Apparently I live in a place where it’s ok to spit indoors. A man can shove a pregnant lady out of his way so he can get to the seat before she does. It’s okay to stare at the car and driver that almost hit you when you were crossing, diagonally, through the intersection at 96th & Broadway. It’s okay to call the subway conductor a bitch because when she said stand clear of the closing doors you just stood there with one arm in the train talking to some woman across the platform that you don’t even know.
And the stupid people in New York are even worse. How many times, loud enough to drown out the sound of bustling commuters, I’ve heard over the P.A. “The number one train will make it’s last stop at 96th Street. Again, there is no number one train service beyond 96th Street. To get beyond 96th Street please transfer to the A, B, C, or E trains located just under your nose.” They’ll repeat this twelve times. That’s not the stupid part. The stupid part is the number of people walking up to attendants and other passengers asking, “So the one isn’t going above 96th Street?”, “Is the one going to stop at 96th Street?”, “Will the one still stop and 125th Street?”, “What train do I transfer to to get beyond 96th Street?” Agh! People, please. It’s not rocket science. How long do you have to live in this city (most of the questions I hear have a Bronx accent) before you realize just how to navigate your way home?
So after seeing all of this on the way home, I was tempted to do some good. I saw an old lady carrying so many bags that her cane had become more of a nuisance than an aid. I thought, “Maybe she could use some help. I know my gran walked much better holding an elbow than a cane.” But then something flashed in my head. A headline in the next morning’s Post: “Good Samaritan Slays Granny After Being Caned to Miscarraige” Let’s just say those whimsical thoughts of holding this place together, one good deed at a time, have fled from my mind.
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