The Worst of the Worst of the Worst of the Worst

The stupid hat of a stupid people.

A buddy of mine wrote a post back in October about how irritating it is when conductors try to live out fantasies of announcing at the races.

There's a dickwad conductor on the 6:21 eastbound to Ronkonkoma from Penn, who has a routine. That routine is saying, "Ronkonkoma train to Ronkonkoma. This is a peak train, all tickets all tickets all tickets aaaaallllll tickeeeeeeeettts." This is said with no pauses and in an intentionally annoying "radio voice". This guy sucks and can go gargle some Drano. 

Today's post was originally going to be dedicated to him. Until I found someone worse.

On the 7:19am westbound from Ronkonkoma, there’s a little troll who thinks she’s Howard Cosell reincarnated. Seriously. Imagine Howard Cosell’s voice, now raise it an octave or two and that’s this woman.

The 7:19 is an express train, in that there are three sequential stops (Ronkonkoma, Central Islip, Brentwood) then Penn Station. Every once in a while, a braindead person will get on at Brentwood, and even though the conductors announce, “The next and only stop is Penn Station,” they still stay on and expect to get off at Jamaica.

This has happened… maybe three times that I’ve seen in the four and a half years I’ve been commuting. But somewhere along the way, the LIRR decided they needed to beat it into the heads of everyone that there are no stops between Brentwood and Penn. For a while, there was a douche who would make it a fucking trivia game.

BING BONG “The next and final stop is Penn Station. What’s the next stop? … That’s right, Penn Station. Say it with me now, Penn Station.”

And on, and on. No joke. And if you’re chuckling right now or you think that’s cute or funny, go set yourself on fire. It’s fucking irritating and childish. Some of the regulars I used to sit near laughed at this every time he said it, like it was fresh and funny. Keep in mind one of them thought Couples Retreat was the fucking comedy of the century, so it explains a lot. I don’t sit near them anymore.

But recently, Howard Cosell Jr. has gotten the mic and has taken it upon herself to take it even further. Now keep in mind, it’s all about that fucking voice. Try to imagine it when you read her dialogue, THAT SHE RECITES DAILY, and make sure you add LOTS of dramatic pauses. I had capitalized words that she puts extra emphasis on for no fucking good reason.

BING BONG “This is the 7:30 PEAK express train to PENN Station… There are NO local STOPS on this train…. There are… NO Jamaica stops… There are NO Hicksville stops… There are NO Mineloa stops. This is the PEAK express train to… PENN Station. The next and final STOP… is PENN Station. Penn Station… last stop. Have ALL tickets out and ready. ALL tickets.”

Holy. Fucking. Shit. Why. Does. It. Take. You. So. Long. To. Say. Your. Fucking. Sentences. We. Are. Not. Children. You. Dumb. Bitch.

I would like to point out that she pluralizes the stations, as if there were two different fucking Mineolas that the train could stop at. Idiot. Now there is absolutely NO ONE that finds this the least bit amusing. Most people groan and mutter under he their breath when she gets on the PA. Even her fellow conductors don’t seem to like it. One time she was in the middle of here stupid speech, when her finger must have come off the button and she disconnected herself from the PA. Before she could get back on, a different voice said in a non-insulting tone, “Next and last stop is Penn Station, watch the closing doors.”

The one time I met this little beast was when she came around collecting tickets on a day that I was in no mood to hear that voice. This was before her daily radio play, but that voice saying two words is enough to make you want to submit yourself to permanent hearing damage. First, my train was cancelled, then it was combined with the train after it (a local train), and then it was delayed on top of that with extra stops added for good measure. She came and asked for my ticket. I told her she could wait, and I went back to reading the news on my phone. She said, “Oh, I can wait?” Without looking up I replied with murder in my voice, “You heard me right. You make me wait all morning? Now I make you wait. I’m gonna be about forty-five minutes late to work, so you can come back in forty-five minutes. That’s fair.”

She shuffled off to her little booth, but I caved and had my ticket out the next time she came by (she brought another conductor with her and I didn’t want to get kicked off the train, I was late enough).

I haven’t come face to face with her since that day. But I can’t wait until I do. I’m going to give her a review of her performance as an emcee. My aim is to make her cry.

Daddy Issues

There are plenty of kooks that ride the train every day. Some, I like to give back stories to (like this one woman who always has big sparkly pocketbooks, wears tights with leg warmers, white ‘80s sneakers, leopard-print skirts and walks bowlegged – go on, make up your own). Others speak their business so loud I know their names, their spouses’ names, their kids’ names, where they work, what they do, where they live, where they’re going on vacation… shit I know so much about these people, I could probably manage their finances without ever speaking to them.

And then there are the people that walk the line in between. They put it all out there, and yet remain a total mystery. In this case, I am referring to a group I like to call: Daddy and Baby Boy.

Daddy is a short, bespectacled man with thinning hair in his fifties. Baby Boy is a thin, slightly androgynous young man in his early twenties. I believe them to be father and son. The reason I believe this, is because Baby Boy has called Daddy “dad”. But I have my doubts. The least of which is that there is no family resemblance.

Baby Boy, well, he exhibits some bizarre behavior. He has a feminine voice. He talks loud. He seems anxious a lot (I think he has Asperger’s). And he sleeps nestled up against Daddy with his head resting on his shoulder.

Now Daddy, he carries Baby Boy’s bags for him from the train, up the stairs to the west concourse of Penn Station until it’s time for them to part. It’s not like Daddy is any bigger or stronger than Baby Boy. They are about the same height. What father is going to be chivalrous and carry his adult son’s belongings when his son is clearly capable of carrying them himself?

It’s highly possible that this is a May-December homosexual romance (alright, maybe May-September; Daddy’s not that old) and they put on a front because they’re not ready to come out. Based on their daily interactions, that would be a lot easier to accept than them being father and son. But when it comes down to it, I think they’re just the weirdest parent/child combo to ride mass transit.

The final point I wish to touch on is the separation anxiety scenario I was a part of the other day. See, Baby Boy has one of those rolling legal briefcase kind of bags. Daddy rolls it from the train, walks it up the stairs, continues walking it until they part, and then he hands it off to Baby Boy (Baby Boy then carries it up another flight of stairs, so I know for a fact he has no problem carrying that thing).

So, the other day, getting off the train, I was stuck behind Daddy and Baby Boy, who were walking slowly with that damn, rolling bag – Daddy up front, Baby Boy trailing right behind. When I cut between them to get ahead of them… holy shit. I might as well have gotten between a mama bear and her cub – that is, if a mama bear threw a hissy fit instead of chewing your face off. Baby Boy with all his weak little might, thrusts himself past me to be close to Daddy again, breathing heavy and grunting the whole time he maneuvered past me. It took all of my might to not burst out laughing right in their faces.

A little part of me lights up every day they ride the train together. Because I never know what fun little episode I’ll get to see.