It was early May. My friend and I just boarded the 6 train at 23rd street. We were heading for English class, and we did not expect anything out of the ordinary. When the subway doors opened to let us on, I noticed that people were getting off in a hurry, almost as though they were running from something. I walked in and immediately noticed something unusual; one side of the train was completely empty, while the rest of it was filled with standing riders. On the empty side, there was a woman, seemingly in her 50s, holding the door between the carts open. I thought, “why is everyone keeping their distance from her?” It didn’t take long for me to realize.
This lady had an unusual habit of spitting all over the floor and seats, and yelling at the top of her lungs. It was terrifying; the spitting would not stop, and the seats around her were coated in her saliva. The yells were another story. There was no rhyme to them. I knew a yell would be coming but I did not know when. Every time I heard her yell, I jumped out of my seat. All I could think was “I hope she gets off at Grand Central. Please get off at Grand Central.” She did not get off at Grand Central. After 5 minutes of the torment, she started approaching the busier part of the cart. As soon as the doors opened at the next stop I ran out at lightning speed, along with a large amount of other people. I was not sure what she would have done if she made her way down the aisle, but I certainly did not want to wait to find out. It was certainly a memorable mass transit experience.
