~Hood Booger family Edition~

I hate hoodboogers. I hate the way they smell. I hate the way they speak. I hate that they procreate and bring children into the world. I hate their dusty lil, disrespectful kids. *rolls eyes*

I'm rushing. My nap after Sunday service turned into a long sleep and I have somewhere to be.
Dressed in a white dress and cream trench with a pink flower in my hair, I'm the picture of prim and proper perfection. 
The train arrives and I inspect the seat before sitting. 
Just as the doors are about close a chick throws her bag onto the train laughing and speaking loudly she and what appears to be her dusty hoodbooger crew run onto the train.
Nostrils flared, body tensed, I become aggravated as she sits her dusty, however cute, kid beside me.
The kid immediately begins swinging her legs. I'm imagining her foot connecting with my bare leg and me flinging her across the train car.
She's whining about something and reaching across my face to her mother asking for something.
I'm not a fan of grubby paws in my face. I want to rip her arm out of it's socket. I see the mother with a black, bodega bag filled with junk. Doritos, cheese popcorn, etc.
The kid wants the Doritos. The hoodbooger mother says, "You don't want the popcorn? It's healthy!" Poor delusional soul. 
The kid swings her legs in what appears to be the beginnings of a tantrum. I look on in disgust and disbelief as the mother concedes and hands over the cheesy Doritos.
The rugrat begins to lick, one side then the other, of the chip. Her hands orange from the imitation cheese. 
She proceeds to crunch and crackle and I watch as Dorito crumbs spray all over her shirt and the small space between us. 
The mother quickly leans across me and flicks the chip crumbs onto the train floor.
At this point I'm sure there is smoke coming from my ears. 
I keep looking at the little girl and her hands expecting the train to suddenly jerk and her grubby little orange fingers to touch me. 
As the train pulled into the next station, a few s

eats opened up and the mother moved the child to sit next to her.
I realized it was not a band of merry hood boogers at all, but a mother and her two daughters. 
They were hood for sure but I realized the mother was dressed in scrubs. Clearly she has a job.
The kids weren't dirty..just dressed badly. Gaudy, urban, fashion.
As I watched her hug and kiss the little one and talk and laugh with the other, I saw a loving mother and her kids.
I immediately felt ashamed for having judged her from her attire.
I took out my fone and began to type.

*Ding dong*
Thank you for riding the MTA

~ Chivalry is dead Edition`

I'm slightly out of breath because I had to run to catch the train. (I didn't want to be late for work, AGAIN)
It appeared that all the men on the platform had pushed past all the women to get on the train first.
I watched a man push past a woman and her child to get a seat.
I sucked my teeth and sneered in disgust.
Maybe I'm crazy.
Maybe I'm from a different time (though these men were clearly older than me..although u can never tell with Europeans.)
Maybe I was just raised better.
As R. Kelly swooned in my ears about getting lost in my love, I pondered where common courtesy had gone and why men nowadays find it ok, NOT to let a woman sit first or give up their seat for a woman.
I read the advertisements for "Zipcar" rentals.
"No booty call shall go unanswered", "the official vehicle of 'Get your stuff out of my apartment'"
As I wondered who had come up with this nonsense, the train pulled into the next station.
A visibly pregnant woman entered the train.
I look around at all the seated men who suddenly have fallen asleep, shaking my head in disgust.
I look around at all the standing women and seated "men" knowing if any of the women were sitting they'd have given her their seats.
Sneering at a little prick who finally gets up and asks if she wants to sit (because he's getting off) I know that I'm going to be in a bad mood for the rest of the morning

 *ding dong*

~Thank You for riding the MTA~

~Bonnie & Clyde Edition~

As "Snow Patrol" screamed into my ears about a lighthouse or something, I sauntered onto the local train.
Your neighborhood thug, homeboy from the hood brandished a foreign bottle of beer, his arm around a very blonde Becky. I'm guessing from the look on his face that he's expecting me to be angry or roll my eyes because of this.
Pfft, he was far from anything I'd look twice at. I wouldn't have dated him so I wouldn't have cared less if he was with an albino alien.
Bundled up like an Eskimo, only my eyes are visible as I exit the train and cross the platform sliding into a seat on the waiting express train. 
I had planned to catch a few Zzzs but what sat across from me was far better than a half assed nap. 
Dressed in all black, sat a boy so beautiful my mouth dropped open. (Pls note the above picture does not encompass the beauty that was him.)
His strong thighs were parted as he leaned forward resting his elbows on them.
His olive skin was smooth and his full pink lips parted for me to see beautiful, huge white teeth. Thick black lashes fluttered atop chiseled cheek bones and opened to reveal dreamy, dark eyes.
He wore Dre Beats and a hood so only the front of his hair was visible and showed a patch of grey. I was intrigued. 
I stole glances every few minutes, drawn to his mouth.
I am almost positive he knew I was watching and was putting on a mouth show just for me.
I blinked rapidly as he licked his lips. Then bit his bottom lip. Then smiled slightly.
I rolled my eyes.
The train slowed to a stop at the next station.
A couple boarded and I giggled to myself because she was hispanic and he was white but they reminded me of Jay-Z and Beyonce in the "03 Bonnie & Clyde" video with her in tan knee boots and he in timbs. "Hood love" I thought. 
My mind wandered as I remember the words, "And he'll do anything necessary for her, so don't let the necessary occur. YUP" 
I smiled.
That will always be OUR song.

