As much as we’d all like to think, no one is perfect. That includes yours truly AND public metro. This week I have the less-than-fun privilege of traveling the roads of the underground ghetto. The world known to most commoners as the subway system.
The subway system isn’t just a land full of grumpy caffeine-pumped workaholics and disrespectful school kids that curse out old people before stepping foot onto school grounds. It’s also a place where people go to get their purses snatched, where trains go to rest during the rush hour and where stupid and/or clumsy people accidentally fall into the train tracks. It could be quite a fun experience if you’re able to omit the violence, accidental deaths, schedule delays, train collisions and hiked fares.
With all the chaos of the morning, afternoon and evening rush, in addition to the uncertainty of your safety when night has covered the bright sky, metro officials seem to be charging its commuters more money to cover up their lack of proficiency and expectancy. Personally I never took interest in this situation because I have pigeon wings on the soles of my shoes. But it just so happened that while I was strolling along in a wrong place at a wrong time, one of my shoe wings was attacked by a savage stray alley cat, which of course caused temporary damage and is now preventing me from flying my ass to work. (#BitterSweet) But that’s a whole other story.
This morning, ass I sat uncomfortably between the smelly old guy who donned white socks and black dress shoes and the woman who had cookie crumbs out of her cleavage, I learned something about myself. I learned that I’d probably be a little more open to poking my eyes out with a spork [half spoon-half fork] versus sitting on a crowded ass train with a band of weirdos. Beam me up, Scottie. I don’t belong here!
Trying desperately not to punch the old guy in his big toe or stare at the woman’s chunky crumbed breasts, I dreaded the end of my metro experience as the voice from the loud speaker informed me that the escalators weren’t working at my destination point. Naturally, I thought this was a perfect end to a hellacious trip. “Dear Metro, you need to get this sh*t together.” It’s so hard to believe that a system so seasoned to perfection can be so bland in flavor.
The underground ghetto, aka the subway, is a very unpredictable place. You never know what awaits you at the next [station] stop: an electrical fire; the country western polka group playing a small concert to uninterested spectators; the wino who hopped the metro gate; or the ungrateful employees that complain very loudly about their dead-end jobs.
As entertaining as it may be to witness the sights of metro’s public access riders, no truer phrase comes to mind than that old saying that goes, “It’s a nice place to visit but I wouldn’t want to live there.”
Quote of the week: “Life’s disappointments are harder to take when you don’t know any curse words.”