What I Say to People on the Metro

Caution: The following post has explicit language, not advisable to read out loud nor to young children. Someone may be offended...sorry...or am I?

Everyday, on the metro, I do the most cussing I have ever done in my life. Probably more than my occasional road-range antics, and probably more than when I am cursing the bane of my existence--long homework that I have put off for the last minute...again. When I am underneath the city's gravel, vegetation, and homes, I am sure to find a multitude of people that will piss me off:

To the man idly standing on the left passing lane of the escalators, even though he sees everyone standing on the right as they should be, I say, "Thanks for blocking the way asshole. You see everyone on the right; why don't you give it a try so you don't have to move out of my damn way next time."

To the teen rebel donning facial piercing and baggy jeans, who is also sitting between two seats, inconsiderate of not just me but also to the poor woman struggling to hold a load of baggage, I say, "You don't need the leg room, you piece of shit! There is nothing between them anyways."

From two carts over, I say, "Shut the fuck up! We don't care!" to the group of American girls "chatting" a little over boisterously about all the things they LOVE when I'm sure they don't even like 50% of it...I mean, who loves Ikea scissors?

However, during rush hour periods, like the rush to work, the rush to lunch, or the rush home post-work, is when I say the really rich stuff. But especially in the mornings, because that's when I am at my worst and simply want to be left alone:

As my claustrophobia starts acting up, and my heart starts racing faster than I my eyes can blink, I tell the metro conductor that he's a cock-sucking, shit-eating, motherfucker for allowing too many people on the damn metro. I can barely keep it together, and I hear other people start panicking because others behind them are pushing them into a cart, that can probably hold about 50 people but is now pushing 80, as the doors start to close.

As I try to unravel my scarf and unzip my coat, praying to get to the next platform before I really lose it, I tell the mother next to me that she, is in fact, a selfish bitch for bringing her young child, who can barely breathe himself, onto an over packed cart. I try to look for a small piece of air to call my own, to try to help my heart and breathing slow down to a more normal pace. When, and if, I finally find it I tell the girl, usually a little taller and about an inch away from my face, to go...screw...a cactus, as the sweet stench of her breakfast infiltrates the tiny piece of space that I can hardly try to even call my own--if only for the fact that my mere body mass is taking it up.

When we get to the next platform I analyze the on-to-off ratio and decide whether I can continue or if I should get off. I can usually continue, but there has been an unbearable instance or two when I couldn't. "Get out of my way, you sardine-loving mofos," I say as I fight to squeeze my way out of the masses, sometimes throwing in an elbow or stepping on a foot. I barely make it out of the suction tube and onto the platform as the doors swiftly shut behind me. Keep in mind that all these things happen within a time span from one platform to the next...a matter of about 1 minute.

To all these people, I really do say all these things, secretly inside my head, as my mother taught me to always be lady-like and considerate.