Dear man on the 6 train:
The man who thinks my size 6 body can fit in a space big enough for a toddler. I hope you diaf. I was going to write something witty and sarcastic, but I wasn’t sure you would understand me.
Love, big ole me
Category: Work
It started with the yogurt. When I was on Weight Watchers I started eating non-fat Greek yogurt, the reason being Greek yogurt is high in protein (18g in 6 ounces of plain non-fat Greek yogurt, 9g in 6 ounces of regular non-fat yogurt). This guy, (who’ll I’ll call Guy) walks back and asks what I’m eating, after telling him he says “Oh fancy yogurt.” From then on he called it “Your special fancy yogurt.” which really pissed me off. It was more the way he said it, which to me sounded like, “Oh you think you’re so special (better than everybody else) you have to have special fancy yogurt.” Like my ‘specialness went that far’. NO I think I’m fat and need to lose weight. When I tried explaining it to him, in an effort to get him to stop saying it, Guy insisted that’s not how he meant it. He meant it as a compliment.
Fast forward to this week, Guy and I go get lunch, I got chicken cutlet with mixed vegetables. The deli gave us plastic forks, which I don’t like using, so when we got back to the office I went to my cubicle and got a flatware fork. Immediately he says, “Oh you had to get your fancy fork.” I almost stabbed him with it. It’s not fancy, I’ve had plastic forks break when stuck into food, sometimes they won’t stick into food the tines bend, if I had been by myself (which is how I prefer to have my lunch) I would have told the deli people I didn’t need a fork. If I had brought my plate he would have said “You had to get your special plate” (oh wait, my plate is special, it’s heart shaped and says LOVE on it). You might be thinking why don’t I just say “No” when he asks me to get lunch with him? It’s not just that he pays for lunch, if I say “No, I brought my lunch” then for the next month he goes on about how hurt he was, how if it was him, he would have left his lunch for the next day. Reinforcing the “You think your so special, better than everybody else.” I’m not special, I’m an introvert and need my alone time.
Then there’s the favorites, my FAVORITE deli, and if I find a new place I like, your FAVORITE new place. All with that special inflection on favorite that makes me want to spit. There’s a word for what you’re doing Guy, its called “HARASSMENT”.
As you know I have the job of cleaning the refrigerator every Friday, that means I throw out leftovers and spoiled food. I find it hilarious that this is my responsibility, my refrigerator at home has beer, energy drinks, pitcher of water and a carton of milk in it. Even more hilarious is despite being a single girl living alone in Manhattan whose idea of ‘gourmet’ cooking is stirring a spoonful of hot sauce into her boxed macaroni and cheese, I apparently know more about food storage than you do.
For instance, I know that if you leave strawberries in the refrigerator for three weeks they get all this nice gray fuzz on them. Except its not nice, IT’S DISGUSTING!
It is probably a good thing I don’t know who you are, since you would probably have found moldy strawberries in your desk on Monday. So to keep things nice it would be better if you didn’t come to my desk and complain about the fact that I threw out your berries. We really don’t want to find out if I actually took my Workplace Violence training to heart.
Love, ME
I stopped writing about my commute because I was tired of writing the same thing everyday. I figured everyone must be tired of reading it too. Then I changed to the #4 and it just sat there! There were 5 million people on the train and it only holds 2 million etc. Anyway, things have changed in my commute.
The first thing is my route to the subway station has changed. This is the sidewalk I normally walk on to get to the subway. I don’t know what they are doing here but the sidewalk is almost completely blocked off. This picture was taken on my way home, in the morning the workers are there and you can’t walk up nearly this far. So they have made a ‘pedestrian walkway’.
Which is just cones put out on the road to re-direct traffic, and this is a rather narrow road, it makes more sense to walk on the sidewalk on the other side of the street. Which I would do except,
They are working on the entrance to the subway, so I have to cross the street anyway. So walking down to 96th Street is really the best way to go except, there is a fruit stand at 95th and 3rd where I like to get my breakfast, and being human I am a creature of habit and automatically turn left at 95th street. I also don’t like having to change my routine. After two years of walking the same way to the subway I have to do something different and it annoys me. So I come here to vent and to post pictures, I am really just trying to get back into the habit of writing so if this bores you or YOU are annoyed that with all the bad things happening lately I am going on about having to change my routine, I’m sorry I’m not sorry. Meaning I don’t feel bad about writing this. Because of all the bad that happened last week, I need to get back to my routine and the MTA is not helping! If you are still reading this, thank you for reading and I promise I’ll get better.
