To the commuters who shared the Metro with me today

A new and unwanted pair-of-morons development on the Tube: magnetic couples. In carriages in which all the seating has gone, but there is plenty of floor space, I like to stand in the corner so I’ve got something to lean on. Lately couples have been taking to ignoring the aching vistas of open space I have generously left, and coming over right by me and boxing me against the wall, whereupon they proceed to try to suck each other’s face off, 6 inches from mine. It’s like this, only worse because the wall curves over at the corner, so I end up leaning in to them:

|  (F)
|      vast amounts of space

Bastards! I hate you and your slurping! Move the fuck away from me! I almost felt obliged to split up with the last pair that did this before getting off at my stop.

On the other hand, I guess I can tick “threesome” off my list of things to do now. I’m underwhelmed, to say the least.

As a daily user of mass transit I’ve cultivated some pretty serious disdain for some morons.

  1. You have every right to a seat where you find one available. Your baggage, however, does not. Especially when it’s small and couldn’t weigh more than a couple of pounds. Let someone sit and stop being such a selfish bitch.

  2. You hav every right to a seat where you find one available. However, when you’re presented with the option of aisle or window seat in the event both are available, take the fucking window seat. I shouldn’t have to ask to get you to move your lazy ass so I can sit in the unoccupied seat you’re blocking.

  3. Too much perfume/cologne is irritating. Too little, however, can be worse.

  4. Two words: Breath mints. Seriously. I’ve had someone sit next to me whose very act of breathing in any direction sent forth billowing green clouds of halitosis so eye-wateringly pungent that I thought he’d spent the last week eating nothing but carrion and never brushing his teeth. I couldn’t take a breath without the imminent threat of unconsciousness looming.

  5. Of buses with a raised rear level, people who seem to feel like that upper-section is off-limits. For Og’s sake, there’s ten feet of standing room back there, and it’s not just for first-class passengers. Use it!

  6. Morons who feel that the seat across from them is an ottoman. Tell you what. I see a bridge, I’m going to stand on it.

  7. People who eat things that smell worse than they do. Honestly, a little snack on the bus isn’t that bad, but if you’re going to whip out that Salami, Onion, Cheese and Herring hoagie, I’m pretty certain you won’t faint from hunger before getting somewhere more appropriate to eat it. And take your damn trash with you!

  8. Bus drivers who, upon discovering the wonder of brakes, haven’t yet discovered that their stopping power is directly proportional to the amount of pressure applied to the pedal. Really, it isn’t entirely necessary, when approaching a bus stop on a relatively clear stretch of road, to STAND ON THE DAMN BRAKE PEDAL! Though the difference may be subtle, the concept of slowing down more gently when you’re further from your intended stop instead of jerking violently to a shuddering halt 10 feet from it will do wonders to prevent every standing passenger from piling up like bugs on the inside of your front windshield.

  9. Like the embossed warning on the paint trays of stepladders, I’m going to have stenciled on my shoes, “This is not a step.”

I rode the DC metro last week, and I was struck by the number of people who thought that a door was a wonderful place to stand in front of, especially if you are going five stops. The car was not all that crowded either. Anyone trying that trick in New York would wind up smashed against the wall of the next station.

BTW, I’m quite stunned by the concept of someone with ass cheeks so fat that they could get a good grip on the pole with them. :eek:

Sez you! I’m trying to grapple with the concept of PREHENSILE ass cheeks!

I shrink just at the thought of being grappled by prehensile ass cheeks! I’m sure there’d be mutant-teeth in there somewhere.

(Curse you, John Carpenter’s ‘The Thing’…!)