People perform some disgusting acts while riding New York City's public transportation system. But who can blame them? Well, since you asked, I guess I can. I can blame them, actually. That's sort of what I'm doing here - blaming these people for being savages. Because seriously, who hasn't seen someone eating, drinking, smoking, crying, cutting their toenails, eating more food, singing, picking their nose, talking on the phone to someone who I assume is hard of hearing, and/or vomiting? It's gross. Have some discipline, morons, your horrible smelling food will still smell horrible in ten minutes when you get back to that shithole apartment you call home. But nooooo, that's too much to ask, isn't it? ISN'T IT?! So instead I/we am/are forced to be within three feet of your chewing and grunting. You are awful. Just, just awful...
But disrobing? Not so much. Not so much, that is, until last night.
Last night I was riding the train home and waiting in the vestibule(?) for my stop. Why wasn't I sitting? Glad you asked! I wasn't sitting because the guy who I had been sitting next to kept nodding off. He was in the aisle seat, so whenever I see someone nodding off in the aisle seat, for some reason I picture him passing-the-fuck-out and being unresponsive to my pleas for him to move so I can get out of the seat. So then I'm left with no other option but to crawl over him, because if I don't, I'm going to miss my stop, and then I'm going to be late for dinner and it's friggin breakfast-for-dinner night. Fuck, why am I always late on breakfast-for-dinner night? But just as I'm climbing over this guy, he awakens to me crawling over him, and gets violently angry, and we have a fight that spills out onto the platform. And I'm bobbing and weaving but at the same time telling this guy to give up, because even though I'm really doing a paint job on his face, I think he's learned his lesson already. That's when all of a sudden the guy slips and accidentally falls into the path of an oncoming train! FUCK! Yeah, he's not going to make it. Then I'm sent to prison where I'm forced to join a gang of Aryans so the Esse's and gangbangers and Adabisi from Oz don't rape me repeatedly. All because sleepyhead over here can't stay awake for twenty minutes. Hint, it's called coffee, try some, jerk.
By the way, you can thank my mom for encouraging my vivid imagination instead of telling me to shut up and shipping me off to the Ukraine to work in the plutonium mines for eighteen hours a day.
What was I talking about? Ah, the vestibule, right.
So I was in the vestibule waiting for my stop and I got a whiff of something funky. At first I assumed someone was eating a Greek Salad or a block of Feta wrapped with salami, because people are terrible and they eat terrible things and they sure-as-fuck don't care about you. But I didn't see anyone eating anything in my general vicinity. Naturally, I sniffed myself, just in case, but smelled nothing except petunias and baby powder because I smell amazing all the time. Then my search shifted to the area around me, hoping to find the source of the smell. I knew it was strong because my nose has been broken several times and my sense of smell is terrible.
And that's when I saw some guy's stocking feet.
Now, if there is anything in this world that I hate above all else, it's feet. GROSS. Excuse me while I barf for twenty minutes because feet are fucking repulsive. I once worked with a guy who had a foot fetish and wanted to have him committed because I could not comprehend how a person could even like, let alone love, someone's sweaty and dirty feet. Feet smell. Toenails are disgusting and weird. Ever see an old person's toenail? It looks like a piece of yellow ocean glass that's been rubbed against a rock for 1,400 years. Feet grow fungi. Feet get weird diseases. Feet have wispy hair on them. Feet sit inside horrible shoes all day long. I can go on and on, but if I do, I am going to jump out the window and never finish this rambling post that I'm sure everyone is still reading because it's so concise and so clever and not at all rambling.
So, there was this guy sitting in a seat with his shoes off. He was a businessman, wearing a nice suit and a nice watch, reading the Wall Street Journal, so I assume he makes a decent living. And based on that assumption, I assume he can afford FUCKING SHOES THAT ARE COMFORTABLE ENOUGH TO KEEP ON AT ALL TIMES!!!
I would love a word with this man in a non-confrontational setting. Like the edge of the cliff. You see, you cannot do this, sir. Someone should take you to jail. How can someone justify this? Your dogs are barking, you're on the train, why not just slip these here Ferragamo shoes right off and let those babies breath? Why not? I'll tell you why not: becuase no one wants to smell and/or see your fucking feet! If we took a poll, not one person would check the box that said - "Yes, I want to see and smell Joe Schmo's feet." Who does this? Who thinks this is okay? Did your mom tell you this was okay? I bet she did because you seem like a self-entitled prick who can do no wrong in the eyes of dear-old-mom. Well guess what, friend, your mom is wrong. And she has a mild cocaine habit. Great role model. So I guess it's really no wonder that you're ruining everyone's day because you want to pretend you're at a fucking sleepover party. Who brought the Ouija Board? Oh, I did! (claps hands repeatedly and jumps up and down).
Oh wait, I forgot - this is not a sleepover. It's a train ride. And I am fucking standing right here and I can smell the feet you have exposed, and that's gotta be some form of assault. So put on your goddamn shoes and suffer like the rest of mankind before someone cuts them off with a chainsaw.
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