Crazy People and a Big Fluffy Creature

I took the subway home from work this week and ran into several situations that reminded me of why I absolutely loathe taking the subway. I hate it so much that I am considering eliminating a few people at work to open up a parking spot in the lot so I can drive to work. But I probably shouldn't have told you that...right?...forget I ever mentioned it...

Aaaaaaanyway. Back to the crazy people on the train. There have been stories of my subway fiascos. Some, such as "The Chalk Incident," have even been dubbed legendary. Well, a new legend was almost born this week.

It all started when I started wearing high heels to work again. It had been months since I did so, and my poor dogs were CRYING after the third day. As I boarded the 5 train, I did my usual seat-scan and spotted an available seat but a man was standing in front of it. I walked over to assess the situation and the man noticed me glancing at the spot and asked if I wanted to sit. I thanked him, nestled into the spot and relaxed. I wish I could end the story there, but no. Because it was at this point that a very ghetto-looking woman with a small child of around 3 years old walked over to our area. The baby immediately began to bawl, her cries piercing the silence of the surprisingly quiet yet packed train car. The man who let me sit was reading a book and at that point, he threw his head back in exasperation and sighed...BIG MISTAKE. Ms. Ghetto Fabulous Mom-of-the-Year noticed his annoyance and threw a FIT. She started screaming that she would slap him/punch him in his mouth/rearrange his face etc. etc. etc. (she used some other choice words, but I'm keeping this a family-friendly environment here, folks). The man ignored her, so she tells her baby the cry LOUDER...

"Cry, chile! Cry harder den you ever did! Dis man actin' like he ain't never heard a baby cry before! Keep cryin'! Why you stoppin' girl?!? I want you to CRY!!! CRYYY!!!"

Awwwwwkwaaaaard. The whole car was quiet and the man continued to ignore her, so she says (and this is really where it got interesting), "Yeah, Imma f*** him up first an' den Imma slap his girlfriend there right in her mouf, too!"

Girlfriend. Hm. Wait...who??? ME?!?!?

Oh good gravy, why do these crazy people attract themselves to me like mosquitoes to a light source? There was no WAY I was going to have this Flava of Love Reject go off on ME, so I immediately responded, "Uh...exCUSE me?? I don't THINK so."

Okay, so it wasn't my most snappy comeback, but it got the job done. She seemed to realize pretty quickly that we weren't together and started snapping on him again, leaving me alone. But still...what the hell? I must have a "Psychos Welcome" sign on my back because this is not the first time this kind of wackiness has happened to me...and I doubted it will be the last.

And I was right. Not five minutes later, I had another incident as I exited the subway station and began walking home. Again, I'll keep this fairly family-friendly (hello, alliteration), but I will tell you that I was propositioned by a man who called me his "Sexy Snowflake." He then proceeded to say things that the FCC should bleep out and fine me for posting. Creepy random people.

That reminds me...I haven't seen Peaches yet this school year! For those who don't know, Peaches is an old, homeless crack addict who hangs out near my job. He used to say hi to me in the morning and compliment me...but he was always very polite about it. He used to call ME "Peaches" and somehow I started calling HIM "Peaches" back. No reason why. I haven't seen him in a while though...hope he's ok.

Before I let you all go and you realize you just wasted the last 10 precious minutes of you life reading this nonsensical dribble, I figured I'd throw in the last strange encounter I had that same day...

After Big Momma and the Snowflake, I had pretty much had it with humanity and couldn't wait to curl up in the safety of my own home...with it's window bars and house alarm. But a block away from my house, I stopped in my tracks. I stood not two feet away from some kind of furry woodland creature. It was larger than my own Merlin, rodentish but was obviously not a rat (shockingly), and it was apparently up for a staring contest. After about fifteen seconds, I tried to slowly take my phone out to get a pic of my little buddy and he scurried off under a house. I had no idea what he was and when I came home, I immediately googled all of the creatures I thought it might be.

Gopher? No...my buddy was larger.
Mole? Nope...and by the way, those are some scary-looking animals! (plus, doing a Google search will also provide you with images of people WITH moles. Like, on their face. Grody.)
Hedgehog? Not so spiky.
Beaver? Nuh-uh...the tail wasn't flat.

Finally, I had a winner. He was a GROUNDHOG. I named him Gary. More than anything, I am shocked that I would run into such a critter in my neighborhood of all places. And also, I was embarrassed to realize that until this point, I pretty much had no idea what the difference was between a gopher, mole, and groundhog. And now I do. Well, sorta.

