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Posts Tagged ‘subway’

677_corn_character

Oh, public transit, how I missed you so.

Well, not really… but, you know.

Some things I’ve experienced lately on the brilliant red rocket:

a) Now, I know I’ve expressed this multiple times, but really, I just can’t get over it.  Eating on public transit gives me the heebee geebees.  Not the granola bar kind of eating… more like… corn on the cob kind of eating.

Yes…

Corn.

On.

The.

Cob.

Really? Wow. Thank you, random woman, for an amusing, yet repulsing subway ride.  She mashed up that corn like it was nobody’s business.  I’m talking, big, juicy chomps from left to right.  Corn pieces in her teeth and all. Buttery salt dripping down her face and onto her pants.  Buttery hands slathering the germ infested pole.  Buttery fingers in her mouth.  Finger licking good.

b) Last night I witnessed a man take off his shoes, place his feet up on the seat and attempt the daily crossword. After getting over my initial disgust, I wondered why someone would voluntarily show off their dirty white socks.  Come on now.  At least wear brown or black. The nerve of some people.

c) Sometimes I feel that people are on transit so much that they forget they aren’t actually in their washroom.  This goes for nail clippers, make-up appliers, eyebrow pluckers, and…

Wait for it…

Wait for it…

Flossers.

Oh. My. Goodness.

Please, please fling your plaque at me. It would go great with my outfit.

Luckily I don’t venture into the wild without my trusty book, which in turn acts as a fabulous shield to this type of nonsense.

d) Now, this one is not technically public transit… but it involves a car, which is a method of transit, so I’ll let it slide.  At the gas station, as I was inside paying for gas, my friend was approached by two random bums who smelled like ass roses.  They asked her for money, to which she replied…

Friend: Ugh… I don’t really have any.

Roses: Do you have debit?

Wow.  Beggars are really moving on with the times, huh? Debit?!

Since they didn’t want to seem to leave the surrounding area of the car, she ended up giving about two dollars worth of change.

Roses: Don’t you have any more?  You got a five?

Wow.

Enough said.

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As I’ve mentioned many times, I am not the kind of person you want to deal with in the morning.  No way, no how. Especially pre-coffee.  Even more especially on Monday’s. And most especially in -10C temperatures. Bad combo.

Today’s commute was rather uneventful for the most part… other than a larger lady who mistook my leg for an open seat.  Joy.  I hopped off my last bus and shuffled along to continue my usual routine at Starbucks.  I passed a bus stop where a rather disheveled, creepy, older man was waiting.  He watched me cross the street and as I passed him, he felt the need to say,

‘Well, good morning, sweet cheeks.’

Ew. 

Sweet cheeks?

His voice was just as creepy as he looked. Gross.

I responded with a facial expression that resembled someone who had just been extremely violated.  Why can’t this sort of thing happen in the p.m. so I can at least respond like a normal human being?  I’m not quick with the sarcastic remarks in the morning – actually, I’m not quick in any way, shape or form before noonish.

As I made my way to get java I prayed that the extremely annoying, happy, Chatty Cathy was not working.  Wrong again.  This girl’s voice makes my skin crawl.  I’m convinced that she either has nine shots of espresso before she starts work, or she’s on some kind of drugs.  For serious.  It can’t be natural, can it?

Speaking of those who are not morning people, last night I caught a pretty cool documentary of this filmmaker who suffers from insomnia (ironically, I was hungover exhausted and fell asleep).  But the part that I caught was super interesting, as I have had issues falling asleep as long as I can remember.  It was comforting to know that I’m not the only one that lies there for hours on end, mind racing.  Like me, he had tried everything under the sun, and nothing has worked so far.  I wish I caught the end so that I could see if he found a solution.  That will teach me to fall asleep during ‘Wide Awake.’  

Damn.  

It’s just one of those days…. but I’m okay with it, as I’m counting down to my island time (28 days!) whooooo!

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Originally I had planned to post something completely different… but too much happened on my way to work this morning to just not write about it.  

