Animals Doing Funny Things!

Complaint Department RE: The Man-Spreading Lady on the Train

daisywall:

Dear, Woman-Who-Man-Spread-On-The-Subway-This-Morning,

You’re wearing a denim suit and your hair is stuck flat to your head with gel and what I can only assume are the innards of an Oreo you fell asleep eating. Oh, but I see that your hair is dyed. Good! You would not want to look grey, as you are still quite a young 35. So yes, let’s dye it that color you’ve chosen. The red rusted color that evokes the sound I’m sure your abandoned vagina makes when it’s being pried open once yearly for an exam. That rusted gate sound. It creaks open and screams “no one has been in this community garden in quite a while. Apologies for the weeds. Mind the broken terra-cotta pots lying around.” Their paint chipping reminding us of the ghosts of childhoods passed. 

With a 45-minute ride ahead, I sit beside you, in one of the empty seats you’re overflowing onto. And YOU give ME a look? How dare I? How. Dare. I. I have made you shift the fat of your right thigh over just so slightly to accommodate another human being.

You stare, appalled by MY behavior. I snarl and say “what.” Yes. Because I have forgotten I am in public. Yes. Because I forgot you could hear me. And Yes. Because I am still a bit drunk from the night before. 

We are not all perfect. But you had taken up three seats on a full train. Three seats to hold you: the vacuum bag of skin containing one long queef that is your “soul.” 

Do not look at me like I am wrong. You are wearing barrettes. 

You side-eye me for the remainder of the ride as I write this. Of course you probably think I’m answering emails but I’m writing details of your awful fungal-colored manicure. Just because your nail-polish is opalescent doesn’t mean you still don’t look like you’d be the first one to choose a “poop corner” in the event you were stuck in an broken elevator with a large group. 

So I sit here, thinking these things until the real hero of this story arrives.

The ropy New York woman who’s lived in the city too long: she enters the train smelling of cigarettes and newspapers and sits right on your other side.This spindly little chain smoker doesn’t give one fuck about you or I. She is the great equalizer. And you are in her way. It felt good to see you suffer again. I feel good. 

Today, in this battle you’re trying to pretend does not exist: I have won.

Complaint Status: Unresolved