Being an avid and enthusiastic commuter these days (infuse textual sarcasm here), I have had a slew of unfortunate public transportation experiences the past few weeks. I don’t know if its the change in the weather or the general public’s normal level of disgustingness peaking a bit, but either way there are a number of things that are not okay when sharing underground air for extended periods of time. Lets talk about them.
1. Don’t fall asleep on me.
I don’t like you. I don’t know you. Last I checked, falling asleep on someone is a pretty intimate experience. Save it for your dog or your wife or your pillow. Actually, I don’t care who you save it for. Just be warned, if your head starts to tilt towards me you’re either getting a sneeze to the face or a sharp jab in the rib cage. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
2. Don’t listen to music on your phone.
There are oh so many problems with this. First of all, just invest in an iPod. Seriously. Too expensive? Fine, just get headphones then. Listening to the same song on your phone over and over again not only wants to make me kill myself, it makes me seriously consider killing you. Or figuring out how to “accidentally” break your phone. On top of my anger at this, you look like a tool. Oh yeah, and its one thing if you’re using your phone as a music player when you’re sixteen. If your over the age of consent and doing this, you have serious issues. Yeah, go home and write in your HSM3 diary about this, loser. I don’t care.
3. Don’t sweat.
Human, schuman. Yeah, yeah, everyone sweats. However, if you’re sweating enough to repeatedly wipe your face with your hand and/or a tissue, you need to step three feet away from me. Ew, gross.
4. Don’t talk to me.
No, really don’t. I don’t care about your website, or your company, or that you’re thinking about buying the same phone as me. Just to be clear, I don’t care about you. We’re not friends. We’re unfortunately sharing a subway bench. Let’s leave it at that. Small talk is polite at family functions, not on express trains.
5. Don’t try to pick me up.
“Where’d you two meet?”
“The B train”
How many times have you heard this? Not many, huh? Get a clue then. Not many people score hot dates on the train. Why you say? Well, its not exactly the pinnacle of romance. Oh yeah, and there’s the small fact that no one wants to date the loser that’s handing out his number to the first thing with boobs at Columbus Circle. Not only is it annoying, its also completely awkward. When asked out on a date on a train you’re left with only two choices– 1. Reject and awkwardly ignore romance offender for next forty-six stops or 2. Pull a polite “I’m not into greaseballs” and jump off the train as the doors are closing at the next stop. Either way, its annoying and shouldn’t have to happen. Save the pick up lines for eHarmony.
6. Don’t oogle.
No description necessary, creep-o.
7. Please, for the love of God, stop cuddling/babytalking/kissing/hugging/whispering sweet nothings.
I get it, you loooove each other. Adorable, really. However, you don’t/shouldn’t need to show this to the world. Your sweet nothings have a time and place, love birds, and this ain’t the time nor is it the place. I don’t want to be on the train, I don’t want to be going to work, I don’t want to watch you smooch in public. Get it?
8. If you wouldn’t say it in front of your mama, don’t say it on the train.
Yeah, potty mouth. Seriously, I am trying to achieve zen during my hour commute. Nothing ruins my public transportation chi like serious f bomb dropping. Its hurts my ears and your dignity. Namaste, man, namaste.
9. Don’t do your makeup.
Honestly, that requires waking up five minutes earlier in the morning. But, instead you choose to lug your gross makeup on the train and make me watch you put on your eyeliner. Really? It just screams “Look at me, I think I’m pretty.” Nutri Grain bars are a practical time saver. Train makeup is not.
10. Don’t hit your children.
You know, you think this would go without saying. Alas, this is the problem with assumptions. Do you know how many children I have seen getting their bottoms whooped between Times Square and Penn Station? “To call DYFS or not to call DYFS?” should not be a question I encounter on my commute. I’m here for the fast transport, not the moral dilemma, thanks though.
Can I get an Amen?