A Commuter’s Manifesto (Part II)
Okay – as promised, here is the second installment of A Commuter’s Manifesto.
Please keep in mind that this was compiled from hours upon hours of research and “man on the street” style reporting – basically, I just asked people what drives them nuts about commuting, and they pretty much gave me these answers*.
PART II: WHEN RIDING THE SUBWAY
1) Have some fucking patience – I live in Childrensburg, where you are quite likely to end up watching up to three L Trains pass you by during the morning commute before you can even THINK about working your way onto one of them over-crowded fuckers. I see people every morning trying to fuss and fight their way onto trains that don’t even have room on them for Bridget The Midget, let alone the seven or eight hungover idiots trying to sardine their way up in there. Getting pissed off and threatening to beat someone’s ass is never a good thing to do before 10AM. Unless of course some trick-ass mark just stepped on your new kicks.
2) Glide to the side, and we all ride – The rules are quite simple, people: step to the side and let the people OFF the train, which makes you getting ON the train so much easier. I have ended up feeling like Moses on far too many occasions (usually at Penn Station, where people are dickheads who think The Known Universe revolves around their ass). It is a pretty basic principle of Metropolitan Commuterdom, and I am still shocked that people are this lame and selfish. Yes, I am looking at you Pantsuit Ladies and Five Percenters. Shame, shame!
3) Stow that backpack, Spacehog– riding the subway is not some Arctic Expedition, people. There is no discernible reason why I keep on seeing people with backpacks big enough to smuggle people into the country from Guatemala. It takes two seconds to take that beast off of your back, and set it near your feet, or to turn it around to the front of you, where it would be out of the way and create MORE ROOM for fellow commuters. And while I’m at it – pay attention to your added circumference whence wearing one of these fucking things – hitting someone with a backpack is rude. Say you’re sorry, and take the fucker off.
4) USE YOUR GODDAMN “INSIDE VOICE” – nobody wants to hear about your coke-fueled escapades at the rooftop party where you blew six Jamaican guys (you racist!) and stole someone’s Adderall. Especially before 10AM. Just shut the fuck up and get a blog like the rest of us. Listening to some asshat yammering on and on and on during the morning commute is akin to shoving rusty thumbtacks into my urethra. And yes – Spanish might be a sexy language and all that business, but hearing people speaking it loudly during my commute is no bien, holmes. SILENCIO!
5) All teenage riders must stay in their own car – Why, you ask? Have you not had the privilege of being stuck in a car full of them? Fucking scallywags, the lot of them. Goddamn little hormone inflicted monstrosities, breaking every unwritten rule and guideline from the dawn of man until now. Screeching. Farting. Sloppily eating Doritos and Cheez Doodles and talking with their fucking mouths full. Running about the car like little jackals. Harassing old ladies out of their seats. Haranguing little Asian men when they haphazardly gaze in their general direction with hate-bombs like the following: “WHATCHYOO LOOKIN AT, YOU OLD MR MIYAGI LOOKIN’ M’FUCKA, YOU LIKE MY TITS?!?!”, or the ever-popular “GO EAT A DOG, YOU OLD FUCKING CHINESE LAUNDRY NIGGA!!!” Any questions? I didn’t think so.
6) Shut the fuck up with the Crazy-Crazy Off-Key singing, Part Deux – much like #6 in the Walking The Streets section, but with a little more definition. The same basic rules apply, but with an added twist. Not only do we not want to hear you signing in your helter skelter manner, we would also appreciate if you stopped MOUTHING ALONG WITH THE FUCKING SONG, too. It’s hard enough not to stare at you when you’re dancing with yourself, but when you start doing that shit? Man alive! And when you start stuttering and mumbling out the words to whatever twee shit you’re faking rocking out to, we just want to skullfuck you right there in front of everyone. And yes, I used we as in The Royal We. Oh – and you little wannabe thugs who like to rap running monologues about your supposed thug lives, and about how much you wanna kill you a pig or some shit like that? Your flaccid attempt to menace people is weak. Remember this one important factoid, wannabe subway rapper thugs: Ron Artest sold more records than you.
7) MEN – STOP TURNING AND CONTORTING YOUR ENTIRE BODY TO OGLE THE WOMENS, REDUX – here we go again, fellas. You think the women of The City are fucking stupid or something (no, they are not)? They know why you choose to stand over them when they are sitting, so why not just man the fuck up and ask them to show you their tits, instead of you continually trying to sneak peeks down their tops? Scumbags. And no – posting a Missed Connection on Craigslist to “The Boricua with the great knockers on the Downtown E Train” isn’t going to do you any good, either. Commuter Porn only exists in your mind, fool. Just take your quick look and move on, like the rest of us married guys, okay?
8) Oh, is that your bike? – Baffling. If you have your bike with you, WHY AREN’T YOU RIDING IT? I can understand maybe bringing it along with you late at night, when the ridership is down, but in the middle of rush hour? Please. Get the fuck out of here with that shit, son! Unless it is some magical fold-up bike you can slip into your back pocket, get to pedaling! As a side note – (and this really should have been part of Part I: When Walking The Streets) I have no problem at all with people using bikes as transportation. Really. But, it is called a SIDEWALK, not a SIDERIDE. Get that fucking bike off the footpath and into the streets with everything else that has wheels on it, Chief.
9) NOBODY WANTS TO SEE YOU CLIP YOUR NAILS – it’s gross. Gross. Just fucking gross. This is a private moment, and you choose to share it with all of us? No, son – FUCK THAT. Keep that shit at home. Please.
10) Don’t be rubbing up on me, Garlic Face! – Why, oh why must this kind of shit happen? I swear I’m not trying to be insensitive or anything like that (yeah, right!), but if you know you chewed half a clove of garlic before you left the house that morning, why the fuck must you be rubbing up next to me on the crowded-ass train and be all breathing that shit up in my grill? Call me silly, but that’s not very neighborly at all, not to mention the fact that it might make it more difficult for you to make friends. Tic-Tacs are nice. So is gum. So is not brushing yo teefs with garlic-flavored toothpaste. We’d all appreciate it, Stinky McStinkmouth.
*Maybe, maybe not.