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Showing posts with label idiots. Show all posts
Showing posts with label idiots. Show all posts

Subway FreshBuzz: "It's Hell"

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After a long three years of taking the subway from the Upper East Side to Brooklyn for school, and now constantly traveling from the Upper East Side to the West Village to visit Adam (ps – awesome subway planning NYC, way to make it absolutely impossible to go from East to West. I mean, because don’t most people only ever need to go North to South?), I have been exposed to all that the wonderful MTA system has to offer. Below, I consider the most nonsensical and attempt to simultaneously analyze and mock.

1) Intrastate Tourists (IST) – I don’t hate on actual tourists who are speaking French or Japanese and genuinely trying to make sense of the subway stops. Intrastate Tourists refers to people from Staten Island, Westchester, and Long Island City (and the like – I don’t discriminate) who really should be able to interpret a subway map but who either 1) cannot for the life of them do so, or 2) think they are really capable but actually have no clue.

You can identify the first kind as follows: the male IST stands hunched over the laminated wall map, mouth agape, his giant gold-ringed finger tracing the R train’s path and becoming increasingly stymied. His girlfriend comes over, pokes her hairsprayed bangs in the way, and uses her sparkled Lee Press On to show her man where he misunderstood. They argue, come to a decision after some yelling, and, ultimately, get off at the wrong stop.
You can identify the second kind of IST thusly: The IST is often leading a group of his fellow tourists on an excursion to the city, most likely for a hockey game, Def Leppard concert, or night of belligerence at the Blarney Stone. The IST is very confident, assuring his pals that he has done this many times when he “worked in the city”. His leather jacket and gelled hair gleaming with confidence, he stands in the middle of the car, refusing to look at the map. He is loud and often carrying a Colt 45 in a paper bag. At his direction he and his ISTs, ultimately, get off at the wrong stop.

2) Smelly Subway Platforms –I’m aware that the subway isn’t ever going to be immaculate. But seriously what are these bizarre smells on the platform? Sometimes they are so shocking that I actually want to bottle them and have them analyzed. It’s gotten so bad, actually, that gawker.com has created a “Subway Smells” chart, so that you can be aware of which odors will be offending your nose at each particular station.
My top 3 offending stations:

59th and Lex – I apparently am the only one who is sensitive to this station, but honestly, it smells like dead people and feet. It’s absolutely horrendous and it’s what I imagine hell smells like.

Canal Street – This stop smells like a dead fish wearing cheap cologne on a date to Kentucky Fried Chicken. Enough said.

West 42nd Street – its as if the subway platform has harnessed the smell of pigeon feces, urine, and homeless people that plagues the Port Authority Bus Terminal and concentrated it down to a powerful, nose-hair killing gas that could defeat even Superman.

3) Fat Person Taking Up the Subway Bench – Oh, I’m sorry… did I attempt to sit in the seat reserved for your FUPA? No, no, don’t bother getting up for the geriatric woman and her granddaughter, you just make sure that your ass that has its own zip code is nice and comfy. I mean, honestly, what is with this? How do people who are 150+ pounds overweight get this weird sense of entitlement? Most of these people are already “entitling” themselves to not following any dietary restrictions, not ever going to the gym, and wearing stretch pants to all occasions – yes, I can see how that’s so exhausting that they do deserve the entire subway bench. I know the subway is free and no one pays per seat, but next time I see this, I think I might have to sit myself down on someone’s potbelly… and hope to come out alive. (Note: Yes, yes, I also took health in high school, I know that not everyone is obese because they eat and don’t work out. And to all you genuinely thyroid challenged folks out there, I really am sorry, feel free to keep sitting on the subway. However, I watch the Biggest Loser [religiously… and cry] and all I know is that most of these cats are just eating like Armageddon is coming and Bruce Willis doesn’t have room for them on the ship.)

4) Voice Immodulation Disorder Affected Conductors – Why are you yelling at me, conductor? I heard you the first time when you told me that at South Ferry only the first 5 doors open – I think the people on the subway behind us heard you, in fact. Are you mad at me, conductor? I know I said I would take only your train every day, but sometimes I’m running late and you know, I take what I can get. What’s that? You don’t want me to stand in the door? Can you make sure you speak a little bit closer to your microphone? I don’t think you’ve yet reached the volume at which all your words turn to static – yea that’s, it, where you sound like angry aliens attempting to contact Earth. Thank you, conductor, for adding yet another dimension of pleasure to my ride.

5) Dick In A Box – this is the genius subway personnel who sits at the subway entrance in a clear, bulletproof chamber, as if this person who I only ever see filing her nails or napping is at all times in imminent danger of being assassinated. No, you can no longer buy a Metrocard from the Dick In A Box, nor can he or she give you change, a map, or anything else useful. The Dick In A Box’s sole purpose, I’m convinced, is to confuse the hell out of tourists and bolster the MTA’s numbers so they can get a higher budget for those classy MTA caps (btw, what’s with those hats? It’s as if they want us to be like “Oh heyyy, it’s a cop! No, wait, it’s an MTA employee, but because he’s wearing that hat, he must be worthy of respect! Yay MTA, please raise the fare to $3 a ride! Whee!”).

