There are many, many things to love about New York City, but the New York City subway is not one of them. Sure, it mostly gets you from A to B relatively on time, but not without trauma and serious emotional pain. Look, there are only so many times in this lady’s life that I need to see a strangers dick mid-tug. More than zero times is far too many times.
More than a mode of transportation, the subway is an efficient parade of other peoples armpits and butts. And New Yorkers treat it just like their apartments, where armpits and butts are fine, in fact, welcomed to parade about. This weekend, I witnessed a woman assemble and consume an egg salad sandwich on the A train. What was worse, she made her adolescent son hold the slice of bread as she plopped a huge dollop of a gooey looking mayonnaise and egg concoction on to it.
Even worse, she then took her hand, which had been holding the subway pole, slapped the top slice on, and smooshed it together. Then, with that subway infected hand, transported that poor excuse for a sandwich to her mouth.
People are gross. I’d much rather watch that lady that always puts her make up, betting on which bump is going to put the eyeliner pencil right in her eyeball. Or the perennial dude cutting his nails on the G. Or better yet, none of it and take my bike.