Ready, set…

So this morning as I stood on my first bus, I noticed a massive SUV pull up beside us.  This is a usual occurrence in my hood, as practically everyone and their damn dog has one (except for us poor and/or environmentally saavy folk – however you want to slice it is fine by me).

Anyhoo, so the tinted window on the passenger side slid down and I saw a professional looking middle aged woman in a suit.  I figured, maybe she needs fresh air, or maybe she’s going to have a smoke.  

Nope.  

None of the above.  

Instead, I saw her make that unmistakable face (I swear I felt like I could hear the sound) and then, a massive glob of spit flew out of her mouth.  

Classy.  

Very classy.  

It blows my mind that people are actually that disgusting.  I mean, have some self respect already.  Jesus. 

On my last bus, as I happily glared at Cash Money’s ass (another random transit crush), a regular came on and blocked my view.  

I was okay with it, eventually.  

Mainly because this dude was doing something hilarious that he obviously didn’t realize he was doing.  As he was talking with one of his buds, he was holding the pole.  He had gloves on so his hand kept slipping.  As it continued to slip, he moved it up and down, up, down, up, down… faster and faster.  

It honestly looked like he was beating off the pole.  

Yes, I have a dirty mind, okay.  And that might also be because I caught the South Park episode last night about how the kids learn sex-ed, and a similar action was a big part of it.  It took every single bit of morning pre-coffee strength for me not to burst out laughing.

Then, while ordering my coffee, a new Starbuck’s kid asked me a question.  He obviously isn’t aware of my horrid morning mood like the rest of them.  It went a little something like this:

Me: Hi.  Can I please have a Grande Americano with the extra shot.

Dude: Sure.  Nice ring.

M: *grunt* Thanks.

D: Where did you get it?

M: Which one?

D: The one on your thumb.

**This ring is super cool.  It’s black with silver designs on it.  It’s almost like 2 rings together, and you can twist the designs to make different ones.**

M:  Oh, I acquired it, sort of… ya.

D:  Really? How?

M:  It’s a long story.

D:  So… what’s the story?

M:  Okay, well, some random dude gave it to me.

D:  Random dude?

M:  Yep.

D:  What do you mean?

I’m totally annoyed at this point.  Seriously.  Gimme my coffee and shut the F up. Like I said, not a morning person, not at all.

M:  Well, I met some dude who worked at a bar, who turned out to know my friend through family.  I told him I liked his ring.  He gave it to me. 

D: WOW. That’s amazing!!

M: Uh… okay.  Sure. 

D:  Ya, I mean, like, who does that?

M:  Apparently that dude.

D: Wow! That’s soooo cool. You must be really, like, special and stuff.

M: *Grunt/laugh*  Ya, I guess.  

D:  Awesome!

M: Alrighty. Coffee. Need. Now.

I really can’t handle overly excited and happy people in the morning… I really can’t.  

That little conversation reminded me that not only have I acquired the majority of junk in my apartment, but also, my accessories. Rock on… er, or shall I say, acquire on.  

Yep.

And that’s the kind of day it’s been, this Wednesday, December 3, 2008.

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I’m quite irritable today.  What else is new, right?  

Today there is a better reason that just my general predisposition.  

I was out late at a fundraising event and am fully feeling the effects today. Full blown, all the way.  I’m so out of it (code for: hung the f over) that as I sat on the bus on the way to work I wondered whether or not I put socks on, and also, I wondered what exactly I was wearing.  I’m not one to go anywhere after work on a weekday, because, well, because of exactly this.  

Work is pretty much unbearable.  The only thing that is getting me through these last couple of hours is my rendition of T.G.I.F, which is I.F.F.F. (It’s finally fucking friday).  

Finally.  

It’s interesting when I’m in this kind of mood.  Either I’m more relaxed than usual and nothing can phase me or I’m super irritable and every tiny thing drives me completely insane. I’m half and half today.  

On transit, nothing phased me.  I got shoulder checked, and had my foot stomped on, and I was pretty much okay with it.  

