Amid the waves of faceless, ground-staring, ear-plugged drones that cycle on and off the subway each day, there are the superstars. Those men and women who spend what would seem like perpetuity underground, as if the musty confines of the subway is the only place they can flourish. And flourish they shall. For they are the hidden headliners of the transit system, or as I’ve come to know them, the festering d*ck sores of my day.
Now, before you say to me, “Hey El Guapo, you try to make it as a violinist for a living,” I want you to know that I'm not even referring to those people with actual talent. They don’t bother anyone. Their music might, but they never even go on the actual train; they just sit on the platform and do their thing, like impressively drumming the shit out of 5-gallon buckets. If you want to give them cash, you can. If not, that’s cool too. No pressure.
My beef, however, is with the people who make each ride you spend with them the worst kind of nightmare. Kind of like the one where you find yourself completely naked standing in front of hundreds of chicks with nowhere to go. Only this nightmare is worse, because you’re not just naked. Oh no, in this terror, the persistent wind chill has your dick hanging like a dwarf's and everyone is in an uproar about it.
Everyday these parasites infiltrate the subway armed with one of two motives. Either they want your money or the joy from your day.
Mariachi Bands
Say what you will about Mexicans as a people, but those fuckers respect the pageantry. Their incessant playing of their native music is audibly offensive, but just look at the picture above. Head-to-toe legit. Even if it’s 100 degrees outside they never break from their traditional Mexican-American garb -- which for some reason is more cowboy than it is Mariachi. But nonetheless, it keeps them looking authentic and, on those humid summer days, stinking like an onion grove.
Kid With Something to Sell
You need me to buy something from you so you can pay for what? Your little league uniform? College? Look Dickfart, you've been on this exact train for the last 4 years giving me the same dog and pony show about how you're selling candy so you can covertuition at some made-up school in Virginia. First, I'm not falling for your cockamamie scheme and second, maybe you wouldn't be so fucking poor if you sold something other than Welch's Fruit snacks.
Bullrushers
What about this whole on/off process are you having difficulty with? Well, that’s a loaded fucking question, because clearly you’re having trouble with every aspect of it. People exit the subway car; then, and only then, YOU get on. This is very simple for the rest of us, so what the fuck is the snag for you, women and old Asian men?
Old Cunt Who Thinks Your Seat Is Hers
Naturally, she thinks this because she’s an old cunt. And God knows, old cunts be trippin'…
Aspiring Rapper
I see this far too often. And that’s alarming because I fear that people think this looks cool enough to copy. I assure you, it’s not. Every time it starts the exact same way. I look over and I’m like “Oh fuck yeah! This clown with his pants at his ankles is taking a seizure!” Then I stop and realize he is just scratching his invisible record as he begins to publicly rap on the subway. This moment will no doubt vault him into stardom. Because, you know, all the big-name record execs slum it with the rest of us on the underground railroad.
Obnoxiously Loud Groups of Idiots
I don’t know what it is with these fucking people. They’re starving for attention. The moment they get on the train they speak at unheard of decibel levels. In fact, I was on the train a few weeks ago, and this group of motley Asian teens walked on. They were more annoying than an un-wiped asshole, being boisterous and loud, but then shit turned real when they began calling each other “nigga.” I was like “What the fuck did you just say? Nigga? Really?” Then some black dude actually said that same shit I was thinking but out loud. The Asians didn’t know whether to shit or go blind. And now that I think about it, as painful as these situations tend to be, that instance was fantastic. I only wish it ended in violence.
The Starer
There are two kinds in this world: the creepy and the hard. Usually the subway has the creepy kind and they always seem to be middle-aged men. Again, this part of train etiquette isn't difficult to grasp: you can stare at the ground, the ads, the ceiling, yourself in the door’s reflection, or hot chicks. Nothing else. So unless you yourself are a gorgeous broad, or your entire body is a mirror, don’t stare at me. Because I don’t want to have to keep looking back at you for you knock it the fuck off.
Homeless People
The homeless are a total crapshoot. Their game changes underground. On the earth’s surface, you can generally escape them -- if you can’t take a hobo in a footrace you should be fuckin’ shot. But down in the subway, you’re on their turf. And as I see it they fall into three categories:
» The Sleeper
He may be quiet and sleeping -- because he is moments from death -- but that doesn’t make up for the fact that he smells like an exploding ball of shit. It’s unfathomable that a human being can reek like a cheap cigar put out in a pile of feces, but he manages.
He may be quiet and sleeping -- because he is moments from death -- but that doesn’t make up for the fact that he smells like an exploding ball of shit. It’s unfathomable that a human being can reek like a cheap cigar put out in a pile of feces, but he manages.
» The Wild Card
His intentions are more unknown than his incoherent psycho-babble. Is he homeless? Is he a genius? Can he really take the devil out of my soul? Who knows, but holy shit, he’s coming right for me. Head down, “Dear God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far far away. Dear God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far far away.” Don't judge me, it worked for Jenny in “Forrest Gump” and she had AIDS.
His intentions are more unknown than his incoherent psycho-babble. Is he homeless? Is he a genius? Can he really take the devil out of my soul? Who knows, but holy shit, he’s coming right for me. Head down, “Dear God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far far away. Dear God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far far away.” Don't judge me, it worked for Jenny in “Forrest Gump” and she had AIDS.
» The Speech Giver
Have you seen this tragedy? After the train takes off, the homeless dude strategically pops in from another car and then all of a sudden “Ladies and Gentleman, my name is Luther Jenkins and I fought in the Korean War.” Meanwhile, the dude is like 40 years old. “The government took my home, my money, and all I have left is the Lord.” Don’t forget about those near-mint Nikes you are rocking. But good work bringing God into it. That always yields financial results. “Please, if you can spare anything: a few dollars, a quarter, a couple hundred Marlboro Miles, anything at all, I would really appreciate it. God bless you.” The God kicker… always a nice touch.
Have you seen this tragedy? After the train takes off, the homeless dude strategically pops in from another car and then all of a sudden “Ladies and Gentleman, my name is Luther Jenkins and I fought in the Korean War.” Meanwhile, the dude is like 40 years old. “The government took my home, my money, and all I have left is the Lord.” Don’t forget about those near-mint Nikes you are rocking. But good work bringing God into it. That always yields financial results. “Please, if you can spare anything: a few dollars, a quarter, a couple hundred Marlboro Miles, anything at all, I would really appreciate it. God bless you.” The God kicker… always a nice touch.
Then, like a dumpy stripper who just left the pole with no money, this idiot busts out his tin-can and starts eyeballing everyone “like did you just see my pathetic speech?” And what kills me, like absolutely slays me, is people actually give him money. HE DOESN’T EVEN STINK LIKE SHIT YET! You never give money to a hobo with decent shoes and no odor. Fuck!
I’ve easily heard this speech 40 to 50 different times in the years that I’ve lived in NYC. There's got to be some school for homeless people that hands out different variations of this “Woe is me,” speech. In fact, you can’t convince me otherwise.
So there you have it. The top 10 worst people I've encountered on a subway. They also just so happen to be reasons # 2-11 why I work from home most days of the week. Reason #1 is, of course, a sterile shitter.
