Thursday, September 14, 2006

Thanks Buddy

9-11 didn’t seem like a good day to continue grousing about commuting, even though NJ Transit diverted NY Penn Station passengers to Hoboken, probably due to something they blamed on Amtrack, as usual. When you commemorate the horrific incineration of 3000 innocent people by Islamo-Facists who hate us because were , rich, we’re American, we’re Jews and our women wear bikinis instead of burkas, it seems petty to complain about mundane stuff like late trains and rude commuters. In fact, if it were not for a cup of coffee I got at Moran’s at about 8:40 AM, September 11, 2001, I might not be alive to commute and grouse about it. NJ Transit made , September 11, 2006 just another day by screwing up as usual.
I refused to stay home and mourn. By getting my ass out of bed and going to work and working and earning money and helping to nudge the US economy along by my contribution to GDP however small it may be, I feel I effectively said, “Fuck you!” to Osama bin Laden and his ilk.
Of course I’m no longer downtown, and I can’t bare to take the PATH train through the pit that used to have the towers towering over it. I can’t watch anything on TV about 9-11 for very long. I caught maybe 5 minutes of the controversial ABC special, but I couldn’t stomach it. I have not seen any of the movies, nor will I, its much too soon for me. I refuse to forget, but remembering is a little too painful and inconvenient right now. I’m glad for the ABC special and the controversy it created. I think Clinton and the Dems need to be exposed for what they are. And I think the country needs to be reminded. Those in the bread basket of America who weren’t on the walkway between the towers or on the sidewalk across the street when the attack occurred, need TV shows to keep the memory of the horror alive. I don’t need that, just the small corner of my brain where it all resides.

Now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, let me tell you about the asshole commuters I faced this morning. First after transferring at Secaucus, there was this nice lady that saved me a seat with her pocketbook. I know she saved it for me, because most people won’t ask someone to, “Move your fucking pocketbook, bitch!” This is good, because I will, so I get the seat. All I have to do is ask, and endure the dirty look that says, “My ticket expressly includes a seat for my pocketbook.”

While I was seated and reading, Important-White-Guy-With-Expensive-Watch was yakking into his Blackberry. He dropped his glasses on the floor and struggled to find them while blind and trying not to stop yakking into his expensive Blackberry. Boy was I impressed (actually I a was smirking inside). When we reached Penn Station, everyone jumped up and rushed for the exits. Important-White-Guy-With-Expensive-Watch’s briefcase fell into the aisle and I stepped over on my way out. Like my 8-year-old son and all my tenants he chose to blame someone else: Me. “Hey, thanks buddy.” I wish I could come up with a good come back, like, “Why don’t you call your mommy on your Blackberry and have her help you pick your stuff up.” Even a good “Fuck you!” would have sufficed. I just muttered under my breath. Any suggestions?

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