Old Commute Post 06/11/08 (Fran Drescher)

*****Warning, this post contains foul language which may be inappropriate for younger readers*****

This is another blog from my old site that came to mind…

Ok, last night I stopped by to see my friend Tony after a marathon dash through SoHo with Melissa. The evening ended with Tony and I on the corner trying to (unsuccessfully) catch a cab. After 20 minutes of waiting on one side of the street I crossed to the other. About 20 feet from me a cab stopped to let out its fare. I held the door as it opened. From behind a barrier I had a woman (running from wherever) scream at me that the cab was HERS and that she had been waiting for a cab and that he stopped for HER. There was no way (other than climbing up and over a five foot barrier) for her to get to the cab. I explained he did not stop for her per se but to let people out. She is by this time red faced and SCREAMING at me about it being her cab. I lean in the door and say to the driver, “Yo buddy, did you stop for her? Cause if you did I will give it to her.” In a thick accent the guy replies, “I don’t want that crazy woman in my cab!”… So, as I hopped into the cab she screamed “You cunt!” To which I giggled a shouted back, “Yeah, but this cunt is in YOUR cab!”

Ok, wrong of me to take the final stab there but come on! It is NYC. You either lay hands on the door to acknowledge ownership of the cab or you shrug your shoulders and say, “shit, I missed that one!”

Fast forward to this morning, mere hours later…

If you read my blog with any regularity you will have heard my theory on commuters and their routines. I had fallen into the routine of standing next to the same gum splotch every morning because I knew that the doors of my train would open just a mere three inches to the right of it. More regular than bran. I knew that mine would be the second seat from the rear of the section of train where I entered. I knew that Brian was my conductor and that he had a wife and two lovely children. How do I know these things? Routine. You do the same thing every morning, you see the same people every morning. You develop a routine.

In November I moved into my new place in East Rockaway. I LOVE my new place. There was only one setback – I used to live directly across from the Lynbrook LIRR train station. Now I have to walk (or drive) a couple of blocks to the East Rockaway train station. Not bad really, just had to develop a routine. And so I have. There is an indentation next to a sign on the platform that lets me know that the train that I take will stop and the doors will open within inches of either side of it. Every morning I get on the train and either three or four seats in there is a man who sits on the aisle. I tap him on the shoulder and he lets me sit by the window. Every morning we are forced to listen to a set of bitter Long Island hags that drone on and on about their personal life with no care in the world that the rest of the train is groaning or rolling their eyes because they would rather slit their own throats than listen to them drone on.

So this morning – my guy was not on the aisle and two perfect strangers to the train were sitting in my seat. (I know, how DARE they!?!) So without thought I quickly took another seat. For those of you unfamiliar with the Long Island Rail Road….there is a section of seats facing in one direction, a section facing in the opposite direction and where those two sections meet there are six seats (three by three) that face each other. In that section is where I found myself. In that section is the land of Fran Dresher HELL! This is where the dried up bitter old women sit and talk at the top of their lungs. Once I realized the error of my way, it was too late. They sat down, scowling disapprovingly. Disapprovingly because I have had run ins with these women before. (What, so I am vocal when people aggravate me. It is better than all the lemmings who sit in their seat miserable and do not speak up for themselves.)

So here I sit, listening about one’s husband Jonathan, the other saying that the government should extend unemployment, a third talking about something on her cell phone. So, you ask, where were my headphones? In my ears, shoved as far as possible with the volume on ten!!!! So, I decided to listen to TuPac, Biggie Smalls, Missy Elliott – anything with a loud beat and I LEANED on the hag next to me so she could partake of my musical selection as well.

The ride came to an end with my ever growing frustration. As we made it to the platform at Penn Station I removed my ear buds and turned to the women and said, “Ladies, every morning I sit in that third to the rear seat over there (point). And every morning I shove my ear buds into my ears so far they tickle the back of my belly button. Why you ask? To drown out your drivel. You treat these six seats as if it were your sofa, your personal living space. It is NOT. And it is unfair that you force all these good people on the train to listen to your crap!” The comments started flying at me:

*Sit somewhere else

*It isn’t fair that you think we cannot sit together

*You have no right

*I could hear EVERY word of YOUR music

My speech continued, “I did not SAY that you could not sit together or chat. However how loud you get SHOULD be controlled as a mannerly thing to those around you. I should not know, for instance that:

*You have a kid starting school and that it will be ok once they go fulltime

*Your husband’s name is Joe, yours is Jonathan

*That you had some virus on your computer….

…continued on, “Every FUCKING morning you subject the rest of the train to your personal conversations. And the reason why you could hear MY music is so I could DROWN OUT YOUR SHIT”

OBVIOUSLY “fuck” was unacceptable.Because by the time I said that I had begun to make my way off of the train.The oldest most dried up of the bitties says “oh what a lady.”And I replied, “Oh, what a dried up old cunt.”

The conductor was called in, I asked him to tell them how EVERY morning I ask that he tell them to shut up. This poor man was mortified and probably was a conductor when the trains were pulled by horses….

So yeah, I received a “cunt” and I gave a “cunt”. I guess that circle is complete.

I will, however, be changing my train times. This is to disallow myself from sitting in the same exact seat tomorrow (and every day there after) saying, “fucking cunt…fucking cunt…fucking cunt” as if I were Rainman…