What Not to Say When On the MTA.

Fair Reader,

This past Saturday, as the A Train was on the fritz, I was forced to take a bus from Jay Street to Hoyt-Schermerhorn to meet a friend at Cobble Hill for drinks. When I took my seat at the back of the bus (where all dem thugz and gentz hangz outz), there was a beefy young lass talking animatedly on her cell phone not too far from where I sat. I entered her conversation at perhaps its tamest point, in which she talked about all things weed with her friend. Here is the first part of the transcript from my notes (and yes, I did take notes)

BEEFY YOUNG LASS: “Don’t get high without me. I ain’t going to the party without getting high. I hate them shitz when I’m not fucked up.”

I noticed a mother with her young child seated not to far from the lass, and the mother appeared nonplussed by the Lass’ loud chatter. But then the Beefy lass really opened things up when she asked her friend why she was laughing.

BEEFY YOUNG LASS: “What’s he doing to you? Is he ticking your clitoris? Stop laughing, stupid! He’s tickling your clitoris, isn’t he?

"He"

This portion of the conversation had most of the bus staring uncomfortably at the floor. But the lass soon sensed that her chat was inappropriate for the mother and child seated near hear. With that, she promptly ended the phone call. I did not learn whether her friend was having her genitalia tickled, or did I wish to know.

As you may remember from last week’s entry, I shall be 30 in less than a month’s time. In looking back at the folly of my 20s, I think the one mistake I made was thinking that since my Mother, Dame Renata the Gentleman, was able to use public transportation without overhearing conversations about pot smoking and clitoris tickles, I, too, would be spared. Sadly this is not the case. Woe is me, oh terrible despair, etc.

I jest, of course. If there is a lesson here, it would be to abstain from talking about weed and genitals while using public transportation. Public transportation, despite the occasional flare up, is quite peaceful. Save for that insufferable blind man who sings “Don’t you think I’m sexy” on the F train every single bloody night, subway and bus rides are normally tame affairs. Unless of course you’re one of those sorry sods who delights in making people feel uncomfortable during rides (read – an E.D.P (“Emotionally Disturbed Person”)). As this piece of advice wasn’t obvious enough, please watch your language when on public transportation. And think of the children.

A presto,
EtG