Ahmusings

The 98% humorous musings of M. Lizabeth Currain

Tag: subways

Things That One Should Not Do In Public

People should not clip their nails in public. Why? Are you seriously questioning this? What is wrong with you?

It’s disgusting, that’s why. And surprisingly, this is a thing that people do. Maybe it’s because I live in NYC and I take the subway and am surrounded by all types of people. People that never realized that personal grooming is best saved for the home. I even find women who do their makeup on the train obnoxious. It’s a hazard, you could poke your eye out with that eyeliner or rip out all your lashes as you’re trying to curl them. But I digress.

STOP CLIPPING YOUR FUCKING NAILS IN PUBLIC.

I was on the train heading to work the other morning around 9am and there was a woman standing, leaning against the doors just clipping away. Clip, clip, clip. That’s all you could hear. I’m not really a germaphobe, I mean, I’ve dropped food on the kitchen floor and dusted it off; but there is something about getting things that were once attached to a person, on your personage. Like when you have to clean your roommates hair out of the drain. It’s that same kind of grossed out feeling.

Why would any person think this is a normal thing to do? Do it in your home! Go to a nail salon! But seriously stop fucking doing it on the train! I don’t want your nail clippings in my hair. Or anywhere on me for that matter.

Trainmance

Trainmance is a portmaneau for “train” and “romance”…it hasn’t really caught on yet, except for a couple of friends that I use it with, so right now it’s a protologism. Which according to Wikipedia is:

“A protologism is a new word created in the hope that it will become accepted. A protologism may be no more than suggestion of a word that might be used…The term protologism…was coined by Mikhail Epstein in 2003.

My blog just got really smart for a second. I sort of attach “mance” a lot of other words, so long as those words are places where there is a potential to meet someone. Par example: planemance, linemance, barmance, storemance. I think you get the point. If there a two things that I am always on the lookout for it, it’s a trainmance or a storemance.

I was once on a flight from Seattle to New York–that had been delayed, natch–so there was plenty of time for the people who were waiting around in the terminal to make love connections. Of course, I was not one of those people. I just had to sit next to a planemance couple on 6 hour flight and they were awful. The boy looked like a weird version of John Travolta in his glory days and the girl looked like she had just stepped off of the Rock of Love tour bus. I was trying to read, and they tried engaging me in conversation about my book. Trust me when I say, that the look on my face was nowhere near what anyone would call inviting.

Bish...pleeeeze.

They drank the whole flight and were holding hands and snuggling as best as one can on a plane (I wouldn’t know!). I pretty sure that if they had been smart enough to find a way to boink each other in the bathroom, they would have done it. Well, about 30 minutes before landing, there was really bad turbulence, and I was like, “whatevs” because I’ve been on flights where the wing of the plane was struck by lightening and I survived…but this girl was cuddling up to her planemance, all scared. I almost threw up, and not from the turbulence. So when we landed, she looks at this boy and she goes, “Weren’t you scared? It was so scary!” and he goes, “I was, but I didn’t want to show it, because I didn’t want you to get more scared.” Literally. I couldn’t even make that up if I wanted to. Then they walked off hand-in-hand into the sunset to baggage claim. For the sake of humanity, I hope their “relationship” ended outside of the airport.

So, on my way home from work this evening, the train was crowded as usual, and I was holding on to one of the center poles along with four other people. I was minding my own bidness, but out of the corner of my eye, I can see this kid singing along to his iPod(I literally just typed “eyePod”). He looks a little something like this:

 

He has got to be one of the worst people ever.

But with a hat, scarf, and headphones…

I'm not good enough at photoshop to 'shop in a winter coat.

Now, this kid was really going full force with his sing along. He was even dancing. Which looked a little something like this:

Now, I’m not one of those people that can ignore what is going on around me. Especially when it is as something as glorious as some kid going full force Britney’s Dance Beat on the train. Luckily, I was not alone in this. As I was watching this kid, I heard a boyish chuckle come from the guy next to me. We looked at each other. And we had a moment. Because we knew we were witnessing something special. We laughed together, at the absurdity of what we were watching. We were the only two people watching this! It was hard to miss folks; believe me. He was doing everything except dropping down to get his eagle on.

(and yes, I watched this video in it’s entirety.)

