Crazy shit you hear on the train (commentary included)

Setting: Older drunk man enters the downtown M-train on a busy Saturday. Proceeds to rattle on about everything for the next eight stops.

“Everyone has a right to get on the fucking train. Put another fucking train on the track. Or just wait another 3 hours like I did.” (Sir I’m pretty sure you haven’t been waiting for this train for 3 hours, maybe more like 10 minutes?)

“Am I in New York City? No, everybody here is like a mannequin. Speak your fucking mind” (Like you sir? Because it is obviously doing a whole lot of good right now. Not. At all)

“Did you know? Did you know that for every one person that dies from heroin use, a million die from alcohol?” (Sir, where are you getting your statistics from?), “Drink a bottle and stab your wife.” (That’s not necessarily the first thing I want to do after drinking a bottle, just saying)

“Call your congressman, tell him to drink a bottle of vodka and die!” (Good luck with that)

“You take 5 and then you’re dead. Tylenol, dead as a door nail. I swear to God, that’s the truth speaking, that’s the bible.” (I don’t even know what to say to that except, maybe you’re thinking of a different drug, Sir)

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About 25shotsandcounting

My name is Sylvia. I’m a 22 year old girl living in NYC. For reasons I wish I knew, I get hit on a lot. I don’t think it’s because I’m particularly more attractive, funnier or even more intelligent than other girls. I’m convinced that it’s some kind of weird aura that only men can sense. An invisible sign that says, “Well hi there, I’m open for business.” Ironically, I’m usually not. The idea for this blog came about while I was dating a bartender in Williamsburg. I would go his bar and have several drinks by myself while waiting for him to get off work. Like clockwork, it was usually only a matter of time before I had a parade of guys come and talk to me. So much so that it became a running joke between my boyfriend at the time and all of his co-workers, just betting how long it would take before I had my next victim. Sometimes flattering, sometimes annoying, other times like some sort of scientific curiosity, the unelicited attention became enough of a pattern to notice and, free drinks aside, generally dread. I seem to be a magnet for awkward pick up attempts, which sometimes lead to misadventures of one kind or another. I know this is a common phenomenon for young women in NYC, but I figured, why not write about it.
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One Response to Crazy shit you hear on the train (commentary included)

  1. Gina says:

    Oh yeah, there’s a big chapter on Tylenol in Acts I think.

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