If you've never been in a New York City subway, it has a way of being even dirtier than the street. Or rather, even "dirtier" than the street. It's here I experienced what I've learned to be yet another New York right of passage.
It's not uncommon for the New York female to become immune to staring problems; wearing headphones even when the IPod is broken or having to out right ignore perposterous advances. Sitting in a corner seat on the subway, I was practicing patience with a "starer" sharing a bucket bench with me. Being the benefit-of-the-doubty-NW-girl-at-my-core that I am, I told myself he was probably just reading the emergency instructions posted behind me. We've all read the emergency instructions, overhead advertisements and gay subway poetry, avoiding all human contact as is customary of many subway commuters.
Just to make sure it was innocent, I glanced over at the man. He had his backpack on his lap and appeared to be playing with the extra fabric of his pants, reminding me of the Curb Your Enthusiasm episode where the woman thought Larry David was rubbing his man parts when in fact a clothing manufacturer had provided him more fabric than was necessary for that area. I had a giggle in my head as I replayed this episode. And am again right now. Oh, Larry David.
What are the chances he is actually playing with fabric. I'll just lean over and take a quick peek. Oh...that's a dick. A wet one. Ew.
I got up from the seat, right as my subway stop approached, with an expression full of disgust. The man sitting across from us laughed more raucously than any jacker-offer witness should ever do, and said "I thought you guys were together!". YOU DID!?! I can picture it. "Hey babe, wanna do a little foreplay and jack off next to me on the train while I pretend to be fading in and out of commuter snooze? Don't worry, I'M old enough to buy the beer. Just hope your traditionalist Hindu family doesn't mind the race-mixing. Let's DO this!"
At this point, the "Jack" we'll call him, has become less sociopathically interesting than the guy who knew it was happening, assumed I liked it and couldn't be bothered to change seats. After all, Jack was enjoying the sight of an adult woman - not a child, nor a rat (it happens). Frankly, until that moment I had been feeling fat that day. With a little skip in my step, I walked away with a story. I love a story. Me and my New York love story. To be continued....