So in the end, I ran into a bunch of losers that day, but made a new camera-shy friend. Of course, there's always the chance Gary may have rabies, but I'm sure our new friendship can overcome such a hurdle.

My Observations in NYC

Today I had to take a trip far, far away to...Brooklyn. Or as I often like to call it, Crooklyn. It was just to Court Street, which is barely a stop away from Manhattan, but it just SEEMS like so....far....awaaaaayyyyy. I'm such a crappy New Yorker. (Are Bronxites even considered New Yorkers? It's not like we live in "The City," which only ever seems to refer to Manhattan.) Going into "The City" from Da Boogie Down B-X always feels like such a chore for me, so having to go to Crooklyn today felt like a downright voyage. I spend waaaaaayyyyy more time in Westchester pretending I have money and class and stuff than in The City. Because, well, it smells. Even the nicer parts smell. And the trains, ugh. And the prices? Blah. And...well, I could go on and on, but I'm getting sidetracked here. Anyway, I met my sister for lunch later on in the great Borough of Manhattan, the most densely populated county in the U.S. of A., so I made a day out of it.

I packed the essentials...a bottle of water, sunglasses (so it wouldn't look like I was looking at anyone on the subway), a nail file, pepper spray, a tattered Harry Potter book that I've already read 17 times. Okay, it wasn't pepper spray, it was Binaca, but I bet it would still burn if spritzed in someone's eyes so it serves the same purpose. And then I was off on my journey. My expedition. My great outing to King's County. Yippee.

Mostly I tried to mind my own beeswax, but I did make some observations while sitting in that subway car for hours and hours and hours. The first observation was noted as I was trying to avoid any and all eye contact and that's why it involves the topic of...TOES. Here's the thing folks, sandals are a priviledge, not a right. If you are one of the chosen ones who are allowed to wear sandals, it should be under the pretense that you GROOM YOUR FEET. I don't want to see crusty soles with grody toenails. Why would you think this was okay??? The elderly are often the biggest offenders on this one, but today I saw a seemingly clean, barely middle aged man in a polo and khakis and sandals with the nastiest, freakiest thick gray damn toenails! I stifled a gag for goodness sakes! Man up and get a pedi, dude, or throw on some loafers! People are so nasty. Anyhoo...

My next observation is about those kids who come on the train with candy and say "Hey yo, Mah name is Blah McBlah and I'se sellin' candy. I ain't sellin' it fo' no basketball team or no football team, I'se sellin' it fo' mahself so I can stay outta trouble. So please buy some candy, I got sour Starburst, Skittles, Peanut M&M's, all a dollah so I can stay off da streets." You've got to appreciate the honesty, I suppose, but as hard as I try to sound refreshed at the startling truth, I can't help but notice these mofos are wearing sneakers that cost at LEAST three times more than my own kicks. Then while he walks away, he plugs up his ears with the headphones to his Ipod. Then I choose not to buy the damn candy, and I consider tapping into this market myself. Kid is clearly onto something.

Thirdly, I firmly believe that Manhattan should not be allowed to have decorative water fountain displays in places where there are no available restrooms. You see the pretty water, you hear the pretty water, you can't find a place to pee. Not nice, Mr. Bloomberg, not nice. I expect you will be speaking to your City Planner about this ASAP. K-thx-bye.

Fourth-WTF is up with the Duane Reades on every effing corner? There are CVS's, and Rite Aids, but no drugstore seems more prevalant in The City than Duane Reade. How did they even stay in business that way?

Lastly, I hate how those pretzel stands smell so wonderful at noon, but by the time 5 pm rolls around, they permeate the air with the smell of burnt dirt. It's revolting. And okay, I don't really know what burnt dirt smells like, but I imagine it would be pretty much like that. The odor gets in my clothes, in my hair, and by the time I get home all I want to do is take an exfoliating shower to scrub off the grime. Maybe two showers if the first one doesn't take. Do Manhattanites become immune to this smell after a while, I wonder?

I noted plenty more than those few observations, but my allergies seem to have become exacerbated by the toxic fumes of The City and unfortunately the sweet fresh Bronx air is, well, neither sweet nor fresh so it's not helping. For these reasons and the fact that I just gosh darn feel like it. I deem this blog post done. DONE I SAY!

Edited to add: I don't HATE NYC, guys, I really don't. I'm just not...built for it. I'll love it forever for it's wide selection of international cuisine, for that alone it can not be surpassed.