At work, it’s a different story.  It’s entirely more painful than usual. I literally want to lob my stapler at choice people (when I’m not randomly stapling invisible documents to sound busy).  The volume decibel of everything is intolerable.  It’s next to impossible to keep my eyes open.  It’s even more impossible to not prematurely announce my secret plans* in my loudest outside voice.  

*Secret plan to be announced on here soon… very exciting, I promise.  

I fear the commute home.  

With a passion.  

I pray that I don’t clock a fellow commuter in the head if they look at me the wrong way.  Maybe it’s best if I pretend to read, sleep, or do a crossword so that I don’t become the latest story in the free transit paper. 

We’ll see how that goes.

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I have issues with personal space.  Some days I can handle it, some days, not so much. Today is one of those days.  

While I was waiting for my last bus today, in the army style line up, I noticed the woman behind me sneaking closer, baby step by baby step.  I could tell because I could see her shadow.  She was reading the paper, and at one point it grazed my hair.  There’s tons of space.

Tons.  

I thought, ‘What’s up with this chick standing right on my ass?! Goddamn, I’m really not in the mood.  I can smell her coffee breath. Gross. Did her paper just touch my hair? What the f. MOVE.’

So, I played a little game.  

I moved up.  

She moved up.  

I moved up.  

She moved up.  

I moved sideways.

She moved sort of beside me.  

I moved up.  

She sneezed in my hair.  

In.

My.

Hair.  

She didn’t even cover her mouth.

Gross. What on earth is wrong with people?  

As far as I’m aware, my hair does not resemble a box of Kleenex.  I mean, even if she didn’t have time to cover her mouth, she could have at least turned her head slightly so her bodily fluids landed on the pavement rather than in my hair.  

Imagine the consideration.  I made sure to shoot her dirty looks and sat far from her.  I didn’t have the caffeine intake or patience to say anything, and even if I did, it wouldn’t have done any good really.

So, I scored a sweet bus seat, and an older woman plopped down beside me.  I say, ‘plopped’ because she entered the seat blindly, with the hopes of landing in her spot, but instead her butt landed on part of my leg.  After she shimmied over, she continued to check her watch 7 times.  

I counted.  

The reason I noticed was because every time she checked, she took off her glove and elbowed me in the side.  

Every time.  

Glove On. Glove Off. Glove On. Glove Off. Glove On. Glove Off.  

I was sitting beside the wall, so there was no where for me to move.  I was literally sitting sort of sideways and pressed up against the window, with the hopes her poking would stop.  Nah.

Whenever I have days like this, I think of that Seinfeld episode when Elaine gets stuck on the subway as she is on her way to a wedding.  She totally freaks out – whether it’s a good thing or not, I’m exactly the same. Sometimes I just want to scream at the top of my lungs and literally knock some sense into my fellow transit commuters.  

Instead, for now, I suppose I will settle for overly obvious eye rolls, shoulder checks, and the occasional swift tackle.  

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So I pretty much jinxed myself into a dreadful Monday with my last post.  Seriously. It’s like the universe said,

“Oh yeah? You don’t like Monday’s?  Oh, it’s onnnn.  I’ll show you Monday.  It’s so on.”  

As I left work I was welcomed with some lovely wet snow.  You know, not rain, not snow, but hurts like hell when it’s hitting your face horizontally.  Of course because of this, the bus was late.  By the time I got on I pretty much resembled a wet dog – as did everyone else.  The bus was smelly and packed so I had some random man standing over me as I sat.  He was dripping all over me and his crotch was staring me in the face. Fabulous. After the longest ride ever, I hopped on the subway, and settled into my daily crossword routine.  Over my tunage I heard some clicking.

Click.  Click.  Click. Click.  

I assumed it was someone clicking their pen open, closed, open, closed.  

I turned up my ipod and tried for the life of me to figure out 23 across.  

Click.  Click.  Click.  Click.  

This time I searched for the clicker.  

Click.

