Dear Dumbass Who Waited Until He Was in the Turnstile to Look for His MetroCard, Causing Me to Miss My Train by Half a Second:
If you represent the sperm cell that actually made it to the egg, I shudder to think what the rest of them would have produced.
Are you kidding me? Who waits until they’re actually IN the turnstile to start looking for their MetroCard? You need to have that $#!+ at the ready, son…
I left my office, perfectly timed my walk to the station, negotiated the traffic lights, dodged the panhandlers and got there with the well-orchestrated precision of a production line—then BAM!!! You’re there, IN THE TURNSTILE, mucking up the works.
As I go—card in hand, mind you—to pass that final obstacle, I run smack into clumsy, fumbling, mouth-breathing YOU; more or less fondling yourself right there in the turnstile as you search in vain for your MetroCard. Of course I can’t go around you at that point, because the woman behind me—also with card in hand—is just as perplexed by your complete lack of foresight and/or common decency, causing her to stand motionless with disbelief at your ineptitude and sandwich me between a rock and a dumbass. By the time she snaps out of it, the damage is already done.
Doing an end-around, I’m now forced to rudely cut-off another commuter—who, sure enough, has HIS card in hand (noticing a trend here???)—sprint through the turnstile and up the stairs, only to have the door to the train close right in my face.
Well that’s just $*(%!^& great…
I don’t blame the conductor—his responsibility is to the people who are actually smart enough to make it onto the train. Who do I blame? I’ll give you one guess.
I know the world is a distracting place. The train station is full of numerous bright, shiny objects. Meanwhile you probably had to check your Us Weekly Twitter feed, finish reading Twilight on your Kindle or send a text message to your mom and ask her to lay out your socks for you. But even in this brave new world of bells, whistles and flashing lights, the time comes when a man needs to step up and keep his $#!+ together long enough to perform a simple task on demand. Insert Tab A into Slot B—it doesn’t get much simpler than that…
Oh look—you finally made it through! Nice work there, sunshine… You were eventually able to figure out what millions of New York Metro Area commuters seamlessly negotiate day-in/day-out without so much as a second thought. Meanwhile, the difference between being home in the warm embrace of my loving family versus sitting here on a rodent-urine-soaked train platform staring at your dumbass is the precious time I spent circumventing your stupidity.
I know, I know—there should be a big sign that says “HAVE CARD READY.” Because it’s always society’s fault that stupid people are stupid because nobody is there to help them. “Caution: Coffee Hot,” “Caution: Do Not Use Hair Dryer in Bathtub,” “Caution: Do Not Go On Train Tracks”—these warnings are in place because of people like you. Here’s a warning for you—“CAUTION: REMOVE HEAD FROM ASS.” See if you can get your mommy to write that out in bright orange crayon and safety-pin it to your shirt for you.
Y’know, I bet you’re the same piece of work who sets his stuff down at the checkout counter, only to go back and finish shopping while the clerk rings you up. Who raised you and why?
I suppose I could say something cliché here, like “See you in Hell,” except I wouldn’t see you in Hell, because you’d still be outside looking for the goddamn gate. Fact is, I’m already in Hell—it’s this train platform, and it’s Hell for being stuck here because of a moron like you.
Oh look, here comes another train. Try not to $*(% this up for me…
With all due respect:
Christopher M. Halleron