funky shiznit
last night, i took in a lovely evening picnic in central park with friends, listening to the faint music of the opera in the distance. quite enjoyable and relaxing. great food (wine, cheese, proscuitto, crusty bread, chococate banana cream cake), good friends, funny conversations. all in all, a wednesday night well spent in new york.
i figured that to end the night perfectly, i'd take the train down, walk the few blocks to my apt, and sleep early and feel totally refreshed the next morning.
so i hop on the A train at 81st and CPW. i take my usual spot near the train doors. i like it there since i can lean back on the doors after they close and not have to touch the dirty bars with my bare hands. instead i'd rather get the back of my clothes dirty up against the doors. minimize the germs touching my skin.
anyway, at the next stop, people file in. its still pretty crowded in the train from the people leaving the park. i manage to keep my spot against the doors... score! right as the train begins to pull away, the man in front of me turns around to face the doors. fine with me. he's slightly taller so i don't have to look him in the face. he's wearing a maroon tank top, puke green running short, and had a cd-man clipped to his waistband. obviously he had been running or working out. fine. i was just chuckling at his lack of skills in coordinating colors for a workout fit.
everything is dandy, i'm still in a mellow mood from kickin it in the park.... until homeboy standing in front of me with the tacky workout fit raises his right arm to grab onto the overhead bar to balance himself on the moving train. whoa nelly!!! felt like i just got knocked by right hook! homeboy's underarm and long, curly,underarm hair are directly in front of my face... seriously, probably only 12 inches away. too close for comfort. and the odor emanating from said area would be enough to make a grown man cry. confirmed - he had been working out... or he has very poor personal hygeine.
i held my breathe for dear life. the following 3 stops to 42nd st seemed like an eternity. taking sips of air, bit by bit. i tried to look down, hoping the funk would only travel upwards, but there are no laws to funk, it disperses evenly throughout space. the only times i was able to breathe and take another deep breath was when the doors opened at each stop. why isn't this mofo getting off yet????
finally, 42nd street, i almost collapse out of the doors as they slide open. i run home... i run as fast as i can. i run because i'm scared. i run home, jump in the shower to rid myself of this terrible experience and i cry.
ok, that last part isn't true. i walked home. and i wasn't scared. and i didn't shower and i didn't cry. but i was traumatized.
just pissed that i ended my night with a crapload of funky ass b.o. in my face.
i figured that to end the night perfectly, i'd take the train down, walk the few blocks to my apt, and sleep early and feel totally refreshed the next morning.
so i hop on the A train at 81st and CPW. i take my usual spot near the train doors. i like it there since i can lean back on the doors after they close and not have to touch the dirty bars with my bare hands. instead i'd rather get the back of my clothes dirty up against the doors. minimize the germs touching my skin.
anyway, at the next stop, people file in. its still pretty crowded in the train from the people leaving the park. i manage to keep my spot against the doors... score! right as the train begins to pull away, the man in front of me turns around to face the doors. fine with me. he's slightly taller so i don't have to look him in the face. he's wearing a maroon tank top, puke green running short, and had a cd-man clipped to his waistband. obviously he had been running or working out. fine. i was just chuckling at his lack of skills in coordinating colors for a workout fit.
everything is dandy, i'm still in a mellow mood from kickin it in the park.... until homeboy standing in front of me with the tacky workout fit raises his right arm to grab onto the overhead bar to balance himself on the moving train. whoa nelly!!! felt like i just got knocked by right hook! homeboy's underarm and long, curly,underarm hair are directly in front of my face... seriously, probably only 12 inches away. too close for comfort. and the odor emanating from said area would be enough to make a grown man cry. confirmed - he had been working out... or he has very poor personal hygeine.
i held my breathe for dear life. the following 3 stops to 42nd st seemed like an eternity. taking sips of air, bit by bit. i tried to look down, hoping the funk would only travel upwards, but there are no laws to funk, it disperses evenly throughout space. the only times i was able to breathe and take another deep breath was when the doors opened at each stop. why isn't this mofo getting off yet????
finally, 42nd street, i almost collapse out of the doors as they slide open. i run home... i run as fast as i can. i run because i'm scared. i run home, jump in the shower to rid myself of this terrible experience and i cry.
ok, that last part isn't true. i walked home. and i wasn't scared. and i didn't shower and i didn't cry. but i was traumatized.
just pissed that i ended my night with a crapload of funky ass b.o. in my face.
posted by joaners @ 6:56 AM
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