Hey! Remember me? I was the dude in the green hoodie trying to read the AV Club. I was sitting next to my friend in a red hoodie. You were two loud, crazy bitches.
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The one on the left had a red something or other on, with platinum blond hair, an owl pendant, and a septum piercing. Maybe leopard print leggings. The other one was not at all notable, so I cannot comment on anything about her. Did you guys decide that one of you would carry the burden of both your wacky fashion quotas?
So we were just chilling out, talking about the show we just came from when you accosted my friend (I can't blame you, even I realize that he's an attractive fellow) and told him to dance. But not a regular dance, a weird-assed jump-in-the-air-and-spasm-at-the-apex thing. Sort of like what might happen at the very end of an anime, when the young protagonist jumps and goes YEAAAHHHH, and everything freezes when he reaches the top, providing a backdrop for the credits to roll over.
Man, we were just chilling! It was a good night, and we were tired and chatting about things. We were two Dudes, and we were in a Place. Why did you have to do a Thing? Why did you have to grab my friend by the hand and yank him out of his seat and make him do that in front of the whole goddamn train? Someone was clapping after. And it wasn't the good kind of clapping. They wouldn't even pull that shit in Gitmo.
And the worst part? You were both clearly trying to emulate a cross between the chicks from Ghost World with Natalie Portman in Garden State. Except that none of those characters would have a conversation about MADtv that was so unabashedly pro-MADtv. What is this, West Virginia?
You said you were from Massachusetts, but you didn't say you were from Boston, so we'll just assume that you were both super-dee-duper excited to be out of the suburbs and in a real goddamn metropolis, where the trains actually run all night, and the cigarettes are expensive. But do us all a favor and leave your megaquirky ZOMG! bullshit at the mall in East Bumblefuck where it belongs.
Now, I don't mean to hate. Maybe its the fact that I'm a former New Yorker; yeah its got freaks and artists and drunk chicks, but everyone knows their goddamn place. I understand the need to make public spaces a little more chill, give them a splash of right-brained-ness or whatever the fuck. But we are talking about public transportation, at night, on a line that services the whole city; people of all walks of life, with one thing in common: we're tired. If it were a car full of some Blue Line jockeys going to buy some scarves at the Damen stop, then sure, go to town, let the hipsters sneer at you. But the Red Line is different. That shit goes to the Southside. There is a Code, and it should be followed.
Please, don't apologize. Just don't ever do it again.
- Location: Southbound Red Line
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