Tag Archives: my uber-confrontational personality

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.

Hicks Need to Stick Together

Posted by plumpdumpling on July 16, 2008 – 10:55 am
Filed under living in new york sucks so hard, my uber-confrontational personality
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The other day after work, I was walking down the sidewalk toward the subway when out of the corner of my eye, I saw a guy approach me from the street waaaaay too quickly. Since school’s out for the summer and the midwesterners are lining up on the sidewalks in droves to ride the tour buses that pick up downtown, I didn’t have anywhere to move, so I expected that he would slow down and get behind me. Instead, he prepared to squeeze himself between the line of denim-shorted lady-tourists and me, but I could tell that someone was going to get knocked over in the process, so I used my adorable pink plaid Puma bag to CUT HIM THE FUCK OFF. And for good measure, I added, “Dude, calm down.” He walked behind me for a second and then passed me on the opposite side, kicking my bag twice with his knee on the way. In that second, I decided that he was probably some young Wall Street suit in tassled patent shoes with pockets stuffed full because he’s not classy enough to carry a briefcase, feeling like hot stuff because he’d taken his asshole anger out on my innocent accessory. But when he finally got in front of me, I saw that he was wearing faded old jeans, dirty yellow workboots, and an ill-fitting winter coat that he must have been sweating all over. And I wanted to be like, “Hey, I’m on your side! I’m from a farm! I’m one of you!”

I just have to wonder–do I make these things happen with my uber-confrontational personality or is this happening to everyone here?

They Poop on the Toilet Seats, and That’s All I Should Have to Say

Posted by plumpdumpling on June 17, 2008 – 11:59 am
Filed under jobby jobby job job, living in new york is neat, my uber-confrontational personality
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My software company and another company split the 25th floor of our office building at the tip of Manhattan, and we get the distinct impression that they hate us next door. Someone suggested that our half of the floor had been empty for a long time and that the neighbors got used to not having to share the floor bathrooms and elevators, but I secretly think it’s because they’re a Jewish company and we’re a German company. I say this because one time, a lady from next door–who I admittedly like because she talks books with me–brought over a document that was written in German and asked one of our interns to help her translate it into English, and he later told me that he thought it was strange because it was already translated on the next page; he thinks she brought it over under the translation guise just because it was a deed handing over some German-owned paintings to the Jews and she wanted to rub it in our faces.

A very few of the women are normal and polite, so there was a lot of guess and check in the beginning when it came to figuring out who was worth saying hi to and who would flat-out ignore us. We learned to wrap paper towels around our hands before touching the door handles in the restrooms when we noticed how many of them just turned on the water for show and how many of them didn’t even bother with that. We’d not use the stall directly next to someone just to be polite until we noticed how many of them chose to fart up a storm with no regard on the toilet right beside us when the entirety of the restroom was otherwise empty. And then there were the times–that’s right; multiple times–when they pooped ON the toilet seats. You can imagine the kinds of passive-aggressive signs I posted on the bathroom mirrors after those incidents. So needless to say, after working in this office for two years, I’m done trying to make friends.

And then last week, my co-worker Jian was humbly leaving the office, chatting with me as he opened the door. You have to understand that Jian is the most unassuming, most gentle, most grateful guy, and that he’d never intentionally hurt any of the women next door, as much as they deserve it. You also have to understand that the hallway in our office building is veeeery wide and that there’s no reason someone would be walking right in front of our door on the left side of the hallway when any normal person stays to the right. Jian happened to not be looking where he was going, though, and he managed to come really close to hitting this scrunch-faced hag from next door who walks like a duck.

He didn’t hit her. He came close, but he didn’t. And he immediately said so genuinely, “Oh, pardon me! I’m so sorry!”, even though, you know, he had nothing to be sorry for. But the lady just stood there and scowled at him like an old bulldog for a second before continuing on. Which pissed. me. off. So I started yelling, “You bitch! He just apologized to you even though you were walking RIGHT IN FRONT of our door and saw him coming through the glass and didn’t bother to move over to the middle of the hallway!” She just turned around and called back to him, “You need to be more careful!” So I started yelling again about how she needs to keep to the right side of the hallway if she doesn’t want to get smacked upside her fat head while poor Jian just sort of shrunk back into the office and closed the door.

I didn’t see the woman for the rest of the week, which I thought was lucky, because it seems like it would’ve been mighty uncomfortable to find myself waiting for the elevator with her after that. But this morning at 9, I stepped out of my office to use the restroom, and she was waddling down the hallway with her scrunch face in full effect. I instinctively half-smiled before I realized who it was (as any Ohioan would), and then I was like, Oh, shit, now what do I do? It was going to look ridiculous if I went back into the office and just pretended that I’d popped out for a breath of fresh hallway air, so I forged ahead to the restroom. I heard the clip-clop of her cloven hooves as she sped up to ensure that I’d have to hold the door for her, so I rushed in without looking like I was rushing and let the door slam right behind me.

And it felt awesome.

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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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Piggy People

Posted by plumpdumpling on June 11, 2008 – 2:08 pm
Filed under creepy boyfriend obsession, living in new york is neat, my uber-confrontational personality, why i'm better than everyone else
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Last night, Boyfriend Kamran and I had a leisurely yakitori dinner complete with watermelon sorbet in his neighborhood to celebrate a law school A that he didn’t expect but wholly deserved. As we walked back up the hill to his apartment, I looked expectantly at my feet like I do every time I wear flip-flops in NYC, waiting for a cockroach to crawl over my bare toes. I told Kam that I saw a cockroach in our gym that morning, and he wondered aloud when cockroach season is. I said it seems to be at the start of summer and the start of winter and concluded that cockroaches must be adverse to extreme weather changes, but he sarcastically derided me and said that surely they’ve evolved enough to handle a little temperature fluxuation what with their ability to withstand nuclear attacks and all. We started talking about how ridiculous it is that instead of adapting, humans just do things like move to Florida when the going gets too rough, and I argued that things would be so much better if we were pigs; our pores wouldn’t leak, so we’d just have to recognise when we were overheating and find a way to cool ourselves down. We talked about redesigning the human body to have an internal coolant system with a refrigeration pump and selling our upgraded version of man at a steep price.

While we were having this discussion, we passed one of the hand-carved Italian stone buildings next to his, where four women were leaning against a low wall and chatting. They were all in their 30s and wore their long, highlighted hair down despite the heat. They had on atrocious heels and clingy dresses, and they sipped from martini glasses in between laughs. They were the exact opposite of us. When our conversation finished, I asked Kamran, “Did you see that?”, and he said, “What, those women trying to reenact ‘Sex and the City’?” And we laughed and laughed about how superior we are.

The thing is–I’m pretty sure this sort of business is going on every night in Manhattan. Kamran and I know that we’re weird, but isn’t everyone else weirded out by how normal they are?

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