"hell is other people" said sartre

I grow weary of public transit. Yesterday I traversed the city from Harlem to Soho to Ft. Greene to Soho to Kips Bay to Harlem to Williamsburg to Ft. Greene, via the 6, R, Q, Q, R, 6, 6, and L trains (and finally a cab). Notable MTA occurences included:

• I transferred from the R to the Q at Canal, which requires a labrynthine walk; when I got to the Q, the doors had just closed. I had my iPod headphones in -- you know how, when you're listening to party music, you tend to walk forcefully and gesticulate in an exaggerated manner, as though you were at a rave and enjoying your club drugs? Well, I got to the Q, made a very angry expression, stomped, and stuck out my tongue at the train. And ... the doors opened. I was the only person on the platform; I think the conductor actually gave in to a grown woman throwing a tantrum.
  
  
• On the 6, this couple boarded pushing a wheelchair holding their retarded son; the wheelchair was enormous and took up the entire width of the car from the door to the bench opposite (where I happened to be sitting). So this kid and I kinda stared at each other while he rolled his tongue around and waved his arms (I can hardly complain after my Q train tantrum). The boy's father, however, became completely incensed when the Asian man selling batteries stepped over the son's legs in order to pass through the train. So, all at once, the father began complaining in Spanish to his wife, the battery man yelled "battery one dollar!" over and over, the kid continued to waggle and loll, and I became one with my iPod.