The rain always makes for fun times during morning rush hour commuting. Subway platforms are packed, the trains’ expediency is sporadic at best, and if you’re lucky enough to squeeze into one, you’re a fucking sardine. I am including the following example of complete moronic twattism into my list of “mood changers” in my “setting me up for the day” article - this is number 9 on my subway commute shit list.

[the set up]

So the C train this morning was extraordinarily slow to show at Clinton/Lafayette - on a good day the frequency of these steel behemoths is borderline slothesque. I board with my backpack (taking well-in-need-of-repair shoes to cobbler in the city), umbrella and man purse (also known as ‘murse’ to the metro crowd apparently) and slide into a space at the back of the subway car against the back door - nice, I can lean and not have to touch the sneeze-smeared hand rail today.

We go along for a couple of stops, and then this Asian girl decides to worm her way over in my direction. She proceeds to stand next to me, facing right (I’m facing front in the direction of the train) and holding onto one of those horizontal hand rails… and then it happens… she takes out her copy of the New Yorker, and releases her hand from her support bar. All’s fine and dandy until the train pulls into the next station and her body is thrown forward as the brakes are hit… bang, in she goes like a pro wrestler into the unsuspecting commuter in front of her, to which she proclaims, “Oh, sorry”, and returns her bony Asian hand back to the underutilized rail. The train sits in the station for long enough for the perpetrator to let go yet again and return to her New york rag.

[slow motion]

I watch her, almost knowing what’s coming next… call me David fucking Blane… “stand clear of the closing doors, please”… [pissshhhhhh]… train jerks forward with the release of the brakes and the driver throwing the switch into drive… einstein comes lurching like she’s coming at me with some new martial art move involving her skinny arse and pointy elbow.

Come on, for crying out loud! Is it that difficult for a human being to understand that when the train jerks either forward or back, you’re up for some movement in the opposite direction, guaranteed. And it’s not as if this is surprising to anyone, it happens every… bloody… time… it… pulls… into… and… out… of… the… station! Pisses me off when this select few feel it’s ok to bash and knock into me on the train. Why? Seriously, why? What am I, a fender? A fucking cushion?

Anyway, so without further ado, I deftly fashioned my chest into a medieval battering ram and pushed back… what? She got it coming.

[lesson]

Grow another hand, or put your bag on the floor and free up your other hand. Better still, hold onto the frigging rail - if the trains didn’t have ‘em you’d be pissed. You’re not a chuffing balancing act at the local Billy Shit’s Traveling Circus.

[felt good pushing back - think I'll make a habit of reciprocating future cuntish behavior like that]