I could take the local train- get a seat- have some elbow space- read my over sized W magazine...But why do that when you can spend 22 minutes on the express train- rather than 40?
I'll take a gander: European Tourists who have not taken ownership on hygiene practices such as: deodorant. Said tourist also took the liberty to hold the rail above my head and rub his putrid scent over my clean hair (while his equally pungent friend stared at my chest). The commuter train was packed making it nearly impossible for me to escape the grasps of his armpit. Additionally, they both used their paws to pry and hold the doors open. Hello, don't hold up the train, those people on the platform will get the next train that arrives- in three minutes or less. This isn't the last safety boat in the middle of the ocean.
The doors opened at Canal Street, allowing enough movement for me to weave to the other side of the car. I took hold of a rail and for whatever reason, a woman reading, "Romance God's Way," elected to position herself where she could breath (complete with moist sprays) on my arm. I know what you're thinking: move your hand. Four inch pumps and a jolting train nixed that option and I winced all the way to 14th Street. At Union Square, an entire bench cleared. I plopped down, Romance God's Way decided to sit next to me...where she jabbed her elbow into my repeatedly.
The moment I landed in my office, I was in the kitchen dousing antibacterial dish soap on my arms, a coworker tossed some antibacterial spray to me and insisted that the smell in the Paris Metro trumps NYC.
1 comment:
I like your writing! when I read it, I clearly got the picture whitch you were in the packed train.
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