Suck it MTA!
free to associate. Author: adam daniel weiss
Hello audience! So today, we have a special guest writer, Ms. Matthew Louise Wagner! (round of applause? no...crickets...sad face)...Anyway, today Matt shares with us this bitterly funny rant he wrote a few years ago exalting his disgust with the MTA (the Metropolitan Transportation Authority, for those non-NY'ers...I mean, I know all three of my readers live within the confines of NYC, so I'm not really sure who I'm kidding here...anyway, it's long, and intense, it's makes you feel warm in your special places, much like Matt, but it is pretty damn entertaining. Enjoy!
* * *
In keeping with the tradition of bitching about why the MTA sucks dick, I'd like to present my own personal rendition. Most of the following has occurred on the Q line, which I use 2x daily to get to and from work in the city from southern Brooklyn. So:
(1) Clipping your nails on the train is UNACCEPTABLE. For real. It's not that it's viscerally disgusting, like picking a pus-laden wart, but that sound is just so not something I want to be hearing after a long, crappy day at work. Besides, those little nail bits are clearly landing somewhere, and I'd rather not be blinded by pieces of your goddamn body if I can help it.
(2) If you're sweaty and disgusting, DON'T SIT NEXT TO ME. I swear, the trains are filled with stylish, attractive, Bond No. 5-scented and Dove-fresh individuals, and NONE of them ever sit next to me. I always get the homeless people, drunken people, deranged people, foul-smelling people, etc. This morning, I had the pleasure of sitting next to someone who was not only weirdly stunted but also absolutely covered in a sheen of sweat. I had to contort my body into a freakish mime position to avoid having my bare flesh touch hers, and it really, really sucked. When she finally got off and someone took her place, the new occupant had to sit forward on the edge of the seat to avoid a BUTT-SHAPED LINE OF SWEAT (curving inwards at the middle). The sweat-avoider giggled to her friend next to her that she had to do this, but it was definitively not amusing.
(3) If you're wearing a bag, pack or whatever else slung over your shoulder whilst standing in the car, MAKE SURE YOUR SHIT ISN'T BANGING INTO MY HEAD. I swear, the number of people who callously disregard the fact that their huge shit is grinding into my face the entire train ride is stunning. I'm way too passive-aggressive to just come out and tell you to move to the 90% empty rest of the car so your fake Louis bag isn't caressing my cheek, and the fact that I angrily push back into you every time you push into me clearly isn't getting the message across. Perhaps I should just knock you out of the fucking train car at the next stop...?
(4) Stop staring at me. Yes, I see you -- you're the most obvious, least stealthy person currently living in New York. I realize that I'm gorgeous, but please, contain yourself and/or buy a pair of really dark sunglasses so your beady little pupils aren't poring into my soul so conspicuously. If you keep it up, I'll be forced to appendectomize you via your navel with a rusty shrimp fork.
(5) Taking pictures of yourself over and over again with your camera phone is NOT ALLOWED. Christ, gimme a fucking break. The expression of forced ennui on your stupid face is a clear enough indicator that you're bored; do you really need to entertain the entire car with constant clickity sounds as you repeatedly photograph yourself? I realize that updating your picture on Facebook every other day increases the chance you'll score with the ladies, but come on.
(6) When the temperature of a subway station pushes 100 degrees, THE MTA SHOULD DO SOMETHING. Standing in the Union Square station every day after having gone to the gym and showered is truly a torturous experience. The fresh layer of shower melts off almost immediately, and I feel the perspiration bubbling out from under my skin. Usually the train comes soon enough that I can remain refreshed in its air conditioned depths, but when it doesn't, thoughts of tracking down and brutally killing whoever decided not to put worthwhile ventilation in the stations are not far from being realized. The best thing is when, every once in a while, you happen to get into a car where the a/c is broken, and you have to endure the tropical atmosphere until you can switch to another one. I think I suffocated in one of those once and was only brought back to life when an elderly Korean woman used my chest as a trampoline to be the first one out of the car at Canal St.