One day last week I went to work without putting my contacts in. I noticed something was wrong when I was standing on the subway platform and couldn’t read the signs. Don’t ask me how I got from my apartment to the subway without noticing nothing was in focus, apparently my brain was in a fog and my legs were on autopilot. After all the subway is always in the same place.
Going shopping after work was an adventure and I discovered advantages and disadvantages to shopping without glasses. The disadvantage was not being able to see down the aisles and having to walk down each one to find canned black beans. The advantage was being able to read the labels without putting on my reading glasses.
After walking 26+2 (that’s 26 blocks up and 2 over) blocks from the subway, in my new dress shoes, in the rain, my feet hurt, however it is making me forget the pain in my back. It’s a long story and it involves the evil green train on the subway line from hell.
My book was in at the library, or so the e-mail said, however when I got to the library it wasn’t in the hold room, and learning that I needed to go up to the customer service desk, where I had already been and had been sent away, I just decided to leave. I snuck out through the side door so the nice lady at the information desk wouldn’t see me. Some of the people at that library are nice, some are ….. not. Em sent me a text asking me to reschedule her appointment at the nail salon, since I was already in mid-town I stopped at the salon, then I walked to 33rd and Park to get on the subway. Not having received any alerts about the 6 train I was expecting a normal commute home.
As I approached the gate I could see a train at the platform, and it was packed, people were hanging out of it, the platform was as packed at the train. 3 trains later I was able to squeeze on, and I do mean squeeze. There was no way I could reach a pole or a door or anything to hand onto, so I was trying to balance and sway with the crowds. A couple of stops into the ride a seat opened up, people were still jam packed in, but at least I could sit, until we got to 68th street, when the train was put out of service.
This sounds really cold of me but I have to say it, DON’T GET ON THE SUBWAY IF YOU’RE SICK! Or if you have the slightest idea you might get sick, don’t get on the train. PLEASE! Yes I realize someone could be perfectly fine and suddenly have an attack of scurvy and need medical attention, but most of the time I am sure it is a person who isn’t feeling well and just had to go …. somewhere …. on the subway, and then realized they were too sick to travel. Just, stay off the fucking train if you’re sick!
We got off the packed train to an equally packed platform and it took me at least 10 minutes to get to the exit, people were inching along, there were so many people on the platform that the people leaving had to wiggle along single file. I had to get out of the crowd, my claustrophobia was approaching panic levels, also I could see myself having to wait for 3 more trains before I could squeeze on, and I had no idea how long that would take. So I got out, figured out which way was Uptown and started walking. When my feet started to really hurt I thought I could stop, then I remembered I had no money to stop and kept walking. If I had been wearing my sneakers it wouldn’t have been so bad, but I just bought new shoes and wanted to wear them. After all I don’t do that much walking at work so I could break in the shoes there, well they got broken in, so did my feet. Even in my crocs I’m hobbling around my apartment.
Once again I say, I hate the green train. 😛
There is now proof that the Green Train is an instrument of Satan. There is a big picture of a girl with butterflies coming out of her mouth and everyone knows butterflies are evil. Well, my best friend will tell you butterflies are evil.
Actually it is just an ad for a movie coming out August 30 called “Possession”. Can you picture the audition for the girl?
‘So can you roll your eyes back into your head? Let’s see. No all the way back, now spit out butterflies!’
The train is crowded but there is space for me, I just fit inside the door. The woman beside me has enormous …. is very well endowed (should that be hyphenated?) and every time she sways she bumps into me with her ….
When the doors open I pop out. I’ve escaped! And I run, because I don’t want them to catch me and shove me back onto the crowded six train. So far, I haven’t been caught.
Everyday is an adventure. 😛
I learned how to embed tweets.
Olive jars and tea tins are useful.twitpic.com/9063zv
— Foxx in UES (@Foxx_UES) March 23, 2012
Isn’t that cool? As for what I was tweeting, I put paper clips in the olive jar and binder clips in the tea tin. I put labels on them too with my handy dandy label maker.
Yes I didn’t feel like working today.
Dear person with luggage,
WTF are you doing bringing luggage on a rush hour train!
Love, Me
Dear Fluffy mom with fluffy children,
You do not ask them to do you a favor. You tell them, “Do this for me because I’m your mother and I gave you life.”
Love, Me
Belleza
just a (transplanted) city girl 