R-E-S-P-E-C-T, Find Out What It Means to Me

Yesterday evening as I left my office, the weather was extremely pleasant – sunny and in the low 70s.  I considered calling Dr. P and seeing what she was up to, but I decided that it would be better to just get home, go to the gym, and then do some work for the volunteer group that I help organize.  As I proceeded up the street to the subway, I strongly considered just walking the whole seven or so miles home.  It was that nice out.  Then I worried that Tycho, my giant pet rabbit, would get hungry if I came home too late, plus I was pretty tired, so I went with my usual route home.

Since it was the peak of rush hour, the subway was incredibly crowded.  I tried reading my Entertainment Weekly, but I became motion sick, so by the time the train pulled up to 34th Street, I was ready to be home.  Only two more stops, I thought to myself, relieved.  Oh, how sweet those few seconds of calm were.

As the train departed 34th Street, three young women, probably in their late teens or early twenties, started arguing with the middle-aged guy sitting next to them.  By the time we got to Times Square, they were full out yelling at him about not respecting them, blah blah blah.  (I just love when people bitch that they are being disrespected and then proceed to disrespect the other 60 or so people trapped in the train as they school someone by swearing and yelling about the need to respect them.)

The next stop after Times Square is mine.  Usually the express train takes a few minutes as the train speeds through the tunnels to get there.  I was getting extremely pissed at these yelling assholes, who were carrying on behind me as we left Time Square.  That’s also about the same time that the train slowed to a crawl and the three girls decided to jump the guy.  

I discovered quickly that there are several major problems when three crazed bitches decide to beat down a guy on a packed rush hour train.  The biggest problem was that I was in the middle of them and the guy.  As they rushed each other, I did my best to hold both parties back, and asked them to please sit down.  I reminded them that they were not the only people on the train.  They were blinded by rage, though, and in their eagerness to hit him, I was punched in the chest and shoulder.  My efforts to separate them were not working well, so I somehow managed to move out of the way.  Everyone else on the train was trying the same thing, though, and let’s face it, there is not much room to maneuver on a crowded rush hour train in NYC.

We were barely beyond 50th Street (the next local stop) when the guy broke the Snapple bottle he was carrying.  Grape juice sprayed anyone unlucky enough to be in an 8 inch radius.  (Meaning: a lot of people.)  Worse, we tried to get the psychos to back off by waiving the broken bottle at them.  Glass was all over the floor.  People began yelling at the girls to back off.  This only made them threaten to take on everyone else in the train.  

I’m not sure how word got to the conductor, but as we pulled into 72nd Street, there were six cops waiting on the platform for the train to stop.  The second the doors opened, at least ten people began yelling for the cops to get in.  The po-po wisely urged everyone to exit the train first, which I gladly did.  For a second, I dawdled on the platform, curious about what would happen.  Then I decided that I didn’t care and got the fuck out.  Damn, that was scary.  Fortunately, I do not think anyone was hurt.