I jump on the uptown 6 the other night on my way home from work. I only take it up one stop to Grand Central…if I’m feeling adventurous, I’ll walk the 10 blocks. Tonight, my feet hurt. I knew it was gonna be rough when I get underground and see 85,000 waiting for a train. Sure enough, I wait 3 trains before I can squish into one. Things are going splendidly; I’m getting to know everyone around me very well as their bodies are crushing up against me. The man behind me has his back glued to mine – I can actually feel his butt and legs molded to mine. Gross. Then, I smell it. It wafts around me and I wrinkle my nose as I look around as if to say, “Hey, it wasn’t me.” People do seem to be looking at me, though, and then I realize that the man molded to me just farted on me! His butt was literally touching me – and he farted on me!
I’m not happy when I get to the 7. I think I still smell farty. I feel relieved when I catch a local and there’s a free seat. I settle in with my ipod and close my eyes, attempting to relax. Something is weird, though. I sniff a little and sure enough, I smell raw fish. I look suspiciously to my right. There’s a young Asian guy with ratty cargo pants and a dirty tee shirt. And he smells. Like raw fish. He’s also nodding off to sleep like only someone on the subway can. It goes like this: nod, nod, nod, until you’re practically sleeping on your neighbor’s shoulder, then jerk! up and awake as the train stops. This process repeats between every stop.Anyways, Fish Guy has his legs spread so far apart (what is that about guys??? stop taking up all the room! I have legs too!!) that his pants are touching mine. Pants, that I see as I look down, are covered in some crusty, once-liquid substance. I promptly decide that it is dried on fish guts. I spend the rest of my ride home deciding that he is a sushi-maker and has been making tuna rolls all day. I get distracted for a few minutes when I wonder what people have been doing to make them so tired at 6 p.m. to fall asleep on the train. Then I decide that he must have pulled an all-nighter at the sushi restaurant. I start to feel sorry for him until I realize that I just made up that whole scenario and his crusty, smelly pants are still touching mine. And his head is practically snuggling up on my shoulder. I decide that everyone on the subway should wear a warning sign. Like, “I have a gas problem. I will fart on you.” Or, “I spent all night making sushi. I smell like raw fish and will rub crusty fish guts on you.” Or even, “I play my ipod at an excessive volume. You will not be able to hear your music over mine.” Life would a little more pleasant if I could see these warning signs before I choose a spot on the train.

Posted by cher on Tuesday, September 23rd, 2008 at 3:41 am.