Anyway, I think that's it for now, though much more is sure to crop up in the future. I hope my unrestrained fury has made you all feel better about your daily commutes, and the next time you encounter a psychopathic, morbidly obese homeless person whose backpack is knocking you in the head, just slit his throat with a CD edge, and think of me while you do it.
xo,
Matt
* * *
In keeping with the tradition of bitching about why the MTA sucks dick, I'd like to present my own personal rendition. Most of the following has occurred on the Q line, which I use 2x daily to get to and from work in the city from southern Brooklyn. So:
(1) Clipping your nails on the train is UNACCEPTABLE. For real. It's not that it's viscerally disgusting, like picking a pus-laden wart, but that sound is just so not something I want to be hearing after a long, crappy day at work. Besides, those little nail bits are clearly landing somewhere, and I'd rather not be blinded by pieces of your goddamn body if I can help it.
(2) If you're sweaty and disgusting, DON'T SIT NEXT TO ME. I swear, the trains are filled with stylish, attractive, Bond No. 5-scented and Dove-fresh individuals, and NONE of them ever sit next to me. I always get the homeless people, drunken people, deranged people, foul-smelling people, etc. This morning, I had the pleasure of sitting next to someone who was not only weirdly stunted but also absolutely covered in a sheen of sweat. I had to contort my body into a freakish mime position to avoid having my bare flesh touch hers, and it really, really sucked. When she finally got off and someone took her place, the new occupant had to sit forward on the edge of the seat to avoid a BUTT-SHAPED LINE OF SWEAT (curving inwards at the middle). The sweat-avoider giggled to her friend next to her that she had to do this, but it was definitively not amusing.
(3) If you're wearing a bag, pack or whatever else slung over your shoulder whilst standing in the car, MAKE SURE YOUR SHIT ISN'T BANGING INTO MY HEAD. I swear, the number of people who callously disregard the fact that their huge shit is grinding into my face the entire train ride is stunning. I'm way too passive-aggressive to just come out and tell you to move to the 90% empty rest of the car so your fake Louis bag isn't caressing my cheek, and the fact that I angrily push back into you every time you push into me clearly isn't getting the message across. Perhaps I should just knock you out of the fucking train car at the next stop...?
(4) Stop staring at me. Yes, I see you -- you're the most obvious, least stealthy person currently living in New York. I realize that I'm gorgeous, but please, contain yourself and/or buy a pair of really dark sunglasses so your beady little pupils aren't poring into my soul so conspicuously. If you keep it up, I'll be forced to appendectomize you via your navel with a rusty shrimp fork.
(5) Taking pictures of yourself over and over again with your camera phone is NOT ALLOWED. Christ, gimme a fucking break. The expression of forced ennui on your stupid face is a clear enough indicator that you're bored; do you really need to entertain the entire car with constant clickity sounds as you repeatedly photograph yourself? I realize that updating your picture on Facebook every other day increases the chance you'll score with the ladies, but come on.
(6) When the temperature of a subway station pushes 100 degrees, THE MTA SHOULD DO SOMETHING. Standing in the Union Square station every day after having gone to the gym and showered is truly a torturous experience. The fresh layer of shower melts off almost immediately, and I feel the perspiration bubbling out from under my skin. Usually the train comes soon enough that I can remain refreshed in its air conditioned depths, but when it doesn't, thoughts of tracking down and brutally killing whoever decided not to put worthwhile ventilation in the stations are not far from being realized. The best thing is when, every once in a while, you happen to get into a car where the a/c is broken, and you have to endure the tropical atmosphere until you can switch to another one. I think I suffocated in one of those once and was only brought back to life when an elderly Korean woman used my chest as a trampoline to be the first one out of the car at Canal St.
Anyway, I think that's it for now, though much more is sure to crop up in the future. I hope my unrestrained fury has made you all feel better about your daily commutes, and the next time you encounter a psychopathic, morbidly obese homeless person whose backpack is knocking you in the head, just slit his throat with a CD edge, and think of me while you do it.
xo,
Matt
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