I am unsure if I am slightly ashamed or oddly proud to have been the inciter of the stereotypically New York grumbles about the crazies on the train, but regardless of my feelings, my blatant disregard for subway etiquette on one uptown six train set off something in a another passenger.
I was not the crazy on this train—I was the people watcher. I boarded the train with nothing worth reading, and, not being in the habit of listening to music in public, decided to entertain myself for the next half hour by watching people.
Of course, the first rule of the subway is do not make eye contact. My only problem with rule is that I will study faces. Usually, when I get caught, I act like I’ve zoned out, and whomever I’ve been staring at pretends they believe it. Until one time, when I was people watching, and the man I was watching turned around. I pretended to be zoned out, but he did not go for it. The man screamed across the car at me “What’s wrong with you? I’m not dirty. F**k you!,” gave me the finger, and then stood up, left his seat, and turned around so that his back was to me. I thought “Alright, my fault, guess I looked upset,” and was ready to let it go, until we come to my stop. Apparently, it was also this man’s stop, and as he leaves the train, he yells at the entire train car, “This country killed my mother, you can all go to hell!”
It made me feel like a real New Yorker after 18 years of suburbia to be cursed out on the 6 train, as if it was a second, less constructed, christening.
