Thursday, May 22, 2008
F*ck The Goddam F*cking L F*cking Train
You know, usually I either ride my bike to work or, if I have enough fairy dust in the cupboard, I ride my magic flying innertube. But some days it's raining (and my magic innertube does not perform well in the rain, no matter how much fairy dust or lube I use). Which means that some dark days, I have to use the train. Which, in my case, because I live in dreamy Greenpoint, means I have to take the God-forsaken L train, the Worst Train in the World Since the Beginning of Time, as proclaimed by Shitty and Useless F*cking Train Monthly every month, forever and ever.
What the f*ck is wrong with this train? Why is it so hard to get a load of skinny hipster idiots from the western edge of Brooklyn into the Greatest City in the World™ in less than 45 minutes. Why must it crawl through the East River tunnel like a freaking slug? Why does it stop for 5 minutes at every station?
And, God, why are there so many assholes? So many.
Here's how deadened folks are to the insanity of the L: on a recent rainy day, I stepped into a carriage and as the doors smugly closed behind me I caught the unmistakable stench of straight-up doo-doo. Like someone had just dropped one on the freaking floor or something. And noone else on the train seemed to notice. Is that how numb people are to the L's indignities? I mean, I don't sleep on flower petals at night. I sweat and stink just like normal people. If I notice the smell of sh*t, so should everyone else.
One rainy, destructive morning, I caught the L at Graham Avenue and on the platform was a completely naked woman strolling back and forth and back and forth, strung out as hell. I swear to God it was the L train did that to her. Last year she was probably a corporate attorney.
Well, screw it, I hereby declare that, unless I’m forced to by the terrorists or David Byrne, I’m never commuting to work on the L train again. I’ll take the f*cking G—the G, people! That’s how desperate things are—to the E and go over the river and through the woods before taking that retarded train again. Mark my words. Or don’t, I don’t care.