A Wild Ride
You know things are gonna to get bumpy when your daily commute out to a place named Flushing (really?!) necessitates signs like this:
When you commute with mammals of various species (and a variety of mammal-sized insects), I guess people need a few reminders about how to be human:
Mostly, people pretty much keep themselves to themselves, but more often than not you do run across someone who can go from peacefully rockin' out to their bachata music to freaking out at the train conductor in a split second. I call this move the "New York Nine O'Clock-er". It is best executed during the am rush hour with a wet umbrella or a full water bottle to use as a weapon against your fellow passengers and friendly service personnel.
Maybe signs like these are really the tremulous thread that holds together the collective sanity of millions.
Scary thoughts, no?
Hang in there,
~Mersydotes
When you commute with mammals of various species (and a variety of mammal-sized insects), I guess people need a few reminders about how to be human:
Mostly, people pretty much keep themselves to themselves, but more often than not you do run across someone who can go from peacefully rockin' out to their bachata music to freaking out at the train conductor in a split second. I call this move the "New York Nine O'Clock-er". It is best executed during the am rush hour with a wet umbrella or a full water bottle to use as a weapon against your fellow passengers and friendly service personnel.
Maybe signs like these are really the tremulous thread that holds together the collective sanity of millions.
Scary thoughts, no?
Hang in there,
~Mersydotes
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