la cucaracha

I have encountered this weekend a "first" in my little manhattan apartment. It happened when I opened a drawer in the kitchen, and saw out of the corner of my eye some sort of unexpected movement. It was, I dare say, a cockroach - but a little one.

To my huge surprise, I didn't freak out. I didn't scream, I didn't cry, I didn't freeze in terror. I simply tried to get the bug. I was unsuccessful, of course, because they are fast little fuckers, and when I gave up my search and considered my unpanicked reaction, I realized this...

All those nasty jurassic creatures I encountered in Boston, those dirty gazillion-legged little assassins that hid in the shower and pantry, those horrid incidents were all preparation for this, my first run-in with a new york cockroach. Compared to the centipedes (I seriously almost vomit just typing the word), these roaches are a walk in the park. I mean sure, I still immediately grabbed several shoes to arm my hands and feet for attack. And sure, I was holding a giant butcher knife as some sort of idiotic defense (but really, mostly because it was in the drawer and I had to move it), but I assure you that the sense of panic and despair was absolutely minimal as compared to the - you know, the ones with all the legs.

So, the hunt continues. I will find this dirty little asshole roach, and I will kill him. And I know that it is just him, that he is alone, because that's what I want to believe. Clearly, the Boston Bug Community hasn't relayed word yet to their New York affiliates that I guarantee death, even if I don't have a braver roommate to handle it for me. You're as good as dead, little cucaracha.

did you hear something?

One of my biggest fears that occurs on a daily basis is that I'm going to leave the house, put my earphones in, crank the volume on my (non-ipod) mp3 player, and wind up oblivious to any one of the million things that could injure, dismember, kill, or embarrass me.

One day, this meant getting nearly mowed down by a giant cement truck backing out of a construction site. Apparently he was beep-beep-beeping, but I was busy jam-jam-jamming to the Sneaker Pimps. Another day, this meant missing the spontaneous announcement on the train that it was going to run express and skip my stop, sending me into a haze of confusion when "two stops" got me 10 stations away from my destination.

But really, one of my biggest concerns is that while I'm standing on a practically silent train, music blasting into my ears, I will have no idea that people are looking around to find out where a strange squeaking sound is emanating from, and only when one pair of eyes after another turns to me, and I cautiously remove my earbuds, only then will I discover that a squeaking booger in my nose has been reverberating throughout the car.

Every day, at least once in the morning, I remove my headphones and furiously wiggle my nose to prevent any squeaky boogs from developing. I'm particularly self-conscious on the days where I had a squeaky booger to begin with, before I even left the house. You know, those ones that when you first hear, you turn your head to the left then the right trying to identify the location of the sound only to discover it seems to be following your breathing pattern, and then you realize it is coming FROM you, from inside your nasal cavity, and you blow and you pick and you check the mirror and no matter what you do there's still this internal mouselike squeak coming from your inner nasal passages? Yeah, you know what I mean.

So anyhow, I expect that one of these days I'll be standing on the train, music on, absentmindedly reading my book or paper or whatever arbitrary advertisement is located above my head, when some concerned passenger taps me lightly on the shoulder and says "Excuse me ma'am, but...your nose is squeaking. We can all hear it, and it's driving us crazy. In fact, I can see the dangling booger right there, in your left nostril. If you wouldn't mind...could you...you know...attend to the situation?"

Seriously. Any day now.

injury/mini-post

So this morning, getting off the damn train at the "green light" stop mentioned yesterday, and getting bottlenecked at the door, I experienced the very normal scenario where the "Stand clear of the closing doors!" announcement occurred before I was even off the train (let alone anyone had gotten on it). Usually you get 2 or 3 announcements just to scare you and get you to hustle. Today, we got half of ONE. "Stand clear of the--WHAP!" Before I knew what was happening, I was being shoved with linebacker-like force, launching me haphazardly into the open arms of people waiting to board the train. Upon realizing it was the fucking door that shoved me, I gazed angrily down the track at the outstretched head of the asshole who pushed that button while the open arms around me redirected their efforts to holding the doors open so at least two or three people could get on the damn train.

I tell ya. I survived three separate beatings by elevator doors yesterday only to get assaulted by the train doors today. I need some body armor!

this is why I need a hand-held air horn.

