The Adventures of The Absent Minded Albino (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} scotttaylor) wrote,@ 2006-04-15 22:06:00 |
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The Best Mom Ever
I waited 30 minutes for an uptown train this evening. It was worth the wait.
With not many trains running, the car I entered was packed. There were two seats left, and I snagged one that plastered me into a corner. I was fine with this, as I had a book and was riding alone. A large black woman sat down next to me with some luggage. Across the way was a black man with a large grey beard and several garbage bags. As I got on he was accosting an Asian tourist. "WHAT DAY IS IT, SATURDAY OR SUNDAY?" When told it was Saturday he screamed, "SATURDAY NIGHT, THAT'S WHAT I'VE BEEN SAYING, SATURDAY NIGHT!"
Separate from this, the black woman was yelling at her young son, who had just finished his ice cream. He appeared to be upset, so she yelled at him, "Are you begging?" The homeless man thought she was talking to him, so he began screaming at her. "I AM BEGGING, DO YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THAT?!?!" The woman, not having any of this, began screaming back, "I aint got nothin', don't come beggin' to me!"
The hobo screamed in response, "I GOT PLENTY OF PIGEONS WHEN I GET OFF THIS TRAIN!"
I have no idea what this means.
He began to stand and screamed, "AHHHHHHHHHHH! UH OH!" A foul smell began emanating from the area of the train he occupied. "IS THIS 42ND STREET? THAT'S MY STOP!" Both he and the woman with her family exited to train. The smell remained.
I'm a lazy man, though, and I didn't try to switch cars. Who is to say another train might not smell worse? Plus, I've seen people try to switch cars and get stuck in between. Fuck that. The doors closed and we moved forward.
Soon the odor is gone, replaced by a Latin woman, her five year old daughter and the strong smell of cheap perfume. The mother sits in front of me and the daughter to my left, pinning me in the corner. Looking over my book I see the mother's boobs sticking out, and I look at her face. She looks like a combination of Jennifer Lopez and Mariah Carey, that kind of slutty that looks disgusting but is still appealing in some base way that makes you hate yourself. She had a garish watch, a giant diamond in each ear. Her hair, along with the hair of her daughter, is pulled back as tight as it can go. She's caked with makeup and fake eyelashes, and her jean shorts are extremely high up.
The daughter was adorable, despite the fact that she was clearly her mother's daughter and was destined for whore-dom. Her mom had apparently been on the wrong trains all day and was finally heading in the right direction. I am amazed at how often I overhear this. It's as if people just get on any old train and just hope they end up in the right place.
I tried to keep my head in my book but the mother was talking such nonsense to her daughter I couldn't look away. "Bryan's gonna pull his hair out, we're so late. Ah, he'll get over it. Why is this train running local? For once I have to be somewhere and we're running late! I can't believe we ended up in Queens. At least we are going the right direction now."
At 125th street I noticed that the mother's low-cut shirt said something...it looked like it said, simply, "FUCK."
I had to see if a woman would take her five year old daughter out in the world and wear a shirt that reads "FUCK," but it was important not be caught staring at her cleavage. This kind of dilemma always annoys me, because her breasts are hanging out for all to see, but I guess am not supposed to look them. It hardly seems fair. As she moved around a bit and her daughter licked her legs ("They're so hard, Mommy!") I noticed there were other words under "FUCK."
Finally, as I prepared to exit the train, I glanced back, and the full contents of the shirt were revealed to me:
"FUCK THE VIP"
I have no idea what this means, either, but it was certainly a more pleasing puzzle than the nonsense screamed by the bum who shat himself at 42nd street.
I waited 30 minutes for an uptown train this evening. It was worth the wait.
With not many trains running, the car I entered was packed. There were two seats left, and I snagged one that plastered me into a corner. I was fine with this, as I had a book and was riding alone. A large black woman sat down next to me with some luggage. Across the way was a black man with a large grey beard and several garbage bags. As I got on he was accosting an Asian tourist. "WHAT DAY IS IT, SATURDAY OR SUNDAY?" When told it was Saturday he screamed, "SATURDAY NIGHT, THAT'S WHAT I'VE BEEN SAYING, SATURDAY NIGHT!"
Separate from this, the black woman was yelling at her young son, who had just finished his ice cream. He appeared to be upset, so she yelled at him, "Are you begging?" The homeless man thought she was talking to him, so he began screaming at her. "I AM BEGGING, DO YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THAT?!?!" The woman, not having any of this, began screaming back, "I aint got nothin', don't come beggin' to me!"
The hobo screamed in response, "I GOT PLENTY OF PIGEONS WHEN I GET OFF THIS TRAIN!"
I have no idea what this means.
He began to stand and screamed, "AHHHHHHHHHHH! UH OH!" A foul smell began emanating from the area of the train he occupied. "IS THIS 42ND STREET? THAT'S MY STOP!" Both he and the woman with her family exited to train. The smell remained.
I'm a lazy man, though, and I didn't try to switch cars. Who is to say another train might not smell worse? Plus, I've seen people try to switch cars and get stuck in between. Fuck that. The doors closed and we moved forward.
Soon the odor is gone, replaced by a Latin woman, her five year old daughter and the strong smell of cheap perfume. The mother sits in front of me and the daughter to my left, pinning me in the corner. Looking over my book I see the mother's boobs sticking out, and I look at her face. She looks like a combination of Jennifer Lopez and Mariah Carey, that kind of slutty that looks disgusting but is still appealing in some base way that makes you hate yourself. She had a garish watch, a giant diamond in each ear. Her hair, along with the hair of her daughter, is pulled back as tight as it can go. She's caked with makeup and fake eyelashes, and her jean shorts are extremely high up.
The daughter was adorable, despite the fact that she was clearly her mother's daughter and was destined for whore-dom. Her mom had apparently been on the wrong trains all day and was finally heading in the right direction. I am amazed at how often I overhear this. It's as if people just get on any old train and just hope they end up in the right place.
I tried to keep my head in my book but the mother was talking such nonsense to her daughter I couldn't look away. "Bryan's gonna pull his hair out, we're so late. Ah, he'll get over it. Why is this train running local? For once I have to be somewhere and we're running late! I can't believe we ended up in Queens. At least we are going the right direction now."
At 125th street I noticed that the mother's low-cut shirt said something...it looked like it said, simply, "FUCK."
I had to see if a woman would take her five year old daughter out in the world and wear a shirt that reads "FUCK," but it was important not be caught staring at her cleavage. This kind of dilemma always annoys me, because her breasts are hanging out for all to see, but I guess am not supposed to look them. It hardly seems fair. As she moved around a bit and her daughter licked her legs ("They're so hard, Mommy!") I noticed there were other words under "FUCK."
Finally, as I prepared to exit the train, I glanced back, and the full contents of the shirt were revealed to me:
"FUCK THE VIP"
I have no idea what this means, either, but it was certainly a more pleasing puzzle than the nonsense screamed by the bum who shat himself at 42nd street.
