Last Train Home

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Strange things happen on the subway.

See, I told you so.

Sometimes it's a mariachi band.  Sometimes it's a butterfly that got on at 42nd and off at 59th, where I assume it was going Bloomingdales to buy a hat that will turn out to be a mistake--as almost all hats are.

Last week, I saw a man get on the subway and proceed to do full-on yoga poses while the train was moving.  We're talking, push ups against the doors (pretty sure that's a no-no), downward facing dog, and everything.  He wasn't even wearing yoga clothes.  Street clothes, warrior three pose, the works.  Dude got off the train at the very next stop.

Then Sunday I went downtown to meet a friend for brunch at Peels.  You all know how much I adore brunch in New York.  It's a whole production, and most New Yorkers do brunch the way some people do church. (Don't worry, I go to church, too.)  So there I am on an early Sunday morning, reading my book between stops at Columbus Circle and Times Square.  And the woman sitting next to me is totally reading my book over my shoulder.  So not kidding.  Lady is leaned over reading what I am reading.  I feel like that's not ok, but I can't really figure out why.  Something about personal space.  Still.

And then, in a truly classic, only in New York moment, this happened...

There I am, listening to music, enjoying a perfectly wonderful Friday afternoon on my way to Chelsea Market, and I notice the cute guy across the subway car looking my direction.  Now, lots of creepy, strange people exist on the subways, but it's a little more rare for well-dressed, professional looking cute guys to exist on the subway.  So I notice the cute guy noticing me, and start to wonder...  You all know what I'm talking about.  You do it too.

And then I realize I'm sitting in front of the subway map.  Cute boy is just trying to figure out where his stop is.  Dang it.

Story of my life.

Strange things happen on the subway.

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