I managed to secure a seat on the C train this morning - one of the two-seaters by the end of the train car, right by the sliding door at the very end. I’m minding my own business, well into The Bourne Identity, when my peripheral vision is shadowed by what I can only assume to be a large person. This “large person” (who shall be known from here on as fatty) proceeded to come over to the seat by me (bearing in mind these two-seaters are built for two “average sized” persons) and pulls a 180′, obviously gearing up for an ass plant on the seat. I’m not a large guy by any stretch of the imagination - I mean, I take up only half of the seat - and when I’m watching a movie on my iPod Touch I normally lean forward with my elbows resting on my knees for support, and maximum viewing.

Fatty sits down and managed to get just the edge of her large behind on the lip of the seat. Fatty looks over to me and looks away (I’m thinking, yeah - look all you fucking want bitch, I’m not closing my legs and squashing my balls for anyone). Fatty then opens up her newspaper, and tries to shuffle her huge buttocks back, like a dog wiping its ass on grass, but in reverse. I don’t budge.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not sat there with a twelve inch gap between my knees, but my legs are in line with my shoulders - a comfortable seating position.

Her vain effort to squeeze her at mounds firmly in the seat next to me warrants another look at me - this time I take out my right ear bud and look at her - fatty didn’t expect me to respond evidently, as she “hmph’d” and stood up, and took her fat arse to another empty seat.

Now I’m as liberal as the next guy, but seriously, if your arse isn’t of “average size”, have some fucking respect for those asses that are - ‘cos those are what the seats are designed for.

Word to the wise: before you take that empty seat, check for the butt sweat streak.

I was standing (as per fucking usual) on the C this morning, and as the train was pulling into Broadway/Lafayette I noticed the lummox sat next to wherer I stood was shifting - an obvious indication that she was getting off at this stop. She stood, I made the quick judgment as to whether I could grab it before anyone else, and I realized that this day, the Britblogger would be seated for the next few stops to Times Square.

Then I spotted it.

Glistening like a bald man’s head in the summer sun… a 6 inch butt sweat streak.

I have no idea where she’d boarded the train, but her crack must have been sweating like a good ‘un for plenty of time for her shit stink to seep through her knickers (assuming she wasn’t going Commando) and her pants, and through to the plastic seat.

As any normal human being will undoubtedly know, any kind of sweat on a solid surface should dissipate over a brief period of time… I want you to know, this thing stayed there for 3 and a half subway stops - from Broadway/Lafayette to almost West 4th Street.

If you find yourself with the golden opportunity of grabbing an empty seat on the New York City subway, do yourself a favor and check for damp. Remember, that shit can’t be odorless.

[shudders]

This morning’s commute was without doubt the fucking funniest I’ve had to date, period. Firstly, I get a seat on the C train - talk about winning the lottery.I sat at the left-hand end of a train car, across from the conductor compartment - one of those 2-seater ass buckets, you get my drift. Across from me sat the epitome of OCD… allow my retort… homeless (evidently presented due to the scruffy attire, 3 bags full of torn-off-posters and other oddities) and fucking nuts - the guy goes into this entire “god loves his children” shit reading off the back off some MTA (no C train this weekend) flyers that he’d written his speeches on - so loud I could hear him through my own blaring music, and my Er6i’s. Mesmerized by this, I couldn’t help but watch him delve deep into his multiple bags and pull out 2 different pairs of sunglasses and 4 different hats. All of them were worn, and in an array of presentation, as if one were in Sunglasses & Hat Hut checking out the latest fashions. Jesus, I live in a fucking nut house.

I think I was about as far as Jay Street, and out of my periphery I sense a “shape” moving toward me.

[tangent]

If you’ve ridden the New York City subway, you’ll know that a 2-seater doesn’t actually sit 2 people - especially when one of the parties is, how should I put it, fat.

