because good manners make a person nice to know

Today, I was running early for work. I even had the time to stop by the bodega for my favorite snack of all time. I was about to swipe my card at 8:05am when the train sped by. What the F, MTA? That train is supposed to come at 8:11, and I know that if I swipe my card right now, I'll be waiting until 8:25 for another Northbound G train, my blood pressure increasing with every Brooklyn-bound G train stopping on the other platform. Fine, I thought, I'll cross the street and take the G the other way.

I'm stupid.

I gave up this commute long ago, when I realized that G train --> L train--> R train really just ends in a shitshow where my blood pressure is so high that you can see my heart beating behind my A-cup BEFORE I EVEN GET TO WORK.

I did it anyway.

20 minutes of waiting, and the mob on the L train pushed me inside the packed train. Some assface standing in the doorway had A DOLLY with him. A DOLLY. ON THE MORNING TRAIN. So the mob pushes me, all 6 awkward feet of me, between the tiny spaces between people until I'm awkwardly wedged in between some dude with a mustache and 500 other faceless people. And that's when I feel it. A punch to the back.

Like right in the back. Not even in the kidneys. Just a punch to the spine, basically.

The culprit? A crunchy-perm-haired troll with crackhead fingernails and a leather lady trench.

I thanked her for her amateur Chiropractic services.

You're VERY WELCOME she says, in that horrible way that only born and bred New York bitches can really say things.

And that's when the last bit of Minnesota nice melted away, and I brought my Brooklyn out.

Yeah? Okay. You're a bitch.

I graduted Magna Cum Laude with a B.A. in English and that was the best thing I could come up with.