This MTA Subway Isn't Eaten Fresh

Well, the rant I served you on a moldy platter yesterday has burned up in flames since I've discovered last evening, the Dropkick Murphy's show at the Roseland Ballroom is still going to transpire. This fabulous news meant that my commute to work would not be the normal commute by bicycle consisting of dodging pedestrians who can't turn their necks to see if a cyclist is rattling towards them in the bike lane, cabbies who love to pull in front of you hoping that you and your bike will slam into their trunk, or Johnny Law, whose ticketing blitz has all nyc cyclists on edge looking over their shoulder at every intersection. No, today I descend into the realm of our Rat overlords to ride the excuse the capitol of the world calls a subway, the MTA.

There is nothing like waking up in the morning knowing that even though you will leave your house on time, you will still arrive late for work. I occasionally think that I should just take the time, sleep in and watch the continuing cover of the upcoming royal wedding that I don't even care about than rushing only to be tardy because of the MTA. There is no better way to begin your commute to work than to be stuffed in an over crowded train car like a sardine ready to be opened and noshed on by ravenous Norwegians banging their heads to
death metal.

Via: Gothamist

With a plethora of odors emanating from every nook and cranny of the subway system, I am truly baffled when I see people eating in the catacombs that make up our dilapidated subterranean transit system. It saddens me at times, when I see on the L train a mother feeding potato chips (I prefer rippled) to her one year old "baby girl", then simply tossing the empty bag under the seat as if the world is her oyster and the train, her waste receptacle. Eating Mc Donald's (love me some fries) is bad enough as it is, but to be seen devouring Ronald's burger on the subway truly gives me the impression that you have given up on life.

via College Humor

Forget trying to grab a seat or grip a pole on this throttling cattle car to hell that's slower than an old man with a walker.
I would not want to be a small child when I see someone in sweatpants lean back on the pole right around where that child would grasp, only for the pole to disappear in the backdoor of their sweaty nether region, that pole must have more fecal matter on it than our national currency. (yes, wow indeed). The seats are not much better, perhaps if you are lucky you'll only sit in the sticky residue of some dried up soda, rather than some homeless persons left behinds. For more info on the homeless experience check the blog post of rich gone.

I can't even go into the situation of the stations themselves, or how disgusting people are, throwing any regard for those around them out of the closing door of the train car. Hey, mister, how about you blow your nose with a napkin or your sleeve instead of your hand before you grab something to hold on to as the train exits the station? Nothing better than being smashed up against some one while trying to play solitaire on your iphone one to have them breathing hot breath (I prefer cigarette breath over coffee) down the nape of your neck.

Traveling first class

Anyways, I've written this entire thing waiting on the L train in the tunnel connecting Hipsterburg to Manhattan, and it's begun to slowly move forward once again. As I patiently wait to get off the train, I can only think about the Dropkick Murphy's show tonight and be happy in the fact that soon enough I will return to my regularly schedule program of commuting by bicycle. Enjoy the train ride folks.



On a side note: I would like to thank the readers in Europe, Singapore as well as Vietnam who have continually been checking out my blog, I very much appreciate it. I'm amazed that someone around the globe has actually been reading the hot mess that I have been writing.