[back on topic]

Here she comes - has to be about 250lbs - ass - that’s all I saw - her ass, eye-level with me, moving my way. She SQUEEZES in next to me, squashing my winter coat, smushing it against my body, creating folds against both me and the seat I was sat on. First thought was, of course, “for fuck’s sake, what the fuck are you doing!”, yet I remained mute. She “sits”, and tries to hook her left leg over her right, to allow her more room to occupy the seat she took, and it just doesn’t work - her leg sliding off, twice. Here’s the funny part… she stands up - well, pulls herself out of the seat, stands up, turns around and looks at me and gives me the dirtiest look ever! Like it’s my fault her arse is bigger than a fucking television. Awesome, ironic, idiocy.

So the office was nuts as usual - the coworker with the farting problem is back on top form - big time, which brings forth hilarity, not a bad thing - I swear though, if I ever smell one of those pant cabbages, I will have to lose my shit entirely.

I’m surfing the net as I usually do, and I come across the coolest thing I’ve seen in a LOOOOONG time - a wedding, a video, Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” playing… you know what comes next… yes, YES, the bloody entire wedding group do the Thriller dance, and it just brings my day back to some level of normality, and all is good in the world.

God I love this City, I do - I really do.

I jumped for fucking joy this morning as I turned the corner at the bottom of the Clinton/Washington subway station steps to see that they’d finally installed the 2nd turnstile - and it’s fully working!

Thank you MTA, thank you station supervisor, and thank you 311 - amazing what you can achieve when you complain to the right people.

If you’re new to my blog, you’ll get a better idea of what a bloody nightmare this has been by reading here and here.

Whilst everyone else was sound asleep this morning at 8am (it’s the day before July 4th - July 3rd to the Brits, the day before Independence Day for the Yanks, and most take today off) I headed to the C train stop at Fulton/Washington. Down the 2 flights of stairs, and what do I see when I get to the bottom of the 2nd flight? They’re only fitting the entrance with another turnstile! Yes, a 2nd turnstile!! Gadzooks, a fucking miracle!!!

The thing wasn’t operational yet, but they’re half way done putting in another turnstile at the Fulton/Washington entrance to the Clinton/Washington C train stop.

[I'll take a pic later this week and add it to this post]

No rhyme or reason to it, but I leapt out of bed at 5:10am this morning. Dropping into the local deli to grab a coffee and a grapefruit juice, I followed with a refreshing shower, and I was ready to go by 6:45am. Instead of listening to my free versions of the Ricky Gervais Show (why I won’t pay for his Podcast), I opted for some 80’s tracks. Flicking through my playlist, my nano flashed “Crush on You, The Jets”… well I haven’t heard this one in ages, so click…

I love this freaking song - I almost started dancing on the train, seriously. You’ll more than likely find me at the front of the train, leaning against the driver’s door - as it was early, the train was half empty - weird, it was probably the first time I actually almost started dancing and didn’t give a shit who was watching.

God I love New York today.

A little over a week ago I wrote about the comedic genius of The Ricky Gervais Show, a brand new podcast to the ‘cast world, and how I couldn’t get enough of this sharp wit and the hapless Karl Pilkington. They released their final 12th episode the other day, and to my complete surprise, Ricky announced that they would start charging a fee for their season 2 of the podcast.

CHARGING FOR A PODCAST?!?! Is he serious?

Ricky, Podcasts are so popular because they’re FREE… you have the largest downloads of any podcast because:

1. your show is hilarious

and…

2. IT WAS FREE!

Rick, you tight bastard - don’t you make enough money as it is without charging $6.95 for 4 of the new episodes? I can guarantee, you will lose about 60% of your podcast fan base over this. Besides all that, #11 and #12 were utter shite - what are you thinking doing the ads with a Mr T voice? TERRIBLE!

What a wanker.

With so much time on my hands yesterday due to the snow storm, I fancied a wee surf in the iTunes Music Store… I was in the market for some new Podcasts. After some fruitless searching for anything that really caught my eye, I noticed a listing for the most popular podcasts pertaining to the number of downloads - the #1 spot was held by The Ricky Gervais Show. If you’re British, Ricky won’t need an introduction - if you’re not, he’s the bloke behind the UK version of The Office - that’d be the funny version, not the fucking American rip off, starring Steve “Fudgenugget McAssbandit” Carell.

