trauma on the train

Riding the train in New York City creates lots of "What just happened?" moments.   Yesterday, I was traumatized by several:

Morning Commute:  Morning commutes are always tricky.  They are early.  They are crowded.  Add Mondays to those qualities and this particular type of commute turns out to be the worst.  Until you get phlegmmed....and then it is worse than the worst.   I was minding my own business, standing so others can sit and this woman coughs, hacks something up, and it lands on my poor, exposed foot.  I was praying that it was perhaps a bit of bagel that she had recently consumed, but upon further investigation and to my ultimate horror, I discovered it was phlegm.  I tried wiping it from my traumatized foot onto the back of my pant leg (gross, I know, but I was in shock and couldn't figure out a better alternative).   Apparently, it didn't work, because ten minutes later, I dared to look down again and found that it was still there.  I made another attempt, this time with the sock from my other foot and found success.  Needless to say, I sanitized when I got into work but I was still grossed out...as were all of my colleagues with whom I shared my tale.   At least it was better than the vomit from another one of my train rides--although, that is debatable.

Rush Hour Commute:  Now this one was cra-zy.   Rush hour is just as bad as the morning commute except you are tired for different reasons.  Tired of stupidity, tired of people, tired of stupid people.  All we want to do it get on the train and get home.  So when a seemingly intelligent woman boards the train with a huge suitcase, you would think that she would move into the middle of the car (there was a room and she didn't get off for several stops).  But no, she boards, plops her giant-ass suitcase on the ground and stands in the doorway--preventing passengers from getting out and getting in.  Enter the first "What just happened?" moment.  Somehow we all boarded and then a solid round of musicians made their way through the train car.  First a Mariachi duo assaulted the silence and then the drummer that guilts you into looking up/smiling at him, donating, or giving him a round of applause performed his bit.  Unfortunately, the musical show didn't end there.  Some child's toy played the world's creepiest version of "Rock-a-bye Baby" all the way home.  And finally, somewhere in between the Mariachi duo and the "Happy" drummer, a tall, lanky man who clearly didn't have any control over any of his appendages, walked from the door to the middle of the train, all the while holding onto the horizontal pole on the left-hand side, knocking in the head, every single passenger (including me, of course) that he passed.  

In the end, my train riding for the day left me with a little PTSD and the ever-present question of "What just happened?!"