Oh, Crap

The commute into New York is a feast for the senses and by "feast," I mean an all-out assault. Generally, I'm immune to the tang of the fuel, and the day-later aroma of partially metabolized garlic, curry, scotch and Bud Light escaping in the perspiration of my fellow riders. Today, however, my very psyche was KO'd when someone on the train had a very terrible accident. I don't know who; I didn't want to look around as I thought it would be horrible to actually come into eye contact with the poopy perpetrator. No one in eyeshot appeared to be the sort who would do that intentionally. Everyone, in fact, made an effort to be blase about it, save for a few initial furtive glances around. (Oh, except the guy across the aisle from me who sniffed around, then stood up and checked the seat of his own pants. Way too hilarious.) So am I sure? Absolutely. How do I know? Because it was unmistakable. This constitutes reasons number 1,2, and 3 why, even if I reach 300 pounds, Alli will never be my ally. The barrage continued when we reached Penn...This time it was an aural assault - lots of choice language during some sort of commotion involving a loitering - and from the looks of it - chronic ne'er do well. I say this because of the way a swelling contingent of transit cops called him by first name as he steadfastly refused to obey their requests to leave his seat in the ticket-holder only waiting area. Anyone could see from the number of cops and canines assembling at a distance of several feet, that a tasering was imminent. I've never seen anyone get tasered and I decided that today was not going to be the day I ended this lucky streak. The guy was huge - a shaved head, massive, WWF-looking guy with a defiant attitude and a baguette sandwich. I decided that although sticking around would result in some excellent blog copy, I didn't want to risk being in the vicinity of anal incontinence twice in the same day. The day could only get better from there, dontcha' think?