"I Clearly LOVE the Smell of This Poop."

Weeee! I am officially licensed as a New York City Sightseeing Guide!!! No - I am not ready to give you a tour of all of NYC yet. I am so very sorry to disappoint. I am gonna need a second - and a script - of my own or someone else's created. Patience is a virtue. Even when I am ready to give you a tour at the drop of a hat - don't expect me to do it. Much as I only sing on demand for my mother - just because I have a skill- doth not require me to demonstrate it like a dog watching a delectable biscuit in yo' hand. I realize you are just making conversation and that is all you can think of to say - but please don't be disappointed when you don't get the (at least) 24 hour walking tour that would ensue if I really did what you asked. My friend, attempting to quiz me on the eve before my NYC Tour Guide Licensing Exam, asked me "So, who in invented New York?". He was only slightly kidding. Today - when congratulating me on FB he said "So now do you know who invented New York?". And it got me to thinkin'. The depth of my study is wide and varied. While not entirely sufficient - I have a greater understanding of how New York came to be. And like any city - no one person "invented" it - someone may have "discovered" the land and possibly swindled the Native Americans who already lived on it - but no city can be created by one person. I realized my friend was being silly, of course, but I really enjoyed where it has tossed my mind. Through this whole process, while I am no huge fan of studying or taking tests - I have almost entirely enjoyed every second of what I have learned. This is due in most part to the fact that New York has always been made up of those, like myself, who were not actually born here but CHOSE to be here - to follow their dreams, to challenge themselves, to begin again. Anyone who comes to New York and stays - is, most certainly, slightly deranged - and therefore -utterly fascinating. So it has been a wild ride! One of the things I love most was watching the PBS special series "New York, A Documentary Film by Ric Burns" - all 8 DVDs of it. This documentary is interspersed with delicious quotes from the literary geniuses who made New York City their home. Not one to be too immersed in literature - these words were all new to me and really helped me understand what it must have been like to live through all of the intense changes the city has undergone. To read about facts and dates in books is one thing - but to hear the voice of real New Yorkers (the truest definition of which does NOT involve those born here)...is to feel the energy of the city at that time. It made me want to write. It made me wonder where all of our astute observations of our city - and our lives - are now getting recorded - on Facebook statuses. Where will those be for future generations to have access to? We are the ones who are inventing our cities - in this moment. We are who people will be reading about in 100 years - whether or not we make it onto an exam question. It's fun to remember that when you came here to be on Broadway - but this Broadway is an entirely different place than the Broadway you had imagined. It's fun when you find yourself excited to learn as much as you can about the city you have called "Home" for 9 years now in order to become a "Licensed Tour Guide". It's fun to remember that when you are sitting on a subway car that smells like poop. That poop smells the same as it did in 1904 when the subway began. I love this city - and I love that poop. Sort of.

Only in New York...I hope.

So I was heading home last night after seeing a show and grabbing some food with friends, and the subway car that I got on had a homeless guy stretched out and sleeping on the bench. The first thing I do when I notice I am on a car like this is take a small sniff. I have endured more than my share of subway rides with homeless people who smell like poop, or worse....death. I once stayed on a subway car all the way into the city with a man who smelled dead because it was rush hour and I needed to sit down and eat my breakfast on the way to a job I would be standing all day for. Yes, I even ate an egg sandwich whilst smelling death. I don't recommend it, but not just for the fact that it is gross, mainly because I smelled that smelly homeless dead guy all day long. There are still days when I think I can smell him near me. Anyway, I noticed upon sniffing that there was no discernible scent, so I decided to stay. I noticed some crumbs lying on the floor next to his cart. I felt bad for the man, knowing this may have been his only meal that day and it looked like a tiny bag of chips. I wondered if he would be interested in finishing the half of chicken quesadilla I was carrying home. It wouldn't be the first time I had offered someone my leftovers, and generally they have been well-received, but sometimes it can be offensive. I thought about how I wish I could leave him a $50 bill to wake up to instead of a quesadilla. My thoughts drifted to this man and his plight for a few stops until I noticed that he had his hand down his pants. Up to that point, the angle I was sitting at saved me from that discovery. Certainly he isn't doing anything in there....maybe his hand was just...cold? It wasn't long before I noticed that his hand was moving, and there was no denying what it was doing in there. Well fuck that! That foul man is NOT getting my chicken quesadilla! Ah....NYC. Good times. Well...shortly before my stop, I noticed his motions getting more...purposeful when....I heard the sound of water...falling. Still laying across the subway car seat, he had pulled out his penis and proceeded to unload his bladder. From where I was seated, his cart blocked full exposure, but the arch of urine from his crotch and splashing onto the floor was clear. It was then that those at the other end of the car....down-stream of this man's relief show...noticed what was happening. Some were amused, some were appauled. I found myself more amused than anything. I have to say that, while NYC is a much cleaner/safer city than years ago, nothing like this really surprises me exactly. It was a first for me though. I never saw a man whip it out and piss on the subway while laying down, but I did see a man take a dump on the sidewalk in broad sunny daylight near Madison Square Garden though. It was a hot summer day and there were people everywhere. The man made no attempt to conceal his actions, and I saw his bare ass gleaning in the sunlight and the poop coming out of it. But the best part of it all was that he was reading what looked like a paperback romance novel at the time.