Many mornings, like today, I find myself amazed at the remarkable similarities between riding a subway and driving a car. It's the people. People are still commuter assholes no matter WHAT their vehicle.

First there's that whole dance on the subway train. I stand here, I hold there, I sit here, right hand on red, left foot on green. Whenever someone abandons a seat or vacates a standing space, the whole crowd re-orders themselves. This is like a traffic jam, when one lane advances faster than another, and everyone tries to get into that lane. But when they do, their old lane moves faster, so everyone tries to get in THAT lane.

Then there's exiting the train. This is kinda like when a big intersection gets a green light, except all the other streets get a green light at the same time. You still jockey for position, hoping that wise lane selection (or train car selection) and a jump on the timing will get you there (the turnstile) first, but really, unless you're the first car at the green light or the first person out the door, you still hurry up and go no where.

Then comes my favorite part: the stand here and wait. Getting up the stairs to street level is the stop-and-go nightmare of commuters at 33rd street. Often, you can't even get through the turnstiles. If you can, you have to merge with like 14 other "lanes" of people to get up the stairs. But this, this is where all human stupidity is alike.

The stairs are wide enough for three, and EXACTLY three, lanes of people. This, under normal, logical conditions, means two lanes up, one lane down. But someone is ALWAYS trying to pass in the breakdown lane. ALWAYS!! And this forces the logic-abiding citizens to slam on their brakes, causing a domino effect of delays that trickles down the stairwell. And, the bitch in front of me had NO brake lights. She didn't slow to a stop. She just...STOPPED! And while that annoyed the hell out of me, I know it wasn't her fault, but the fault of the asshole who was trying to go UP the DOWN lane--violating all pedestrian laws, and forcing the rest of us to a screeching halt when someone--and I know this is a big surprise--was coming DOWN the down lane, and Asshole had to merge with us.

Rest assured, as I sat there, unmoving, crammed, smushed, sweating, and looking up the long stairwell from the absolute bottom, I knew that if I was properly armed with a canned airhorn, I would have opened it up on this dick. Everybody's gotta be in such a damn rush! HOOOOOOOONK!!!

i hate when i'm right.

Last night, through a half-sleeping haze (or maybe it was a dream altogether), I envisioned three things happening to me today to really make my morning unpleasant.

As I was walking up the hill to the subway, I wondered if my cell phone was on vibrate. I always hate when I forget to turn off the ringer, then in the middle of my cemetary-like office everyone get a little Salsa serenade. So I try to turn off the ringer. But halfway through this thought process, I realized my phone wasn't even in my bag. It was at home, plugged in, sitting on the shelf, exactly where I left it. Vision #1: Forgetting cell phone on a day when I may need it to meet up with people - Check!

I got to the subway, and descended the 3 levels of hell required to get to the platform. There were waaay to many people there, which meant the trains were fucked up. I waited and waited and waited. About 10 minutes later, a train finally came, but blared its horn to say "Hey you sorry, sweaty bastards - we're gonna go RIGHT past you!" A common groan fell over the perspiring crowd. We'd have to wait - and sweat - a little longer. Vision #2: Trains being messed up and making me late for work, and being unable to call because I had no phone - Check.

Having 2 out of 3 visions succeed thus far, I got a little nervous about the last one. I pushed and elbowed my way onto the train when one finally stopped, and grabbed the rail and hoped I didn't have tremendous pit-stains, or at least that if I did have them, everyone else did too. Suspecting that the trains were still going to be flakey and possibly skip stops (like the shithead who passed us minutes earlier), I pulled out one of my earphones to listen to announcements.

We went one stop, and a crazyman got on. I could barely hear what he was saying, but I made out words like "America" and "freedom" and started to sense an overall paranoia on my fellow passengers' faces. I started to do the math in my head: a completely over-crowded train, a lunatic who hates America, and alas, my third vision, which is too scary to really explain but involved a madman America-hater on the train. Suddenly, I started to believe I was going to die at the hands of a lunatic, a fear I haven't felt since the last time I was in the car with my father.

Obviously, because I'm here to write about it, my third fear was just some subconcious creation of too much news feed and not enough sleep. (And maybe a dash of a paranoia-inducing movie last night.) But either way, I can't believe I forgot my damn cell phone. I hate that.