If you live in New York City, you’ve probably heard about the stabbing rampage that a young lunatic went on this weekend, over the course of many hours, ending on a subway train on Saturday morning. As someone who was completely annoyed that morning because my trains weren’t running due to an “incident”, needless to say my blood ran cold when I heard later what said incident had been.
Some New Yorkers like the subway. I am not one of them. I hate the invasion of personal space, I hate the fact that headphones generally do nothing to prevent a person’s music from being as obnoxious as if it were blasting out of a boom box, and I hate that service is unreliable and on the weekends a total crap shoot. The people-watching factor does not balance these frustrations out for me. About the only thing I do like is the fact that, if I’m lucky enough to not be interrupted every few minutes by a panhandler’s tragic tale or a zealot harping on about salvation, I get to read.
But everyone has their subway stories, and I’m glad my subway stories are for the most part entertaining and that I, so far, have not encountered anything as traumatizing as watching the end of the rampage that those passengers watched on the number 3 train on Saturday morning.
And on days like today, the Hallmarkyist of all holidays, you can put such awfulness out of your mind by tuning into mushy stories about the subway and the sometimes beneficial side of being forced to rub gently against strangers.