I work in New York City. It's full of nutters. Go figure.

Monday, August 30, 2004

Monday August 30th

There were lots of people on my train who aren't normally on it. Re-routed from Penn. You could tell they were not locals because they ran down the stairs for the train when it wasn't about to go. Locals don't do that. It's too uncool. They were uncomfortable on the train and sat fidgeting a lot, which raised the overall stress levels, train-wise.

At 34th St, there were soldiers with machine guns. They looked at me suspiciously and I thought, for heaven's sake, I don't look like a terrorist. If anything, I look like a tired, badly-dressed yuppie who's been puking all weekend from food poisoning, and who just wants to find somewhere comfortable to lie down and continue vomiting.

I saw a man picking up dogshit in a (thankfully opaque) plastic bag this morning. I noticed he already had one bag of shit in his hand, which means his dog shits at least twice on one walk. I will never have a dog.

Friday, August 27, 2004

Friday August 27th

This morning I had a victory of sorts.

I was in the elevator, waiting the obligatory hour for the doors to close. I don't know why they take so long to close in my building. I stab the "close door" button endlessly every time I'm in one of them in a futile fashion, knowing it makes no difference, but I feel I have to do something. I should know better by now. You wait an hour and then they close. That's the rule. It never changes and all the button-stabbing in the world will not alter that fact.

But what's really annoying is when the doors finally JUST start to close and someone dashes in at the last moment, and they open again and then we all have to wait another hour before they close again. We all hate it when that happens.

So this morning, I'd waited 59 minutes for the doors to close and they were almost shut when the woman who always stares at me in the elevator strolled up. She had that confident look that said "I'll just make it", but she didn't. She was forced to swerve away at the last minute as the doors shut. We looked at each other and I exulted inwardly, thinking "You'll have to find someone else to stare at this morning, fucker". If I were a man, I would have scratched my balls, or something.

Thursday, August 26, 2004

Thursday August 26th. Lunchtime.

Dear Guy and Gallard,

If you're going to claim you sell "chicken noodle soup", please ensure that what you sell IS indeed "chicken noodle soup", and not a watery unidentifiable broth with a few twirls of pasta floating forlornly on the surface. I feel cheated. Especially as what I really wanted for lunch was a toasted bagel with cheddar cheese, but you had run out of bagels. I may avoid you for a few days now because I am disappointed.

Thursday August 26th

I counted 17 bachelorettes on my way in to work this morning. One thing I noticed about them was that they all had aggressive handbags that screamed "I read Vogue and buy the crap I see in there and you don't!". Another thing I noticed was that they all had facial expressions that indicated they'd been freshly sodomised by a badly-groomed Satan. I smiled at all of them cheerfully. I was laughing on the inside. They were scowling on the outside.

I had to disqualify my original bachelorette number 9 because she had suspiciously flabby thighs and was wobbling in her high heels. True bachelorettes may be chunky, but they are firm because they worship at the altar of the god 'Gym'. And a bona fide bachelorette never wobbles. She is kept erect by her pulsing veins of contempt.

On the bus, this woman in front of me took the usual half hour to get off. This time the driver actually lowered the bus for her. I was mildly irritated until I noticed her toes. They were the longest, weirdest toes I have ever seen. Like something you'd see on a camel or a gnu. No wonder she had problems walking. I think she'd be very good at hanging from a tree upside down like a bat.

Wednesday, August 25, 2004

Wednesday August 25th. Early fucking afternoon.

So we can fucking put fucking people on the fucking moon, clone fucking sheep and make Jessica fucking Simpson famous, but we can't somehow fucking make a fucking photocopier that can go more than two fucking hours without fucking jamming, or invent a fucking printer that doesn't need to be re-filled every fucking five minutes because you can't fit more than three fucking sheets of paper in its fucking paper tray at any one time.

Fuck it.

Wednesday August 25th

Two women got on my train this morning. They were chunky, dressed exclusively by Old Navy and conducted a hearty shouting conversation with each other that indicated they were either born again Christians or they didn't know each other very well. I say conversation, but it was really a high-decibel banal stream of consciousness.

"Brrrrrrr! It's cold in here, isn't it!"
That'll be the air conditioning, dear.

"It's getting pretty crowded in here now, isn't it?"
Well yes. It's rush hour and the train is about to go. Who knew?

"Ooooh look. There's the driver!"
Yes. There is the driver. He's going to drive the train. That's what train drivers do. They make the train move.

"Oooooh look! The doors are closing!"
Yes. They are. Amazing, that.

The pair kept this up all journey (Oooooh look! We're in a tunnel! Oooooh look! We're coming into a station!), while all around them ground down another set of teeth. When we got out of the train, they were in front of me. They climbed slowly up the stairs ahead of me, and walked the same way I was going. They were both large, so I couldn't get round them. They were still talking (Oooooooh look! Buildings! Ooooooh look! People!) as they crossed the road with me and by this time there was a homicidal rage building inside of me. Never mind, I thought, I'll lose them at the bus stop. God couldn't possibly be unkind enough. Could she? She could.

