A Rant

I know no one likes a whiner. I genuinely apologize that recently my updates have been me complaining, whether it be about the MTA or the Meek. Apologizes aside, I have some ranting to do.

My newest complaint: Humanity.

What in the sweet name of the good Lord is wrong with the people who live in this world? It takes me about an hour door-to-door to get to work in the morning, and in that span, just this morning, two things happened that boggle my mind and make me want to stand in the middle of Time Square with a mega phone and shout, “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!” really, really loudly.

Incident #1
This morning my roommate Blair and I were standing on the platform of the subway waiting for the train. There was a man sitting on a bench clipping his fingernails with clippers. Each click of the clippers echoed throughout the tunnel like thunder, as his disgusting unwanted fingernails fell to the floor of the platform. He did this for well over 10 minutes. Literally. When the train finally arrived, he didn’t even get on the train. He continued sitting on the bench clipping away.

Rant #1
Sir, what the fuck is wrong with you? What kind of talons of fury do you have that it takes over 10 minutes and countless clippings to cut your nails? Are you an eagle trapped in the guise of a man? Can you break animal eggs open with your claws and grasp tree branches with ease? And why the fuck are you clipping your nails in the fucking subway? I’m not really a germa-phob, but I’m sorry that is disgusting. My skin was crawling as each nail particle fell to the floor. Sir do you know what your nails are? They are just dead proteins from your nail beds. I have to give him some credit for caring enough to clip his nails. God knows one of my biggest pet peeves is people who grow their nails out to outrageous lengths, or girls who have freakishly long horse hair and are inevitably named Heather or Misty. Praise for this man aside; do not clip your nails in a public forum. I don’t want to walk through your nail clippings and track them home to my apartment. And seriously, why are you doing this at a subway station? Is this the Elizabeth Arden Red Door Salon and nobody told me? Should I have just saddled up next to him and given myself a bikini wax, letting the used strips also fall to the ground? GET A ROOM.

Incident #2
Once on the subway I decided to make the most of my ride and watch an episode of Reno! 911. By the West 4th Street stop, I had forgotten the clipping incident and my faith in humanity was restored thanks to my favorite show. Then, a random Asian man started to pet my hair like I was his personal longhaired tabby. Two strokes in, I realized someone wasn’t knocking into me, but rather petting me and I turned to the man and gave him a “what the fuck are you doing?!” look, as words weren’t really coming to me at that moment. A kind citizen must have seen that my dumbfounded look wasn’t going to stop this man from petting me and slapped the man’s hand and told him, “you can’t do that here” with a firm shake of his head. I wish I were making this up.

Rant
WHAT THE FUCK? COME ONNNNNN…Commuting during rush hour is already a little too cuddly for my comfort. The last thing I want is some random person petting my ponytail. And again, I have to ask: Sir, what the fuck are you thinking?! He didn’t appear to be crazy or homeless, which would help me understand the situation only marginally more. Get a pet, sir. That is all I can say to you. And if you can’t afford a pet, or if your apartment does not allow animals, there are still alternatives to explore, rather than pet strangers in the subway. I knew someone in college who loved the texture of her childhood blanket so much she always kept a piece of it in her pocket to stroke when things got tense. A little weird? Yes. But invasive and bordering on molestation? No. You might think the Good Samaritan who said something to The Stroker would restore some of my faith in humanity, but no! I don’t want to live in a world where people have to remind each other that petting strangers isn’t “what we do here.” And what does that even mean? WHERE besides a petting zoo is that what you do?! What country? You tell me and then I’ll give that man a gold star for community service.

Sigh…there. I feel better now that I’ve gotten that off my chest. I can only imagine what this afternoon holds for me. People giving themselves facials and enemas in my cubicle, no doubt. Sigh again…

Sha la la!
Patsy