Airport Amateurs

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Disclaimer: This blog post may come off angry to some - as it should - but much more than normal.  I spent several years as a consultant and therefore, was exposed to lots of travel and correspondingly, lots of airports.  As such, I've probably had more bad airport experiences than average.

For those of you who know me, you know that I am pretty laid back and even tempered. There are several things that peeve me beyond control, one of which is Airport Amateurs. If you read this and say to yourself, “yeah, I’m an airport amateur,” please do mankind a favor and start taking Amtrak.

I seriously cannot believe how many people out there give off the impression that they have not stepped on an airplane since 9/11. Have people not gotten the memo about taking off your goddamn Rockport’s when you go through security? And if you didn’t get the memo, did you not see the 12 signs right in your face while you meandered through the security line? Or perhaps you were too deaf and dumb to hear the TSA agents yelling it every 30 seconds. Repeat the above for laptops, metal objects and liquids/gels.

But it doesn’t stop there. Once I get through security, give a hearty exhale and subsequent “Woo-saaaaaahhhh (From the movie, Bad Boys),” I’m confronted yet again by more bush-league bullshit. I CANNOT STAND people who line up to board, 20 minutes before boarding is even set to begin, even after the gate agent specifically says that they will be boarding in 20 minutes and by zones. I’ve literally witnessed people stammering to clog the gate area holding tickets that say “zone 8”. Really, you stupid fuck?! Are you that eager about getting into a shitty plane seat and breathe re-circulated air? Holy burning bush Moses.

I recently took a trip to Vegas that almost bankrupted me fiscally and physically – but that’s beside the point. I flew out of JFK and experienced such bumbling idiot travelers, I literally committed a mutiny. First of course, were the people waiting to get to the next available self check-in counter and standing around with their thumbs in their butt. PAY ATTENTION! Why do I have to point out the open check-in kiosk right in front of your fat ugly face!  

Then the ever dreaded security line. Not only did it seem that no one had their ticket and ID/passport out to show the TSA agent, but once I actually made it to the metal detector line, I was behind what could have been the most inept ensemble of a mentally retarded family. The mom tries to walk through with her shoes on, the dad walks through with change in his pocket like he robbed a parking meter, the son doesn’t take the laptop out of his bag, and the daughter tries to walk through
with metal bracelets around her arms like she was in a "who could wear more gold chains" competition with B.A. Baracus (Mr. T). 

Now I was trying to hold my composure and
just shake my head back and forth like I just witnessed a man intentionally grab another man's penis in a public restroom. But when I saw the girl with all the fake gold and silver on her arm look at the TSA agent like, “what’s the problem?” after he pointed to her arms and told her she cant get through with all the jewelry on, I lost it and yelled “Are you fucking kidding me?!” Yeah, that cost me a full security check molestation by TSA agents. Whatever.

The main event was at the gate. As you all should know, flights typically start boarding 30 minutes before scheduled departure. My flight was at 4:30 and it was about 3:40 at this point – 20 minutes before they even start boarding First Class, Diamond Elite, Elite, and 100K flyers. The gate agent gets on the mic to make an announcement about all that procedural crap…”we’ll be boarding shortly, look at your ticket for the zone number, oversized bags will be have to be gate checked, blah, blah blah.”

No sooner then the gate agent finishes her message, this douche-y looking 20-something gets on his cell phone to make a call. Once the person on the other end picks up, he starts screaming and cussing like a man would do if his wife just closed the garage door on the family minivan. He’s yelling about, “WTF are you doing?! ...Where are you?! ...Get back here, we are about to board! Why the fuck are you dicking around when we are about to leave?!” I thought he was yelling at his girlfriend or wife. I really wanted to go off on this guy, because he’s giving the other person such a hard time about getting back to the gate, when we’re not even going to start boarding for another 20 minutes. Learning my lesson from the security line, I just kept quiet. What I wanted to say was, “Are you a fucking idiot?! Why are you making the person get back to the gate so fast?! We’re 20 minutes from boarding, and you’re holding a ticket that says ZONE 6! You’re not even getting on the plane for another 40 minutes!”

A minute after the ass-clown gets off the phone, I see his Dad show up. He starts yelling at him again, the dad just lowering his head like one of Michael Vick's dogs and they get up to be the first ones to stand around and cause unnecessary congestion. If I were this kid’s father, I would chop his nuts off and feed it to him. If my kid ever talks to me like that, you best believe his face is getting rearranged...INDEED.

So after I say excuse me, so I can get past the father-son combo blocking the line, I finally get on the plane for a glorious 6 hour flight. Just writing this has worked me up enough that I am not even going to get into the part about people who try to stuff what is clearly a gigantic suitcase into the overhead bin. These are the same folks whom as kids tried to stick the square peg into the circle cut out. (exhale)…wooo-saaaaaaaaaaah.