulating myself on being a true humanitarian, the woman thrust her Strawberry shopping bags in front of her, lifted her chin, and said haughtily, “Clear the way! Clear the way!”

She’s lucky she didn’t say it ten seconds earlier, because you can bet I would’ve planted myself right in front of her until the smell of the halal cart outside the station became too tempting around nightfall, but as she was right beside me by that point, I could only say, “You are a bitch!”, but she kept on walking down the stairs, and people kept on moving out of the way for her.

Funny that the only time New Yorkers are nice, it’s for people who don’t deserve it.

(also posted on Examiner) (who pays me when you read my articles, I should mention) (in case you were thinking about not clicking on that link)

My Sweat is Sweatier Than Your Sweat

Posted by plumpdumpling on July 17, 2009 – 1:46 pm
Filed under it's fun to be fat, living in new york sucks so hard
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I may be biased toward my own misery, but I always think it’s ridiculous when people in other cities complain about the weather. Vermont can get 12 inches of snow, and I’m going to think that the 2 inches in NYC is 100 times worse. Texas can be 115 degrees, and I’m still going to think NYC at 85 is more unbearable.

Yesterday was the first really hot day we’ve had here, with a disgusting humidity to boot. Kamran was working late, so I asked myself what I truly, truly wanted for dinner without him there to judge me. I chose pizza, of course, and stopped at the Two Boots in Grand Central, because they’re the only ones in the entire city making pizza with any flavor, as far as I’m concerned. As I waited in line for my two slices of Sicilian, all four people in front of me asked the cashier for napkins, and he apologized to each one and explained that they unexpectedly ran out. When I got to him to pay, I of course said, “I have two slices of Sicilian. And can I have that with a lot of napkins, please?” He made a gun with his fingers and said, “Good one.”

I stood back and waited for my slices to come out of the oven, and when the other counter person handed them to me, they were on two plates. I didn’t think anything of it at first, but after I’d taken a few steps, I realized that it was going to be kind of awkward carrying them allllll the way back to Kamran’s like that. It would’ve been so easy to turn around and ask for a takeout box, but the place was so busy, and I didn’t want to be a bother, and every step carried me closer to the sidewalk. (Kamran says this makes me very pathetic.)

So I just held my pizza in front of me, out in the open air for all of the dust and cab exhaust to settle on. People kept looking at it jealously as I passed, and a couple of deliverymen even asked if I’d share. “It’s too good to give up!”, I said. I’d unfortunately started out on the far end of Grand Central, so three avenue blocks later, I was finally at Kamran’s apartment on the waterfront, and I was hot.

I thought about how if I talked to Tracey for a third time that day, I’d complain to her about the heat, but then I realized that it’s probably been hot in Ohio for two days now with the way the weather travels so slowly to NYC. But then I realized that she’d say, “But the weather always feel worse in New York because you have to walk around in it instead of driving through it in your air-conditioned car.”

And that’s what best friends are for.

Hugs, Blood, Death, and Rockstars of the String

Posted by plumpdumpling on December 10, 2008 – 11:11 am
Filed under fun times on the subway, living in new york is neat
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As I stepped out of Kamran’s apartment building yesterday morning and passed the park that lines his walk, I saw a woman coming out with a baby strapped to her front in one of those canvas harnesses. The idea of being hauled around in one of those has always appealed to me, but this one actually made me straight-up jealous: the baby was wearing a fuzzy brown fleece one-piece suit with bear ears on its hood. And his arms were wrapped around his mother’s stomach, his head pressed to her warm belly as she hugged him in the cold. It looked like the coziest, lovingest thing ever.

Then, when I got down into Grand Central, there was a scantily-clad man–I’m talking wifebeater made into a half-shirt here–playing some really sexy music on an electric violin. “Sexy music coming from an electric violin, the inherently lamest instrument ever?” you might ask. But yes, it totally was. And it was only made sexier by the fact that he had his eyes closed and his head thrown back, clearly enjoying what he was doing. Which made me smile so much that I had to turn away. Nice start to my day, right?

But THEN, I was getting off the 4 train at Bowling Green before work, and as I was waiting in the huge line that forms before the staircase leading up to the street, this Italian-looking guy in his 30s came stumbling through the crowd with BLOOD FLOWING DOWN HIS FACE. He was like, “Excuse me, please,” and politely made his way down the stairs while all of us stood and stared, and then he hopped into the train as if everything was fine.

And THEN, I was on my way to get my hair cut last night when I heard a woman telling the booth attendant at the 8th Street R stop about a man on the staircase. I assumed she was complaining about a disruptive homeless fellow, but when I got to the stairs myself, I saw nothing but a very well-dressed older guy who happened to be holding up the line to the street by taking a loooooooooooooong time on each stair and intermittently slumping toward the wall as if he was having trouble standing. Turns out he was having a HEART ATTACK right there in front of me. But naturally I continued on, selfish and vain as always.

NEW YORK!

Ahhh, the pleasure I get from the misfortune of others.

Posted by plumpdumpling on November 11, 2008 – 12:39 pm
Filed under fun times on the subway
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Leaving the subway station the other night, a girl in a posh red swing jacket, black trousers, and black heels cut in front of me. As I followed her up the stairs to the street, her pants swished around her ankles and revealed bright white cotton socks.

Not even realizing it was going to come out, I said under my breath with delight, “White socks!” The girl totally turned around and looked at me, and I was like, ” . . . ,” but there was no one else around to blame.

I really feel myself becoming a strange old woman.

I WILL CUT YOUR THROAT

Posted by plumpdumpling on September 16, 2008 – 10:06 pm
Filed under fun times on the subway, living in new york sucks so hard
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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!