Inhuman Swill : Transit

Uh-oh! Oreo!

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Oreo mayhem
Oreo packet,
rip'd open and crush'd on the
subway floor. Tragic.

—for the kid in all of us

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Strike two

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Was fortunate enough this morning to have some friends driving to Woodside at 6:00 am to catch the Long Island Railroad into Penn Station. Though our train was running 14 minutes late, it was still a pretty quick trip into the city. I walked to the office from Penn Station, and I was here by 7:30 am.

It's good we left early. One of my traveling companions reports: "[So-and-so] just called me from Woodside - said he got there at 7 and is still waiting to be able to get on a train - it's 8:30!"

Not sure yet exactly how I'll be getting home this evening, but I had to come into the office today. I could have worked from home, like I did yesterday, but it's just easier to get work done in the office. And I wanted to be one of those intrepid New Yorkers who doesn't let a little transit strike keep him from getting to work!

Laura biked into the city today and yesterday, but with temperatures in the 20s she's coming down with a cold! Can't do that again tomorrow!

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It's a sad failing of mine, I know, but I'm afraid I can't get out of everyone's way at once.

This is only a problem because you wouldn't let me get to the empty space at the center of the train.

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See, if you would move into the empty space at the center of the train, I wouldn't have to bump you trying to get to the empty space at the center of the train myself.

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Sure, everyone's got baggage, but...

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So I'm getting onto an extremely crowded 6 train this morning at 59th St./Lexington, moving smoothly across the train through the narrow corridor left in the wake of the commuters just debarked, when suddenly I trip and am falling, falling toward two stout women and a baby. I catch myself inches from disaster—and believe me, this is a pratfall worthy of Dick Van Dyke in the making—by grabbing the pole directly between the two women, and I mutter a faint "Sorry," abashed.

Then I look down to see what I tripped over. Their shoulder bags, arrayed all around them on the floor.

Now I don't feel so stupid about tripping. What I feel stupid about is apologizing.

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The Accidental Terrorist 30th Anniversary Sale

Signed editions
that even a
missionary
could afford.

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William Shunn

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