…other than it’s one of my stupid stories, and I thought of it the other day because I was telling it to Matt.
When I lived in NYC, I was a lot younger and a lot slimmer (that was before I quit smoking). I walked everywhere.
A bunch of friends and I went to the Fireworks on the East River for 4th of July.
Now, you have to realize, NYC in the summer is almost as unbearable as Texas. LOTS of concrete, steel, etc which holds the heat in.
One of my friends insisted that the very bestest most optimal excellent place to watch the fireworks was off Canal, down by the Brooklyn Bridge, so we shagged our happy asses down there. It was about 90 but felt like 105. Humid. I was wearing a pair of white shorts, t-shirt, and my brand new white Reeboks—the first pair I ever had.
The fireworks over the East River for the 4th of July are amazing. Better than Disney. Better than anything I’ve seen before or since. So great, in fact, that 8,000,000 people (that’s eight million) line the banks of the river (both sides) to watch them.
This picture is not mine; if you want me to remove it, please email me and I will do so.
As fireworks shows go, once the last huge volley has gone off, when the crowd has uttered the last mass “Ooooh! Ahhhh!”, there’s nothing left—so everybody goes home.
8,000,000 people going someplace at the same time is both astonishing and terrifying. It didn’t dawn on our stupid selves that would be the case. Of course the uptown trains (downtown and Brooklyn, too) were not only packed—the dense lines to get down into the stations themselves were blocks long.
Obvious plan: hit a few bars. Yeah, well several hundred thousand people thought of that idea at the same time, too.
We got the bright idea to walk across the island, to see if maybe the westside lines (the 1, 2, 3) were less crowded. They were, and after an hour of trying we finally managed to get on a train headed uptown.
We were packed like sardines. It was hard to breathe. There was NO personal space, you were touching all the way around. Ah, well, life in the City….
So, suddenly, I felt this warmth sliding down my right leg. I immediately thought, “I cut myself, I’m bleeding profusely.” That would not be unheard-of. I maneuvered around a bit to see if I could see the cut.
No. It wasn’t a cut. The huge guy next to me had decided his need outweighed any other, had whipped it out, and was PEEING ON MY LEG.
I told my friends to get off at the next station. “Are you NUTS? We just spent 2 hours trying to get on!” “If you don’t get off, just get out of my way, I’m getting off this GD train.”
So, I got off. Took the brand new Reeboks off and tossed them in the nearest garbage can. Walked barefoot about 40 blocks in NYC in July to get back home.
So, it is truly better to be pissed off than pissed on (I was both).
As I titled this, I have NO idea why I am posting this. It wasn’t funny then, but kinda is now….