It’s funny. When there’s something different about you … you clearly notice it among others.
For instance, this morning I opted to not carry my tote bag.After all, it’s pretty much just a few pieces of cotton with straps that I simply weigh down with a pair of glasses, a sappy book, apartment keys, some crumpled tissues, and maybe an eye shadow or mascara, oh, and of course the occasional lunch or breakfast, which I didn’t have this morning. Plus, I pretty much only carry the thing when heading to work. Any other time I leave the house, I just stuff four cards (ID, Metrocard, debit card, zoo pass) in my pocket and I’m ready to go.
I’m realizing though that every one on this train, well 96 percent, is carrying a bag, of some sort: tote, purse, duffle bag, briefcase, messenger bag, backpack, shopping bag, rolling suitcase …
These two girls, well women – it appears as if they’re in their mid-30s, standing to my left are really chatting it up. You know, the typical mid-30s chat material – babies.
But this chat is better than the typical ones you can overhear while riding the L. This one pertains to their 40-year-old friend who just so happens to be planning a destination wedding in Italy, when not focusing all of her energy on conceiving.
Wait. What?! Conceiving at 40?! Great, now I can’t day dream about lavish lace gowns, cobblestone streets, marble fountains and Italian wedding cookies. It’s all pregnancy risks and complications for the rest of this ride.
It’s like, are people stupid? Or are they merely lazy? Or maybe they’re just seriously self-centered.
Because really, there is enough room down here by me, near these two-seater benches, for at least three people, in addition to me, to comfortably stand.
But no. Everyone is squishing up against one another around that pole near the doors. They’re actually blocking the doors, and any space that would allow anyone to squeeze past toward an open part of the car.
Whelp, right there. Prime example. That woman who just narrowly slid through the doors before they closed at Union Square. She’s now stuck behind a guy and pressed up against the door.
Not sure exactly who they belonged to.All I know is that they belonged to a woman who got on at Bedford Ave and off at First Ave.
Never saw her face. Just her arm and hand. An arm that was underneath a black, lint-covered coat. A hand that had long thick nails previously painted red, but this morning a sheer gloss was spread across the stained surface.
This here. This is my most favorite piece of subway art – at the moment.
My most favorite used to be the roller coaster one, in which wooden tracks twisted and turned through the Lower East Side. But this one. This one has slightly nudged that one out.
Really is the perfect representation of a typical ride on the L.
Why weren’t we made with fuse boxes? Seriously, it’s quite the practical mechanism. Especially when it comes to engineering a human being.
Just think, an discreet 3x5 box, with a flesh-colored flap implanted along the rib cage holing 10 or so emotions that could easily be switched on or off.
Her smart phone is kind of cute. In that ‘I was bored so I took a glitter pen and scribbled all over it’ kind of cute. You know, the type of thing a typical teen girl like her would do. A teen girl with … excessively hairy hands?
