This Beats Driving?


I know it’s been a few *ahem* days since my last post, so I’m making this one count.

It’s about an incident that happened to me during my evening train commute. And oh, it’s a good one.

But before I begin, I should like to give you a few disclaimers. First, this post will be laden with obscenities. So if you’re the type whose virgin ears might be offended by four-letter words, head elsewhere now. If not, then stick around.

Second, this will be a long post as it more or less will be a story. Well, more of a rant. I’d advise going for a drink or a bite to eat whilst you read today’s entry. Hell, make a Starbucks run if you dare. Go ahead–I’ll be here when you get back.

Ready? Here we go.

As of this post, I’m pissed. Really pissed. Really, really fucking pissed off about what happened today.

So what happened? Allow me to elaborate.

As you may or may not know, I take the lovely L.A. MTA trains to and from work. Most of the time, the commute is trouble-free, save for those times I end up sitting behind a guy that smells like schweaty balls. And sometimes, like today, the trains get a little packed.

Not only that, some fuckhead riders are the of the incompetent variety and refuse to follow the rules or practice common courtesy. I’m looking at you, you fucking fat-asses that think you’re skinny as a rail and think your anything-but-small rear end will fit between three people on an already crowded bench. That’s not how it works, shithead. Stand if you have to, but for fuck’s sake, don’t try and squeeze between a crowd of people on a bench–especially if you stink like ass.

Back to the dipshit violators. The MTA prohibits bikes being on the train during certain parts of the day and on certain lines (warning: link is PDF file). This is due to the sheer volume of people that ride those particular lines during those times.

So alright, let’s finally get to the heart of the matter. I had reached my stop and was struggling to make my way to the door. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t because some asshole with a bike was in the middle of the doorway and refused to move for anybody. Okay, he may have moved an inch in either direction but for the most part, the fucking bastard clogged the doorway, making exit and entry virtually impossible for everybody.

Why does this piss me off so badly? Oh, here’s why. Because this inconsiderate jerk-off was more of a nuisance than anything, I had to squeeze my way to another exit, which was also clogged since the bike fucker was blocking his doorway. People were piling into the door I was trying to exit through, so I did what I could to get out before the doors closed and I miss my stop.

And here’s where it gets fun. While exiting, the warning beep sounded and the doors began to close. It was then that I heard the thud of something hitting the concrete below the platform. It was also then when I saw the doors close ever so slowly. It was also then when I realized the cord of my headphones had wrapped around the handle of a rider’s stroller, flinging my Pioneer Inno XM radio to the tracks below.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!

It gets better. The doors had closed on the headphone cord. I had the phones resting on my neck while half of the cord and the noise canceling unit were still inside the train. People were staring; some laughing. But no matter how many times I pressed the “Open Door” button, they refused to open.

I was left with two choices at this point. I could either A) let them go with the train or B) cut the cord. I chose B because I’d be God-damned if I was to let my less-than-two-week-old headphones–they cost me a cool $50–end up in the hands of some ungrateful malcontent riding the train to their next drug run.

So before the train pulled away, I yanked on the cord as hard as I could and severed it. I stood there, the music they were delivering to me a few minutes ago still fresh in my mind. My new headphones…gone. Fuckin’ shit.

But the headphone situation was only one problem. I still had to find my XM radio, which was somewhere near the tracks on the ground below me. I looked around for a few minutes and yes, there it was, resting right next to one of the rails. While my initial thought was to simply jump down there and retrieve it, that would have been rather dumb of me. The stations are monitored well and when when anybody even comes close to the edge of any platform, a warning is given over the loudspeaker.

I chose to pick up the phone and call the MTA operator. I explained the situation and they assured me that someone would be there in 20-30 minutes to help me out.

About 10 minutes later, a supervisor arrived. I must have been bothering the fat fucker because during the entire retrieval effort, he didn’t say one word to me. Not one fucking word. Maybe the Fatburger was closed or something. Or his baby-mama just dumped him.

So after I showed him where the radio was, he waddled his fat ass down to the exit, waddled it back over to where I was waiting, and handed it to me. But he wasn’t done.

“I need the battery, too,” I told him as I pointed. “The cover would be nice as well.” He grunted, bent his overweight ass over to pick it up and then handed it to me. I wanted to kick it so bad. Way to earn your paycheck there, you miserable fuck.

My only hope was that after the fall, my radio would still work and retain all of the recorded programs I had stored on it. I put the battery back in, replaced the cover, flipped the switch and yes, it still worked. Thank [appropriate deity goes here]. (Kudos to Pioneer for making such a durable product.)

So allow me to go off on a tangent once more. I’m not taking shit from anybody on the train anymore. Fuck that. This especially goes for you, you fucker with the bike. If you ever block my way again, you’re getting shoved out of the way. It’s as simple as that. That pretty much goes for anybody else that lacks the common sense and fucking decency to move out of someone’s way. I don’t care if I have to step on your goddamn feet or knock you over with my backpack, if you’re not getting out of my way, you’ll find out real soon. This bike fucker cost me a nice set of headphones and possible damage to my XM radio, and I’m not happy about that one bit.

As far as the MTA goes, hey, thanks for making the effort to retrieve my radio. But do me a few favors:

  • Hire some personable folks for supervisors. The dickhead you sent out to help me had all the personality of a wet cardboard box and if you expect them to deal with the public, people that sign their paychecks, they can at least be somewhat approachable.
  • Enforce your bike rule. Seriously, what the fuck? What good is a rule if it’s not enforced? Bikes and their riders are a nuisance on the train during peak operating hours. My incident today absolutely proves that.

So there. My rant is over. And if you’re curious, here are the headphones I had. But here’s what I had left after my frustration of the situation set in:

After slamming them into the ground, I simply ripped them to shreds with my bare hands. Goddamn, I still can’t believe that happened. Stupid fucks.

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