Ziplock Oatmeal and Tongue Lips?

I saw a man eating oatmeal out of a ziplock baggie on the subway this morning, with a plastic fork. Now, I gotta hand it to this guy on one hand, because I hate carrying around my plastic container all day after I have eaten oatmeal on the go. I didn't see a man-purse on him, so this is a very logical choice. But...a plastic fork? Everyone knows you eat oatmeal with a spoon! It was amusing to watch as he forged into every nook and cranny to fish out all the clumpy clumps that stuck to every inch of the bag...sometimes squeezing it out like toothpaste.

This was all happening just inches away from a man who looked like he was sitting there sleeping with his tongue half sticking out in between his lips. I instantly caught a glimpse of him just as a tiny boy sidled over towards him to grab onto the pole on that seat. The man's "tongue" startled the boy who immediately let go of the pole and jumped as far away from him as he could. I watched as the boy stared from a far, trying to make sense of this. I did as well. Is this the man's relaxed state? Had his coffee been too hot and he had burnt the poor thing? Every once in a while the small boy would get as close as he could until he grew frightened again and would dart away. Shortly after the boy and his family left the train we were nearing this man's stop. Only I would notice, as he opened his eyes and saw me stealing glances, that his "tongue" was actually just the inner edge of his bottom lip, which was more pink in color against his darker skin. I hope he didn't think we had a "missed connection".

Tiny Dancer

I had just stepped onto the uptown N train platform below Union Square. I was joining a few others, but it wasn't too crowded, so the wait would not be long. A small woman, wrapped in Muslim sheathes, was playing a synthesizer on the opposite platform. I am calling it a synthesizer because this looked like one of the originals. I mean, the keyboard was so large it nearly hid her entire body. Having finished a tardy, if not spirited rendition of Joy the the World over a week after Christmas, she began the familiar notes to "Fur Elise". Just then, the scrawny homeless man who slid under the turnstile before me approached and appeared to check the time on the digital clock hanging above. Suddenly he began attempting to reach it, as there was a sticker of some sort that he felt it was necessary to remove. The sticker on the clock was just barely in reach and he could only rip it off in tiny strips. He stood on his tip-toes and balanced himself by allowing his free arm to circle himself. It almost fluttered gracefully like a ballerina's port de bra. Having scraped off another strip, he switched arms and popped back up on the toes and proceeded to circle the other arm several times just the same. He repeated these moves several times even as the train came and I left on it. Had Beethoven's gentle melodies overtaken him? For what reason did he feel it vital to remove that darn sticker? To what do we owe his elegance and delicate artistry? More importantly, when can I see it again?

Gratuitously Rotten Smelly Homeless Man

This morning I hopped into the brisk air on the subway platform and was met with a train pretty quick, only to rip open my fresh hot egg sandwich and enter a car on the train that just happened to be filled with the stench of Gratuitously Rotten Smelly Homeless Man. There was no one in this car. The looks on my face as well as the few others who had filtered on with me told me I wasn't the only one to smell it. At the far end of the car lay the rotten thing...with all his belongings. Was he dead? How long had his carcass been allowed to ride on this train? Why hadn't anyone cleaned him out of there at the last stop (being that it is the end of the line, where they clean the cars!)? I saw him stir, so the smell couldn't be explained by death. We all looked at eachother in horror, our noses scrunched up as we tried to inhale as little as possible. A few people passed through to the next car. I looked in, but realized that-at this hour of the morning, were I to move, I would lose my seat...which is a coveted position during the morning rush hour...even moreso when you are about to stand outside for the next 10 hours working a promotion. So I stayed there...still eating my egg sandwich...because, well...I had to eat. As others filtered in, no one sat from half way through the car towards him. Many switched cars the first chance they got. I remained. Every once in while, as my nose started to get used to the smell...I feared the idea that I could ever get used to something so awful...would I smell like that all day? Just as I would worry about getting used to it, another wiff would waft all the way down to my end. What the hell could cause that? Was he covered in open sores and lying in his own soiled pants? How long would he be permitted to stay there? I have no doubt his smell would linger LONG after he had been shood out...and some innocent new rider would sit right where his poopy/bloody/corpse-like body had layed all day. I don't know if I was being insensitive to the plight of this unfortunate soul...whose aroma stayed with me and taunted me throughout the day. Was it really nearby, or was it just that strong that my mind couldn't help but have flashbacks? I don't know...there are a lot of homeless people here that sleep on subways...and they don't all smell like that.

Drunkard on a train

I ADORE living in NYC, but there are some moments it can SUCK SUCK SUCK...riding trains home after midnight, drunk, is definitely at the top of the list. Unfortunately I can never afford cabs. It has been a while since I experienced something like this here, though I am no stranger to it.

