I Hate the Subway
Ok, I officially hate the subway now. This week, not 1 but 2, count 'em 2, of my Metro Cards shit the bed. For those of you who don't know, a Metro Card is a flimsy piece of garbage that you stick into a machine, along with $40. Out pops the flimsy piece of shit card, and on it you have $48 of subway mojo to ride with. Buying in bulk gets you $8 extra. So obviously, it pays to not pay for a single ride at a time.
Monday I lost the first one. It had been a trusty card for damn near a year to that point. And it only had $8 left (or less) on it. So it wasn't a big deal. Figure, it happens. Life goes on. Despite the fact that the card was not expired, you give it a break because I use it twice a day, every day. It's probably a good idea to swap them out, even if they theoretically can last a year at a time.
Wednesday the second one shit the bed, and I nearly flew off the handle. Internally, not visibly. I mean sure, I was pissed, swearing at nothing in particular. But this is New York, who doesn't swear at random things out loud all the time? I was just fitting in. But fuck I was pissed. That one probably still had $40 left on it, the piece of garbage. I haven't gone to one of the red blazer-wearing dicks in the vending centers yet to complain, but I will. Meanwhile, I'm left internalizing it, thinking of nefarious ways to cost the MTA at least $50, like loading up one of the turnstiles with super glue, or something. And venting on a blog, which is like therapy, but without the educated thief on a couch. Or, maybe I get the couch. I don't know, I never went to one.
Conversely, I love the Path. The Path is the subway-like thing that I take from downtown to Hoboken after work every day. The Path is Bo Derek - in her 10 days - whereas the subway is, well, like some dead old lady. The cars are modern, clean, and on time. If it says it leaves at 4:00, it actually leaves at 4:00. What's more, the vast majority of people on the Path have showered in the past, oh, let's say 365 days. The same cannot be said for the subway, home of people who appear as if they sleep on a raft in a waste management plant.
Ideally, I'd like to work in lower Manhattan, so I could take the train to Hoboken and then the Path to downtown, then walk wherever I need to. This is the ultimate idea, when the time comes. Since I just got our bonus and a raise, I'm not itching to jump ship for the moment. But you know how that goes. End of the year I may be singing a different tune. Right now I'm content.
Of course, nobody hijacks a 747 and flies it into your workplace when you work in Brooklyn. I have to probably take that into account. Maybe the body odor-laden subway isn't so bad after all. Hell, at least I don't have water problems like Woody, who got more bad news today.
Today he found out that he has some shit called, I forget, so we'll call it Tulane, after the University in New Orleans. He's got 1 part Tulane per 2 billion parts water. 1 in 2 billion. That's .5 parts per billion. The acceptable level is something like 500 parts per billion, and these environmental fuck faces are saying it may be a problem. For real?
Consider that the drinking water supplied by your town has more arsenic in it that Woody's well has Tulane. I'm not making that up. It's ok to have fucking arsenic in my drinking water, but Tulane is bad? Are you kidding? What the hell is wrong with this world? What went wrong? How did this Hitler-like sect of tree huggers get hold of these minute areas of our lives? We allow cars on the road that dump motor oil at a quart per week, yet we have 1 part per billion of dog turd in the water and the lights have to go out? Man that's fucked up.
Anyway, the subway blows.
Monday I lost the first one. It had been a trusty card for damn near a year to that point. And it only had $8 left (or less) on it. So it wasn't a big deal. Figure, it happens. Life goes on. Despite the fact that the card was not expired, you give it a break because I use it twice a day, every day. It's probably a good idea to swap them out, even if they theoretically can last a year at a time.
Wednesday the second one shit the bed, and I nearly flew off the handle. Internally, not visibly. I mean sure, I was pissed, swearing at nothing in particular. But this is New York, who doesn't swear at random things out loud all the time? I was just fitting in. But fuck I was pissed. That one probably still had $40 left on it, the piece of garbage. I haven't gone to one of the red blazer-wearing dicks in the vending centers yet to complain, but I will. Meanwhile, I'm left internalizing it, thinking of nefarious ways to cost the MTA at least $50, like loading up one of the turnstiles with super glue, or something. And venting on a blog, which is like therapy, but without the educated thief on a couch. Or, maybe I get the couch. I don't know, I never went to one.
Conversely, I love the Path. The Path is the subway-like thing that I take from downtown to Hoboken after work every day. The Path is Bo Derek - in her 10 days - whereas the subway is, well, like some dead old lady. The cars are modern, clean, and on time. If it says it leaves at 4:00, it actually leaves at 4:00. What's more, the vast majority of people on the Path have showered in the past, oh, let's say 365 days. The same cannot be said for the subway, home of people who appear as if they sleep on a raft in a waste management plant.
Ideally, I'd like to work in lower Manhattan, so I could take the train to Hoboken and then the Path to downtown, then walk wherever I need to. This is the ultimate idea, when the time comes. Since I just got our bonus and a raise, I'm not itching to jump ship for the moment. But you know how that goes. End of the year I may be singing a different tune. Right now I'm content.
Of course, nobody hijacks a 747 and flies it into your workplace when you work in Brooklyn. I have to probably take that into account. Maybe the body odor-laden subway isn't so bad after all. Hell, at least I don't have water problems like Woody, who got more bad news today.
Today he found out that he has some shit called, I forget, so we'll call it Tulane, after the University in New Orleans. He's got 1 part Tulane per 2 billion parts water. 1 in 2 billion. That's .5 parts per billion. The acceptable level is something like 500 parts per billion, and these environmental fuck faces are saying it may be a problem. For real?
Consider that the drinking water supplied by your town has more arsenic in it that Woody's well has Tulane. I'm not making that up. It's ok to have fucking arsenic in my drinking water, but Tulane is bad? Are you kidding? What the hell is wrong with this world? What went wrong? How did this Hitler-like sect of tree huggers get hold of these minute areas of our lives? We allow cars on the road that dump motor oil at a quart per week, yet we have 1 part per billion of dog turd in the water and the lights have to go out? Man that's fucked up.
Anyway, the subway blows.
1 Comments:
At 9:02 PM,
Anonymous said…
Heck yes the subway blows. Question is, what are WE going to do about it? Myself, I scream obscenities, ask mind-numbing questions, and generally terrorize engineers and conductors depending upon my position on the platform. Also, I show people how upset I am when I've been waiting during rush hour for an F train for 20 minutes or more: I pace, moan loudly, yell to mysel (and others: "FUCKING SUBWAY!" or "I HATE THIS FUCKING CITY!" My hope is that my disgust will become contagious. So far, people seem to just keep their distance. Perhaps the best way to approach the problem of our city's (and country's) crumbling infrastructure is political action. We need a new New Deal: WPA style federal investment in infrastructure. Of course that won't happen until the next Graet Depression which will (God willing) be coming along any day now. Either that or WWIII should do the trick. Rebuild or utter destruction is the only solution to the the problem of the NYC subways. God bless.
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