Train pain

August 31, 2005


Dear Ugly Lady on the N Train,


You may remember me, I'm the guy in the yellow shirt sitting across from you on the train this morning. The one quietly minding his own business, lost in his own grumpiness, with the white things in his ears? The one who, when you couldn't get his attention, you had the three other people sitting around him physically touch in order to do so? Leading him to believe there was some sort of emergency, or he'd dropped his wallet, or you were choking on a chicken bone? And then, when he did look up, you were still waving your paper in his face and rolling your eyes? And then he took the little white things out of his ears so you could ask him, with all due urgency, if this train was stopping at Ditmars? And he said he didn't know, so then you asked the guy sitting directly next to you, who had the answer all along?

Yeah, well, that guy was me. And you raised my 6-on-a-scale-of-10 pissy mood to a 10.5. So here are some suggestions for the future:

a) if you need to know where a train stops, get off your big ugly ass and look at the map behind you;

b) it may not make sense, but New York has now become a place where people with white things in their ears are immune from any sort of social interaction, be it conversation, directions, or a speeding meat truck barreling down 8th Avenue. Because they can't hear you. Because there's this funny thing called music coming out of the white things;

c) the next time you want to prove a point regarding your obvious anger or frustration about people with little white things in their ears - or, perhaps, merely your anger and frustration about your own ugly ass face, or ass - please recall that you have already selected my morning to ruin once, and kindly move along to the next victim.

Here's to a good September!


Sincerely,
Groomzilla