Your MTA at Work

I was at the Court Square stop on the G line. People who take the G train regularly know how this works. A Brooklyn-bound train pulls into the station and a single half-door per car slides open to let people in. All the doors don't open until the train is ready to leave the station.

I had finished my business in Queens and, having disembarked the 7 train, was ready to make the transfer. The train came in, the half-doors opened. I looked for my narrow passage into the second car. I found it, but it was blocked. Just inside the door, rooted like oak trees, were two obese female MTA employees, facing each other. Now, I am not trying to gross you out here; I'm just telling you what they were doing. One, her hands firmly on the chin of the other, was assisting her colleague in popping a zit. Seriously.

I will give you a moment to retch before you return to this story.

Ready? OK. Now, I was standing there. And I am a tall man. Easy to see. But they moved not. Nor did they acknowledge my presence or the fact that they were absolutely blocking the only point of entrance into the car. They just continued talking and performing their minor surgical operation.

I had had a long day. I was tired. I wanted to sit down. "Excuse me," I said, and—I'll admit!—with some garden variety New Yorker brusqueness, more or less sidled inside the car.

The MTA ladies were indignant. I was simply the rudest human being they had ever met. "I'm sorry, can we please exit," said one with a great deal of tartness. She had shown no signs of planning to exit. "The word is 'Excuse me'!" And they left in a huff.

Actually, "Excuse me" is two words. Actually, I said "Excuse me." Actually you are MTA employees and you were blocking the damn door to the subway car, so maybe you should say "Excuse me."

Sweet Jesus.