I love commuting

Getting to work in midtown is always fraught with wonderful opportunities to bond with your fellow New Yorker. Those slow-walkers, motionless corner-standers, the people that slip their arm or purse into the closing doors and hold up the entire train, Penn Station wheelies that run over your feet, and lately I've been noticing the umbrella-carrying stabbers that jerk their arm rapidly while toting an umbrella with a four-foot spike on the end. Usually I am ready to full-on shove these people out of my way with a string of curses against their annoying commuting habits, or perhaps start toting a 10 foot pole to vault lightly above their heads, laughing merrily as I go.

Today I had the chance to simultaneously abhor one of those people while inadvertently being one of them. It was a horrific experience. I will have to eat 73 cookiese later while jumping around in my underwear singing along to "Let's Go Crazy."

I have to take two trains from home to work, the evil L and N/Q. Then I have a nice long avenue block to walk with all the dunderheads I mentioned above, until I finally get to my last hurdle: crossing 7th Ave at 32nd street, right in front of Penn Station and MSG. It sucks daily, as I fight my way to the corner like a spawning trout, just to wait 3.2 minutes and dash across in the 1.3 seconds the light says walk.

Today, instead of standing in a big crowd on the curb to wait for the light, I took one step off the curb to stand in front a parked car. That way, I wasn't one of those nasty corner-standers, getting in the way of sidewalk traffic, but I wasn't in the way of regular car traffic either. My iPod was on, but not very loud, and it was a quiet song. My internal monlogue went something like this, as usual: "Time to go to work. Almost there. Damn. Maybe I'll do something today. Man, taxis beep a lot. I can't wait to drink coffee and sneak onto AIM Express. Stop beeping, stupid cars. Why won't they stop, there's no one--"

"IDIOT!! MOVE! YOU IDIOT! FUCKING MOVE!" yelped the lady behind me with yellow/gray hair, yellow shirt and yellow teeth.

Apparently the parked car was no longer parked and was trying to make a lefthand turn, but I was in the way. I was that girl, zoned out on her iPod, oblivious to her surroundings, blocking traffic. I guiltily jumped back on the curb and the driver gave me a wave--even he wasn't that pissed off, he had just started up his car a moment before. Yes, I was wrong, but who was that lady to call me an idiot? She was nobody, that's who. Even when someone in front of me is dragging their feet or stabbing me with an umbrella, I usually try a nice "Excuse me," before resorting to an all-out insult.

So, did I give attitude back to scary yellow haired/shirted/toothed woman? Did I yell, "I'm an idiot, but you're old and wrinkly!" or maybe "Oh, what, like you're so perfect? Go get a decent dyejob, you nasty whore, and stop giving me shit," or even "May you die a thousand painful deaths in the arms of your lover Satan." I should have--she looked ready to fight, her eyes were blazing and the word "idiot" still seemed to hover near her snarling lips.

Since it really was my fault for zoning out, I swallowed my rage at being called an idiot, and calmly remarked to the Satan woman, "I'm sorry for blocking that car, but please don't call me an idiot, ma'am. It's really not necessary."

She looked startled at being called ma'am, then slightly ashamed, then uncomfortable as I stared at her. "Oh, okay."

I had triumphed with manners! I was polite, well-bred, and unruffled! Until I gazed straight ahead as the light started to change and mumbled a parting "You fucking bitch" under my breath.