“It’s Not Ok!”

It’s a morning of three subways to Queens. That in and of itself should have kept my ass in bed. But i am up and my feet are moving with all of the other drones. My saving grace is something called a wet macchiato?

“Is it a double shot?” I ask the Barista who is half asleep as well.

He looks at me as if i am either the dumbest white bitch he has seen or like my asking is making him physically sick in some way.

His eyes blink slowly. That is my answer.

“Thanks.” I say trying to redeem my neurosis. Failed. He and i will never be friends.

Sitting on the 7 train out of Times Square towards Queens I close my eyes and sip this wet espresso goodness and breathe. My nose senses some kind of food foulness mixed with curry or some other pungent spices.

I open my eyes with death for whoever has brought this meal onto the subway car before 9am no less. But i don’t have to do a thing. Unbeknownst to me it has already been smelled and is in the process of being dealt with.

“IT’S NOT OK!” she screams from the other end of the car.

“IT’S NOT OK!!” she screams again.

The little Mexican man sits eating his breakfast/lunch/dinner completely ignoring her. Fueling for his day. No time for Crazy.

But Crazy continues.

“IT’S JUST NOT OK TO BRING THAT ON THE TRAIN”

Little man continues to consume and ignore.

Crazy continues to scream and in her voice i hear a real hurt and disgust like this act has personally harmed her in some way. She is relentless and continues to scream over and over how it is not ok for him to stink up the car and eat on the subway. I am not sure but as i watch in fascination she looks like she might start crying.

The desperation in her voice and the mantra of it not being ok makes me think what it is she is really NOT ok with and is taking out on the little man who will probably work a really long ass day in the cold and not make that much money and is just trying to eat before that.

Crazy has now hit a place of no return and is now rocking back and forth muttering over and over again, “it’s just NOT ok! It’s not OK!”

I finish the last swallow of my wet machiatto.

Little man finishes his last bite of meat, rice and beans.

Crazy rocks and mutters.

My stop is announced and as the door opens and i exit the train i look back at Crazy. She looks at me for half a second and i swear she is a little girl trapped in an older woman’s body.

And the train continues on.