Coming home from work tonight, I squeezed myself onto a packed 4 train.
The a/c wasn't working, unbeknownst to me. I thought I was just having my usual I-have-too-much-hair, I-sweat-a-lot moments.
As I stood there, sweating, cursing, and wishing I had a private chauffeur to get me home, there seemed to be a lot of commotion coming from the back right corner of my car. There were a bunch of rowdy teenagers, jumping around, yelling, and generally intimidating others. I did my best to ignore them as I dove into my people magazine to read about Brit Brit and her sad, sad life.
Suddenly, the commotion seemed to pick up pace. With said commotion, a strange sound seemed to permeate the train. It was almost like a spray of water was gushing out of a fountain.
One of the little bastards was puking, all over the 4 train.
Never fun, even less so on a rush hour, jam packed subway car.
We were in between stops, and true to form, the fucking train operator was driving slow as molasses, taking his sweet ass time getting us from Brooklyn Bridge to Fulton Street.
In the meantime, commuters were running for the hills, making gagging sounds, covering their mouths with Kleenex, not exactly knowing where to go. Me, being the 12 year old boy I sometimes can be, had to check out the puke.
Why, God, why?
I quickly regretted my decision, having been met with the sight of what looked to be something that had been ingested at the Olive Garden, paired with some red fruity drink. A slushie perhaps? Or maybe a wine cooler?
EIther way, the red fruity drink was coming my way, dripping across the car faster than I could say "projectile."
"WATCH YOUR FEET" one of the teens screamed out.
At this point, and not a moment too soon, the doors opened, and the majority of the car scampered out and ran to the next car over. An air conditioned, half empty car. Ah, the relief.
I'm skipping dinner tonight. And maybe forever. Blech.