There are three kinds of people I hate dealing with on New York-New Jersey mass transit:
1. People with open, festering sores and lesions,
2. People who take the whole situation personally, and
3. The gays.
I happened to run into a lady this evening just outside the C train at 34th Street who was cursing and making faces at the crowd like they just ran off with her puppy. I normally try to stay well clear of situations that might bring me in contact with such people. But when she ended up behind me, and I heard her cursing me as if I were lightly sautéing said puppy in extra virgin olive oil with capers and some pressed garlic, that's when I had to take exception.
So I deliberately started walking slowly and kind of side-to-side, because if there's one thing I like doing, it's goading angry, elderly women into fights with me. Suddenly, she's all, "oh now look at this Jew with his six feet of hair, goddamn little bastard. Hurry the hell up, Jew, this isn't the line for the camps!"
(Side note: I'm not Jewish. I just have dark, curly hair is all, which makes misidentifying me an easy mistake in New York where everyone is a total racist. Or maybe it's that I'm circumcised.)
Anyway, I wheeled around on this broad like my feet were on wheels, and I said, "how friggin' rude can you get, lady? You think I'm getting in your way on purpose?"
"Baaaaah," she said angrily, "I think everyone is getting in my way on purpose! All the time!"
"That's a total wad of baby crap," I said. "You're just paranoid is all."
"Baaaaaaaaah, that's what you all think!"
I had had enough by then. "Look, lady," I said, "no one is doing this to you personally, okay? They're doing it to me personally." Which, by the way, is so true.
She left with a chorus of epithets and sheep noises trailing behind her like toilet paper stuck to a person's heel, and I watched, revolted, as she headed for the stairs toward Penn Station and Madison Square Garden, the lesbian bitch. I really hate those gays.