I found her, and realized with horror that it was not a pen she was clicking.  It took me a second to register. I believe I threw up in my mouth a little.

Oh.

My.

God.  

The woman was clipping her nails on the subway.  Clipping her nails.  On the subway.  Nails. Subway.

Click. Click.  

Seriously?  

That is one of the most revolting things I have ever seen.   It by far surpasses eating on transit.  By far.  For serious.  

Clipping her nails?

What on earth would possess someone to even entertain the idea of clipping nails on public transit? This is a bathroom activity, people! Do you shave on transit? Floss? Pluck nose hairs?  Bathroom activities are called “bathroom activities” for a reason. A good reason.  I don’t want your friggin DNA remnants on my coat, thank you very much.  Really.  I mean, when you clip your nails, they don’t always just fall gracefully. Sometimes they torpedo every which way.  I literally sat there in shock for the entire ride, semi shielding myself from possible nail escapees.

So.

Gross.

Right.  So finally I get to the next station and decide to make a pit stop at The Metro to buy food for dinner. You would think people where stocking up for a hurricane, as I’ve never seen the place so busy on a Monday.  I picked up four things.  Chicken burgers, pickles, wraps, and cheese.  I thought even with a line up, it should be semi-quick.  Plus, I thought a picked a pretty good line – only four people in front. Sweet.

Forty-five minutes later, I finally make it to the front.  

Forty.

Five.  

Minutes.  

In line.  Four people.  

And there was no line switching opportunity for me either.  I was boxed in and with my luck, would have chosen a worse line – so I stayed put.  At one point I thought that if I tried to use my super-strength-mind-power I could make the conveyer belt thingy go faster.  All I wanted was to burn the nail clipping from my memory, put on some warm clothes and eat the best chicken burger wrap ever.  

Finally I got home and chatted with a friend for a bit on the phone.  I’m one of those people that walks around my apartment when I’m on the phone.  So there I was, and suddenly without warning, I somehow lobbed my phone across my apartment.  It crashed to the ground and part of the casing fell off.  I just got this phone back from ‘the shop’ after being fixed for a month. Thankfully it was okay, and when I called my friend back she said all of a sudden she could only hear me screaming…

“SERIOUSLY!!!!!????  Come. ON.  Seriously.  What the hell!” 

So, I eventually got down to business and made my awesome chicken wrap thing.  I think I’m a pretty skilled wrap maker – never too full… just right, you know?  So I made two wraps, sat down on the couch, took a deep breath and took a bite out of what I’d been waiting for all night.  

And splat.  

The wrap broke and it’s contents landed on the floor.  

At this point all I could do was laugh, because the alternative would have been me loosing my mind.  After I cleaned up I realized I still had another.  I handled it like it was a rare jewel.  I ate it.  All of it.  Slowly. It was so good. It was the best wrap that ever touched my mouth.  

Like always, it’s the small victories.  It’s like all of the crazyness that happened pre-wrap has been wiped away with post-wrap bliss.  

Much. Better.

 

 

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I’m definitely not a morning person.  People that know me are well aware of that fabulous characteristic.  It’s best not to speak to me until I’ve had at least one grande americano.  Yum.  

Anyhoo, my morning started off with some irritation on the subway. Nothing new there.  

Please, someone enlighten me:

Why, oh why, must people that speak foreign languages scream at each other?

Seriously.  

Even when they are sitting so close they’re practically attached.  Come on, now.  

It’s a serious question.  

Can you understand each other better if you scream at the top of your lungs?  

Do you just want other people to know that you can speak another language?  

Do you want people to think what you are saying is more important?

Is it a conspiracy? 

Is it?

I do not understand this phenomenon.  I really don’t.  

Why does the volume decibel increase ten fold?

WHY?

I pondered these very questions this morning as two women who sat beside me literally blew my eardrums out.  I was trying so hard to concentrate on my book, but you know, it was pretty much impossible. I would have moved seats if there was an open one, but rush hour had other plans.    

Qu’est-ce que le fuck?

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