All three of us arrived at the bus stop and I heard one woman shout to the other "Ooooooh. Shall we get the bus?!"

I walked.

Tuesday, August 24, 2004

Tuesday August 24th. Mid afternoon.

I was just in the elevator with "the woman who always stares at me in the elevator". And she was staring at me. Again. What the fuck is up with that?

Tuesday August 24th

I was on my way to the subway, wondering why I woke up this morning and knew I'd dreamed of cheese. Then I saw two women walking along the street together. One was blonde (aren't they all?) and cute (ditto?) and radiating all-American health, albeit in a slightly chunky way.

She was holding a cup of Starbucks coffee in her hand and pontificating as she walked. It sounded like Wahwahwahwahwahwah. She's the kind of woman who bores everyone to death at parties about how she can never seem to shift that baby weight. For ten years. She'll never shift that weight. No-one cares.

With her, pushing an angelic blonde baby in a pram was a small, dark hispanic woman. A little bit older maybe, but not much. She looked bored and a little irritated. The nanny, I thought. Oh dear, mummy's got a day off work and decided to spend quality time with her baby.

And the mummy carried on droning on about how she stubbed her toe at a champagne charity gala and had to call the paramedics for an emergency life-saving pedicure and wasn't that just the most awful thing that ever happened to anyone ever in the whole world wahwahwahwah, and the nanny just walked beside her, gritting her teeth.

And I could picture her thinking: "Listen bitch, the pittance you pay me is for looking after your goddamn child. If I have to listen to your Starbucks-fuelled inanities, I charge extra."

Monday, August 23, 2004

Monday August 23rd. Mid-morning.

Just now, I went to get a toasted bagel with cream cheese. The world's most annoying woman was ahead of me in the queue. She spoke so quietly that none of the servers could hear her. She then began to question the nutritional value of each and every muffin they had on offer. Next, she took what felt like half an hour to order a breakfast bagel, with a public debate on whether she should have cheese with it. All of this in a whisper that ensured she had to repeat everything at least three times.

When she finally finished, she did not move out of the way, but just stood there, preventing anyone else from stepping up to the counter, like a gormless moo cow. I really wanted to kick her very hard indeed. She had long red talons, where her fingernails should have been, which made me want to kick her even harder. I bet she annoys everyone in her office when she types, with all that talon-clicking.

Monday August 23rd

When I left my house at 7am, there was a chill in the air and I was depressed for a moment, realising that summer is pretty much over.

Then I was waiting for a bus and a middle-aged nondescript man walked past me, but as he did, he looked at me with what seemed deep suspicion and not a little loathing and I wondered why he hated me so much. It's probably payback for all the people I hate on my way into work. On the bus there was a woman who was trying a little too hard in the fashion department, in my opinion. It was like Paris Hilton meets Lucy Liu, via Cameron Diaz (she was spotty). Only none of them would be on a bus in Manhattan. She also glanced witheringly at me, but I didn't mind so much this time.

Friday, August 20, 2004

Friday August 20th. Afternoon

A few minutes ago, I was in an elevator and for some strange reason I found myself wondering what Mary-Kate Olsen was thinking about at that precise moment.

Friday August 20th

I was walking along the street this morning when I realised my shoes were too big for me and I never should have worn them. Actually, I never should have bought them. I began to really hate my shoes. I thought maybe I could buy some different ones at lunchtime. Then I realised I wouldn't have time today and my hatred for my shoes increased.

Further down the road I caught sight of my expression in a shop window and I realised I looked very pained. I wasn't feeling particularly pained by that stage, so I tried to look a little less like I was chewing on a turd-covered wasp.

A very very very fat woman took half an hour to get off the bus in front of me. Then she stood, recovering, on the sidewalk, blocking my way off the bus for what seemed like half an hour. I stood behind her, hating her very much indeed. Then as I finally got past her, I felt really bad for hating her. I considered that I was not a very nice person and maybe I should go to meditation or something. Then I went to get a bagel. I had ceased looking pained by this stage.

Thursday, August 19, 2004

Thursday August 19th

On my way in to work I saw a woman in a pink shirt. The shirt had huge damp patches on the back and I thought, "Wow, she's really sweating like a pig. She should do something about that. Maybe see a doctor. Or wear a cardigan. Or emigrate." Then I saw she had damp hair, like she hadn't blow-dried it. But it didn't look damp enough or long enough to have caused such huge wet patches. I remain unsure.

Then I saw a cute little 'activist' family on the M34 bus. She had hennaed hair, he looked like he once met Jack Kerouac, and they had a darling little crusty/crunchy teenage daughter, complete with dreadlocks. Unfortunately, she had plucked eyebrows and a manicure. I looked at her clumpy boots and figured she probably had regular pedicures too. I guess even crusties evolve. But I was disappointed.