[back to point]

So I decide to give Ricky’s podcast a listen to - and bare in mind, I have a very limited podcast library… just one, to be exact - which is the PGRevolution.com PSP Podcast. Seeing as I had the extra space on my Nano, I felt like downloading the entire list from iTunes (which was the most recent 4 episodes) and load ‘em up.

The Ricky Gervais Show Podcast has 3 chaps sounding off - Ricky Gervais, Steve Merchant and Karl Pilkington. From listener e-mails to readings of Karl’s personal diary, this podcast is the funniest thing I have ever heard. If you have a mp3 player, download it. If you don’t have a mp3 player, download it and play it on your PC.

Just so we’re clear, download the fucking podcast - Ricky, you personify comedic genius.

www.rickygervais.com.

[shakes head]

Ok, the turnstile has not been fixed, it would seem. During the holidays, the card reader appeared to be working fine - but yesterday morning, the line was actually so long that it snaked back up the freaking stairs. I decided it advantageous to take a walk to the other entrance 2 blocks away.

I have something to say… even though the card reader is obviously faulty, those bastards that are swiping and swiping and swiping to no avail, move out of the fucking way so those that have cards that aren’t over 3 years old and falling apart can get to work on time.

Fuckers!

It would appear that the turnstile that was such a bone of contention for many Brooklyn commuters has been fixed! Having returned to work this week on pretty much a normal schedule, I noticed that my fellow Brooklynites were whizzing through the turnstile in one go.

Kudos to the MTA for getting this done - especially considering what was going on last week.

[If I am in fact incorrect in my assumption and I am witnessing pure luck, please leave your comments here]

If you live in my neighborhood and catch the C train to Manhattan from the Clinton & Washington subway station, you will no doubt understand where I’m coming from with this rant. There are 2 entrances to this poor excuse for a station, and whilst one provides ample turnstilage, the other does not… indeed, I’m referring to the Manhattan-bound entrance on Fulton and Washington.

EVERY morning, I find myself at the end of a long line of inane fuckos hysterically taking turns at swiping their MTA cards through the turnstile card scanner, to no avail. They swipe - nothing… swipe, think it has worked only to walk into a rigid turnstile thwacking their knee cap on the steel bars… swipe, nothing - a shake of the head…

[it goes on and on like this for about 5-10 minutes]

I have to admit, although I get frustrated with the endless attempts from my fellow commuters trying to use their 4-year-old, bent and battered MTA cards with no success, this issue should really fall at the feet of the MTA and the City of New York.

For starters, there’s only ONE turnstile at this entrance… which on the occasion when commuters are exiting the platform, we end up waiting for the long line of Brooklyn-bound workers to leave before we can start to make our move…

Secondly, and more importantly, the turnstile card scanner is completely fucked. There was at least 15 people in line this morning, and it happens most days… today turned out to be particularly bullshit in nature as I stood and watched the C train come and go, as some woman was swiping frantically, movements reminiscent of a fiddlers elbow in the midst of a Vivaldi.

[time for action]

I called 311 a few minutes ago in an effort to report this. This has gone on too long and needs taking care of. So, I dialled 311 and after a short period of holding, and a plethora of transit security notices (like random bag searches and what not) I was put through to a lady called Leslie. I explained my plight (and that of my Clinton/Washington travellers) and she promptly told me she would have to direct this to the MTA for action. Leslie was very nice by the way.

About 20 seconds go by and I’m in the MTA’s holding pattern… shit, I thought.. here we go… but to my surprise, I was on hold for only 3 minutes! “Miss McCormack speaking, how may I help?”. Again, I explained what the problem was with my local subway turnstile and she proceeded to take down my information… apparently to substantiate my “claim”… like I’d waste my time fucking complaining about something that didn’t exist. [sheesh]

I asked her if there was anything else she needed from me, and there wasn’t. I asked for a reference number, and they don’t give those out - but what she did tell me was that this will be passed to the station department (at Clinton/Washington) for action who will have an engineer take a look at it.