*ding dong*
Thank you for riding the MTA

~Late Night Edition~

It's late.
I should be in a cab but I'm all the way on the lower east side.
When it's the difference between a $50 cab and a swipe of the metrocard and I'm dressed in work clothes? I'm going to save that $50.
I've had a few drinks and no sleep so as soon as I sit, my eyes close.
As the song on my iPod changes from Dwele to Fred Hammond, the train jerked and halted in between stops.
My eyes struggle open and my eyes meet a set of greenish grays.
He's fat. His attire is horrid. Dark blue wind breakers, sneakers, a camel pea coat, a gold watch and chain straight out of the eighties. But I can't stop staring at his face. He is racially ambiguous. Reddish hair peaking from the sides of his ugly skully hat with a beard to match. His fat face is covered in freckles the same colour as his hair.
I'm not attracted in the slightest but I'm intrigued by his strange, unique beauty.
I blatantly stare at him trying to figure his ethnic origin. I'm completely stumped.
My eyes slowly close again as the train crawls through the tunnels.
My eyes open again as the train stops. It has pulled into the next station.
I see what appears to be a 10 year old child carrying her little sister who is almost as big as she is.
I wonder where they could be coming from this late and why their parents have them out in the streets.
I lean my head back to go back to sleep and look over at the little girls again, only to realize it is actually a very tiny mother and child.
I find myself staring at the small woman with her absolutely precious little girl, dressed in pink. The little girl looks exactly like her mom. I smile as I watch both sets of tiny feet swinging. Neither of them tall enough for their feet to touch the floor.
The little girl takes out a banana from her little pink bag and peels it. She has what appears to be a notepad in her hand and is writing.
I stare a little longer.
As I stare at her tiny little face and huge teeth, I begin to wonder if she is indeed a child at all or if she is just a really small lady. 
I'm sleepy. That's preposterous. 
Right? 

*ding dong*
Thank You for Riding the MTA

*Bossy Becky Edition"

It's cold. 
I'm wearing a colour block dress that is little more than a wisp of fabric with bright orange leggings and a hooded bubble coat that is almost to my ankles. The dress is more a spring or fall frock but I have pressed snooze one two many times and know if I take the time to iron something, I won't have time to eat.
My black booties and boots (all 5 pair) need to be repaired and none of my other boots match. I stuff the ankles of my leggings into my Giuseppe's, knowing it looks ridiculous but not caring much, as I rush to catch the train. 
The station is strangely empty. 
I swipe my Metrocard as I realize the display reads, "No cards." I rush to the other turnstile which reads the same. I grumble under my breath as I read train tracker which says my train will arrive in five minutes. I envision the eight lanes of traffic I have to scurry across because I'm on the side of the parkway with no token booth. 
I'm cursing in my head and walking to the exit as a Messican swipes his card and looks at me for help.
I roll my eyes saying, "It doesn't work." 
I'm speaking to him as well as the pigment sufficient woman who has entered the station. "What do you mean?" She asks in a tone I do not like. "How is this possible?" She continues, in that tone. I'm tempted to say, "Bitch I don't work here!" 
A group of teens enter the station and I wait to see if any of them have skills like McGyver. 
After they all try their cards (even though Bossy Becky has told them it doesn't work) the tall black boy goes to the side where the turnstiles are for exiting only. 
He pushes in the opposite direction and with one strong shove it gives way and he is on the other side. Common sense would tell him to buzz the emergency door, for the rest of us, but he leaves us all on the other side and climbs the stairs to the uptown platform.
One by one we all push our way through, Bossy Becky shouting instructions, "Push. Very hard. With all your might! that's it! you've got it!"
More people enter the station and she shouts directions to them as well. 
"She must be a teacher" I thought as I climbed the stairs with one minute to spare before the train arrived.

*ding dong*
Thank You for riding the MTA