We talked about his dance moves and how we’ll never reach that level of skill. Then the train stopped. And they both got of the train…the entertainment and my trainmance. He said goodbye. I smiled. He was cute. Sort of bookish, but tall. And obviously with it enough to know that that dancing fool was a gem.

It’s one of those things where you hear about people who have met each other on a train, or something like that, and you wonder how it’s possible. Because I make eyes at pretty much every attractive guy on the train and nothing seems to work! I kid…sort of. There has got to be a way to meet people, organically. How does it happen?!

If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll post a missed connection about this tonight!

**Hipster picture Courtesy of Look at that Fucking Hipser

Be Weary

This is a cautionary tale of the subways and the subway stations–and possibly any sort of place where homeless people in NYC might dwell or stop by; like Barnes and Noble in Union Square. Seriously, I think a few might live in there.

Last night; after a delightful dinner at a Thai restaurant with Victor; I was waiting for the D train at Bryant Park. I was sitting on one of those benches reading, when this homeless man (I’m assuming this because of his lack of hygiene, dirty attire, and massive amounts of possessions in plastic bags) comes bounding over and sits next to me. He had this giant black puffy coat that he was carrying and it invaded my personal space–I felt as though he was sitting on me, which is uncomfortable, given his smell. The B train had just pulled up and he was asking me how to get to Dekalb Avenue in Brooklyn. I was trying not to look at him, as I told you before, I know better than to make eye contact with the cray-crays. He smelled something awful and then started shouting to the subway conductor (is that even the correct term?) about how he needs to get to Dekalb Ave. So the conductor said, “well you better get on this train”, then smelly homeless man said something along the lines of, “aw, shit.” grabbed his plastic bag belongings and jogged towards the remaining open door. As he was doing this, I made the mistake of looking. And that’s when I saw it: his ass. His dirty, homeless ass. I don’t say this to be crude or malicious–but to be descriptive, to paint a picture for you, my dear readers. I want to you experience things as I have experienced things. You all must suffer with me.

This is not the first time that I have seen dirty, homeless ass. Once before I saw it on the downtown 6 train platform at Grand Central. He was sitting on one of those benches, with his pants halfway down his thighs, and he was scratching at his dry, patchy, dirty skin while letting his bare posterior touch the bench. People were willing sitting next to him, which I found somewhat disturbing, because he had some of his body parts out, and Xenu only knows what sort of subway vermin had attached itself to him. I have not sat on a bench on the 6 platform since. I will now, most likely never sit on a bench in on the downtown platform at Bryant Park.

The orange line (B/D/F/V) creates a nice straight (somewhat) line of stations where you don’t want to sit or touch anything. They all stop at 34th st Herald Square, which is gross in general, so I don’t really need to delve further. West 4th always has someone sitting on the stairs or holed up somewhere. My favorite is Broadyway/Lafayette. There is always the same homeless guy, sitting or laying out in the same spot. A few times I’ve thought he was dead. I’ve never really seen him do anything, like get up and walk around. He smell is permanently wafting along the platform. It’s always entertaining to see the people who want to see down, but the only seat left is sort of next to him, or behind him. His head is always tilted back, so he usually takes up about 4 available seats. I’ve seen his head actually touch the hair of some girls. I don’t think you can understand how skeeved out, I get from just seeing that. Days/weeks/months of grime are living in his hair. On a particularly hot, humid, smelly day I thought I was going to throw up in my mouth because every time a train would go by, his smell would fly all up in my nostrils.

Also, once in May of 2007, I was getting off the shuttle train at Times Square (the most heinous place on Earth), well, as I was stepping off the shuttle, I see a man with one hand up on the side of the subway car with his head down. I was a little out of sorts, because I had been up for over a day finishing a project, and I was like, “ugh, is this guy sick or something?” So I look down to what he is looking at. It was his PENIS. He was peeing on the subway car. From what I remember, his peen was small and diseased looking, he might have had an enlarged prostate–as he seemed to be having trouble relieving himself–and totally ruined the rest of my day. It almost made me cry, seriously.

I hope the next time any of you are in one of the places that I have mentioned, that you remember this cautionary blog post. I know, I know, plenty of other people sit or touch or pee on things all the time, and you can’t control who sat on or touched something before you. But it’s really in your best interest to not sit on a bench in either a Grand Central or Bryant Park subway station. Just trust me on this one.

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