Right, so I went to an awesome party last night and evidently drank a bit too much wine. While I was there, I knew I was having fun, but at no point did I think I'd had too much. It wasn't until my incredibly retarded journey home that I realized I might not be right, and I definitely shouldn't have been attempting the trip home alone, by subway, at this very late hour. I wobbled my way to the subway station, and automatically went down to wait a very long time for the train. I put some song on my ipod, I don't think I chose an entire playlist, as I was going to pick something else once I got on the train. I remember the train pulling in, and me getting on. The next thing I know, I wake up and we are stopping at the Whitehall Street station. Being that I live in Queens, this is definitely not where I should be. As the train was pulling in, I realized nothing was playing in my lil' ear buds, and took them out to put them away. As I hobbled out of the train to go on the other side of the tracks to head the RIGHT direction, I tried desperately to remember what one song I had listened to before passing the fuck out on the train. I still can't remember. So I am standing on the uptown side finally, waiting. I understand the dreaded agony of the late-night wait. I mustered up as much patience as I could find, and refused to put my ipod back on. I knew it could help the agony of the wait, but I wasn't too in the mood to listen to anything, since I was angry at myself for not noticing which direction I was heading before...and I didn't think I was in any condition to be leisurely enjoying my ipod on a subway. I don't know how long I waited there. A homeless man was taking up one of the benches, and the only other people in the station, who had gotten off the train I did, were sitting on the other one. I could have sat with them, but for some reason I just didn't want to. So I remain in between the two benches, propped against a pole. After a while had passed, something made me feel like pacing, and I paced near some signs that had service changes on them. My drunken head eventually processed some very important information. There are no uptown trains from that station over the weekends at that time. I reread this numerous times until I understood it properly. What the fuck? Why can we walk down there to wait for the trains, if none will ever arrive? Where's the fucking tape stopping us from walking down there? Where are the signs or announcements? I realize I only paid $2 to go the wrong direction home tonight, but I just don't understand why they are alright with customers waiting stupidly on the platform at 2am-ish with no idea that they will never get home that way. Seriously. So I climb the stairs and ask the station attendants. I ask how to get home. They tell me to go upstairs and get the 1 shuttle to 42nd street, or the 4 or 6. They don't tell me how. I find myself near the Staten Island Ferry...in the windy fucking cold, and there is nothing to point me in the right direction. The only thing I can see is that the 1 train is in the station the Staten Island Ferry comes to. So I head over there. The doorway to get to the 1 train is gated. I begin to cry. I ask the man working there, who says to go outside to get the shuttle. "Where???" I ask. He mumbles some streets as I walk out weeping. I just wanna go home. I walk to the streets he mentions. There is absolutely NO indication that I am where I ought to be. I have to walk back down into the original station I came out of. Still weeping, I return to the lady asking "WHERE do I go?!?!?!" One of them does come out of the booth to walk me up the stairs and point me in the direction of the 4/6 train several blocks up the street. He is still talking about some shuttle, which I still can't fucking find. I weep all the way up the street, knowing that I need to pay another 2 fucking dollars once I get there, and knowing after that long-ass wait, I will have to get off at 59th to wait AGAIN for MY train. I just wanna go home!!!! I need not mention once again my state of weeping as I waited FOREVER at that station. Then a 1 train comes, where the 4/6 should be...and I get on, never fully knowing if it is running on the 1 line, or the 4/6 line...I just remain confused and hoping to GET HOME. I remained painfully conscious on this train, thankfully, until I arrived to 59th street. I angrily made the transfer there to the platform to my n/w train. I sat down and waited. It was FREEZING in there. I shivered like a junkie in withdrawal. I kid you not. I was in hell. I just wanted to go home!!!! I wept a bit here as well, as I did throughout various other moments of the trip. I was pissed off at myself for being stupid, at the MTA for not providing info and charging me more money to get home with all their changes, and mainly I was weeping for the week I had. I just worked a few days at a new job for people who don't know what they are doing, with several hard-working people, without any idea when or if we will get any money at a restaurant that shouldn't be open yet. I hate being taken advantage of when I give people the benefit of doubt. I do feel like that wait was at least 30 minutes if not more. Finally, an N. I am comforted, knowing I am finally heading where I need to be. ..
The next thing I remember, I awake sitting in a freezing train in a station. At first I thought we had just made a stop and the doors would shut and we'd be on our way again...I could see where I am, and know how many stops were left. But we just sit there. The cold wind floods into the car, and my junkie shakes return. I peak further out of the train and see that I am now sitting at the end of the line in Astoria, at Ditmars. Only one stop past where I live, but still. I slept through my motherfuckin' stop!!!! What the HELL is wrong with me? I had NO idea I was this inebriated, but yes, I was. Now, when you are at the last station of the subway line, the trains hang out there for a while. I don't know what they are doing with them, but they take a long while to move again, especially at this hour. So here I am, waiting once more...in the fucking cold...getting angrier at myself that I got that intoxicated before riding the subways home. Yay me. I stay freezing and pissed off conscious...finally we start to move again....finally my stop...I run home, it's that cold out. I don't run, but I ran last night. Finally I am home.