There was no indication made as to what timescale would be involved, but if I had any questions, I could call the station department directly. With that in mind, I thought I’d share that number with you all, just in case you’re getting pig sick of standing in a freaking line every morning - give the station department hell…

(718) 243-3222I’ll be calling these bastards every week until cards start going through on a single swipe.

The commute this morning was horrendous. The MTA are conducting some major repairs - long needed overhauls of the City’s subway system… which means disruptions for all commuters into and around Manhattan. Today was no exception. I sometimes think that the subway drivers are impervious to heat, as although it’s mid-November, humidity was at it’s peak and it felt around 70′F - yet no air conditioning was running on the C this morning.

[pore explosion]

Needless to say the last car on the train this morning at 8am was full of sweat-drenched working class… yours truly notwithstanding.

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]

my state of mind while I’m brushing my pearly whites in comparison to my state of mind when I flash my ID card to my building’s security guards, can differ greatly. please allow me to embellish this preamble further…

a list of possible catalytical “mood changers”

1. high humidity
2. a plus-sized person trying to squeeze into 8 inches worth of seat next to me
3. someone’s backback/handbag being heaved into my torso
4. no/little/poor air conditioning in the subway car
5. no access to a handrail
6. slow moving train
7. people that insist on standing in the doorways when I’m trying to board, even if there are seats available
8. folks not shuffling aside when I need to get off at my stop

most every morning I’m walking to the subway in a pretty jovial mood - racking my brains in order to mentally prioritize my day before I even get on the train, probably humming along to Coldplay, strumming my fingers against the sides of my legs to the rhythm.

invariably, 4 out of 5 days, I succumb to one of those bloody bullet points above. having ridden the train for about 3 years now (regularly), I find that some of them are completely bearable. some, however, like a slow moving train, or being jabbed in the back by someone’s fake fucking Coach bag, phase-shifts me from ‘calm and collected British chap’, to ‘I will fucking kill you, with my bare hands’. that kind of encounter happens not-so-frequently, which is perhaps the reason I don’t have a felony record thus far.

until this morning, the aforementioned list of potential ways to turn me into Bill Bixby’s famed jade-colored superhero were commonplace, and apparently not open to additions to said list… then along comes a fat fucking italian greaseball carrying a box of A4 sized paper. I was almost to the coffee cart that I frequent every single day (for the last 18 months), and heading for the revolving door that would usher me into the outside world after departing my surprisingly pleasant train ride… I was in the process of walking the curve of my revolving world, and I noticed this heavy set guy in his 40’s walking toward me, looking to coincide his pace with an open slot in the revolving door. alas, he missed the slot before mine, which left this impatient fat fuck with only one option… to use mine when I exited. you’d think he’d have waited until I fully left my one-fourth of the revolver, but no. he proceeded to use the box of paper as a battering ram, knocking me to my right - my left foot thrown over my right, in an attempt to counter-balance his force.

[yeah, you know what's coming next]

now normally I’m not a verbal guy. I’d rather store that energy, and suppress it with beer that night (I’m kidding) - but I seldom lash out in retaliation… however since moving to new york, my serenity chip has been disabled.

[verbatim]

“HEY! excuse ME! fucking obnoxious prick!”

and what I get in return is the sound-impaired mouthing of a barely distiguishable “fuck you!” from him. typical response from a new yorker - well, one that’s 20 feet from me, and on the other side of a revolving door anyway.

so, I’m adding the following to my list of catalists:

• fat obnoxious new yorkers that think as they’re twice the size of me, they have twice the right to square footage in this city

at least the guy was carrying a box of paper, and not a frigging Sausage & Egg McMuffin meal - there’s hope for some!