Sometimes public transport is just shit.
It is not made for any kind of personal space.
I got on the PATH this morning, somehow. I still have no idea how. I couldn’t even see a space, just used my sister’s gig trick and salmoned my way in.
To end up feeling like a sardine squished in a can.
The doors were barely capable of closing. I was pressed against the door. With the man next to me, breathing on me.
While the man on the other side. Don’t even get me started.
Let’s put it this way. I listen to music everywhere I go. Everywhere.
And probably a bit louder than is courteous on public transport.
But even with that I could still hear this guy sniffing the flem through his nose and into his mouth. Gag.
Then, to make it just that bit more disgusting, he swirled it round in his mouth.
I mean, c’mon.
I didn’t exactly want him to spit it on the floor or on me or anything. But mate, that’s just rank.
And he did it multiple times.
Passing the time
I have gotten in the habit of reading a book or the paper on the train. Or writing – if I get a seat.
But when it’s that busy, there is no chance. I was trying to turn the page of my book with the end of my nose. Surprise, surprise, it did not work.
And I nearly lost my fingers trying to hold onto my bag.
Then we got a couple of stops into Manhattan and people started to get off the train.
But nobody moved!
Are you being serious?! There is space, move!
I do not want to be smooshed against this door next to flem man anymore!
The joy that is the empty 1 train
After that painful experience I decided that I was running early enough to work – with 35 minutes to do a 15 minute journey – that I could take the local train, which would be quieter so I could get a seat and write.
Best decision I’ve made so far today.
Is this a sign that I’m becoming a cranky New Yorker?