I’m on the subway the other day after work and I wasn’t happy. I had just left the chiropractor’s office–he really gave me a snap, crackle pop–so I was really sore and just not in the mood, not to mention that I had just the [i]worst[/i] day at work.
Once on the subway platform I had to wait almost 15 minutes for the Queens bound R train to come by due to delays, and when I finally got on the subway, it was packed, and I had to stand, which, for me, is a double whammy. Not only is it unI’m on the subway the other day after work and I wasn’t happy. I had just left the chiropractor’s office–he really gave me a snap, crackle pop–so I was really sore and just not in the mood, not to mention that I had just the [i]worst[/i] day at work.
Once on the subway platform I had to wait almost 15 minutes for the Queens bound R train to come by due to delays, and when I finally got on the subway, it was packed, and I had to stand, which, for me, is a double whammy. Not only is it uncomfortable and tiring having to stand up in a cramped space, but because of my sore back, standing up for too long is really painful for me.
And then the fun began.
I didn’t really notice it at first, because you just drone out as much subway noise as you can, but after a while I kept hearing some rumbling, someone complaining about … something. I didn’t know what it was, and, honestly, I didn’t want to know. But it persisted, and finally I turned around and found the source of the ruckus. In the back corner of the subway car–and not far from where I was standing–a homeless man, or at the very least, an un-medicated man, was giving an angry lecture. Or a rant. Or a scolding.
"Nahn-thurders," he said. "Nahn-thurders."
Well, I had no idea what a nahn-thurder was, and figured it wasn’t worth trying to figure out. Just leave me out of it. But then it all came into focus.
If you’ve never been on a NYC subway car, on many of the doors are stickers that have a little diagram and notice that says, "Don’t lean on the doors." Well guess what? We all lean on the doors. If you have to stand, it’s probably the most comfortable way to ride the subway. The MTA will just have to get over it. But this guy couldn’t.
It was plain to see that a young couple was, indeed, leaning against the doors, and this guy wasn’t having it. So again: "Not on the doors," he growled. "Not on the doors." When they didn’t move, he got increasingly agitated. He was showing teeth. "Not on the doors, motherf—ers! Not on the doors." In fact, he’s now not only growling and cursing, he’s getting physical. He stands and starts swinging his arms like a boxer in training, punching the air.
Right cross, left cross.
Right cross, left cross.
We’re all looking at this, on the one hand realizing that this poor guy has some form of mental illness and probably just can’t help himself, and on the other hand wondering if he’s literally going to attack these people, and then if he does, do we need to intervene.
"Not on the doors, motherf—ers! Not on the doors."
Right cross, left cross.
Right cross, left cross.
"Not on the doors, motherf—ers! Motherf—ers! Motherf—ers! Motherf—ers!"
I think you can see by now that things were getting a little tense. It would have been borderline funny if the threat of actual danger wasn’t hovering over us.
So when we came to the next stop, I’ll just say that it didn’t take me long to exit the train and take the next one.
