I would like to extend a special thanks to those New Yorkers who make me glad I have a CUBE to escape to at the end of THE COMMUTE!
(It would be nice to say…AND YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE..but I can’t, because you are so clueless).
ON THE BUS – (OR why I stopped taking it and learned to love rain/ sleet/ snow/ gusting wind and trashed umbrellas)
Thank you, for letting the rear exit door slam back on me as I follow you out of the bus! Danke!
Thank you, for wearing a backpack the size of a Primary Life Support Subsystem, blocking the aisle and not budging an inch, so no one can squeeze past you. Merci!
Thank you, for allowing your free-flowing, fly-away waist-length hair to cascade over the seat back where static electricity magnetizes random strands of it to my nose and mouth. Gracias!
Thank you, person to my left for noshing on your smelly fried chicken and dipping your fries in ketchup and loudly sucking up your soda through a straw while balancing a wobbly Styrofoam container on your knees as the bus driver’s enthusiastic left foot obsessively hits the break. Obrigado!
Thank you, for face-timing your relatives on speaker phone during the slog to the train station, so loudly that even AirPods can’t drown you out. Shukran!
I am overwhelmed with gratitude! Kittos!
IN THE SUBWAY – (Because there is no other option)
Thank you, for the opportunity to trip over your foot as I get on the F train because you are blocking the door and refusing to move. go raibh maith agat!
Thank you, adjacent person for glomming stinky, out-of-context food-truck tacos and dirty rice over a plastic bag placemat like its your last meal on earth in a packed #7 train, in summer. Xie Xie!
Thank you, for dispersing powdery eye shadow with your Q-tip and then triggering my gag reflex by atomizing your neck with perfume as if the R train is your boudoir. Grazie!
Thank you, sneezing, barking nose-dripper, for carrying a single, soggy balled-up tissue with which you dab bounteous mucosal leakages to ill effect from your red schnoz. Multumesc!
Thank you, teenager in love for making out with your boyfriend, in the open area of the car, and then demonstrating the level of your devotion by squeezing his pimples. Arigato!
Thank you, desperate seeker of obliteration, for igniting your Bic lighter on the F train, transfixing horrified riders with its seductive orange-blue flame, and raising the crack pipe to your lips to inhale its mind-ravaging blessing. Asante.
A big sloppy MWAH to y’all.