Subway Chronicles: Episode 1

Some seriously strange things happen in the New York City Subway. I don't know what it is about those underground concrete tunnels, but they seem to really bring out the weirdo in some people. Most of the people who ride the trains have the same stoic, expressionless stare with glassy eyes that look at the advertisements without seeing them. I like to call this the "train face." Everyone who rides the subway has a train face. It's one of our only methods as New Yorkers to have a moment to ourselves... a piece of solitude in the subway car packed with dozens of other expressionless zombies. We need to pretend that we have space.

This subway ad scares me. No wonder everyone has to look elsewhere.

Last night, someone from Connecticut commented on New Yorkers' lack of social space. A stranger in public is very likely to come up to you and stand so close to you that your arms are touching and you can smell his Crush cologne (that stuff sucks, seriously, why?). Odds are, if you have lived in the city long enough, these intimate moments with strangers won't even cause a second thought. Apparently, outsiders are totally creeped out (GASP) by this and end up jumping away from said snuggly stranger, bumping into someone who then doesn't apologize or even glance at him, and then wonder to themselves why is everyone here so mean!?

Leave us alone! We have our train faces on.

No one here wants to talk to you. No one.

In fact, when someone speaks to you at all on the subway, it kind of freaks you out. Even harmless courteous gestures become shocking and suspicious. One day, during my old commute from Williamsburg, a strapping young lad asked me if I would like to take a seat instead of him. I was so dumbfounded that he broke the bleak silence on the 8am L train that I didn't even respond (stupid!) and sat down in the seat like a confused foreigner.

Where do these people come from on the subway? One morning I saw a man with the EXACT same hair cut and color as the poodle that he was smuggling in his purse... Murse?

Sweet hair-do, dude.

Something I've always wondered... you know that blind guy that wonders the 2 train during the work day? He walks from car to car asking for donations to "help the blind"... and my first reaction is "aww, that's sad!" and then after a second I think, "What is a blind guy doing walking by himself in between moving train platforms!? How is he on the subway platform alone at all in the first place?! That shit is hazardous."

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Every time I hear or say "Happy St. Patrick's Day!" I want to follow it with an "aaaaaaauughh!!" but then I realize that the "Aarrgh" expression isn't Irish, it's more of a pirate noise. And I don't think any pirates were Irish. Unless you punched an Irishman in the stomach, maybe he would make that noise.

Anyway, today is the one day of the year that I openly admit to myself and everyone else that my roots are actually a lovely shade of strawberry blonde and that my skin is actually pretty fair (as much as I want to fight it). Kiss me! I'm Irish.

 

No, please don't kiss me. You're creepy. You can have a high five like the other creepers outside today.

So really, what is it about this holiday that transforms everyone into a sloppy wierdo? There are thousands of people in the streets today, and probably 500 are on my roof right now pouring beer outside of my open window (thanks, assholes). Don't get me wrong, I love a good Guinness, or even a few beers in the sunshine - but seriously guys - what is going on out there?! I don't remember any of my Irish family acting like this in my childhood... except my grandfather really likes bagpipes. And corned beef.

All in all, it's a beautiful day outside. I skipped out of the bar tours today and decided to stroll out into the masses for some sunshine (another one of my poor choices) while talking to my sister on the phone and not really paying close attention to those around me. Maybe I've been in the city long enough to tune out losers and only hone in on threats and celebrities... but I think that this is a beautiful and helpful skill. However, today I was walking along and suddenly realized that everyone around me was wearing a kilt.

 

I think that this guy was standing next to me, but we were on 45th Street and not the beach (unfortunately).

"Where am I?" I thought. "Why is everyone in a kilt? And why are they all playing bagpipes? WHY DON'T I EVER PAY ATTENTION!"

I had wandered into the New York City St. Patrick's Day Parade. I think it was the banner that tipped me off. Either way, I made myself a nice little cameo. Oops.

On another note, I wandered into a lovely little home goods store today and got really engrossed in looking at a few really rad frames. A boy tried to convince me to buy a Nespresso machine, but I would only settle for a delicious free sample.

 

I really do not care if George Clooney endorses this. He is a gazillionaire and I am too broke for rip-offs. Isn't he in jail anyway, Mr. Salesperson?

But I'm broke and in serious need of a caffeine buzz, so I will pretend to nicely listen to your speech while I daintily sip my free espresso.

Ciao!