Skinny Jeans Don’t Guarantee a Subway Seat

Hey, if anybody wants to be a librarian in a PR firm, here’s your chance. I just stumbled upon my job ad. It's weird seeing your daily activities spelled out like that.

I hate to be all, “have you ever noticed…” Andy Rooney/Erma Bombeck, but there non-important observations in the world that need to be shared. Of course, some things just are–the sky is blue, office ladies love shitting up shared bathrooms–irrefutable things. What I’m trying to figure out is why little white Greenpoint girls insist on forcing their way into tight seats on the G train when the last station is only two stops away.

This is hardly a major problem, but I’m baffled by it at least a couple time a week (I ride the G home about 98% of the time, but to work only about 40%). I like the G because it’s not crowded, I get on at the next to last stop in Brooklyn so I always get a seat. It’s stress free and I don’t have to closely interact with any humans—I’ll never understand why everybody bitches about the G so much. There are never any problems until the G starts approaching the young, carefree Caucasian enclaves. Metropolitan Ave. in Williamsburg is Ok, isn’t bad either. It’s when you reach the last two stops in Brooklyn that trouble erupts.

There’s an inexplicable routine that always happens at Greenpoint and Nassau avenue stations. The train will have filled up by this point, but it’s no biggie because the G’s last stop is only two or three stations away. Anyone can handle a crowd for a few minutes. That is, unless you’re a 24-year-old transplant wearing skinny jeans (and I thought the post-low rise trend would be less cruel), flats and a tunic. There will usually be a smattering of still empty middle seats, undesirable because an average size human can barely fit in the space comfortably (obviously it depends on the girth of the two individuals bookending it). People do fill them during long rides, but generally they’re left empty on the G train because hardly anybody (except me because I’m a freak) rides the train end to end, it’s an intermediary subway primarily used for short transfers. I don’t ever attempt the middle seat because I’m a wide load and it’s just rude to wedge yourself in like that, especially when it’s so hot out. And likewise, I appreciate having the seat next to me left open when the train’s not at full capacity.

But when these girls get on the train I cringe. I can see it in their eyes the second they board, bitch is going to squeeze her ass next to mine like it or not. No one else does this, not men, Hispanics, blacks, tourists, not even most seniors (well, except old Chinese ladies). Granted, these seat grabbers are always tiny, but that’s not the point. And then they have the gall to act irritated like you’re in their space.

I think it’s Ok to sit for two stops when there are lots of easily accessible seats open. I occasionally do it when I transfer from the F to the V at Rockefeller Center in the morning. Often the train is only about half full, so it’s no biggie to grab a corner seat for a few minutes. But you don’t do it when it’s packed and people are standing. Plenty of New Yorkers have hour long commutes and they deal. I usually have to stand during my 50 minute trip. But these can’t stand for eight fucking minutes? (I haven’t actually timed the distance between Greenpoint and Long Island City, that’s an estimate.)

There’s a lot of common sense lacking in young Williamsburg and Greenpoint girls. Is it any coincidence that those are the only two neighborhoods that are ever the subject of internet warnings (scroll to the third comment) about how a friend or a friend of a friend nearly averted being raped someplace desolate? You don’t see that kind of alarmist stuff coming from genuinely “bad” neighborhoods or thoroughly gentrified areas. I can’t imagine Williamburg and Greenpoint have more sexual predators than the rest of the city, so I can only guess that the problem lies elsewhere (yes, of course it could just be their strong sense of community and caring). Oh my god, time for the hating, I’m blaming the (near) victims.

Perhaps I’d have more sympathy for their plights if they stopped squeezing their stretch-denim-clad asses were they don’t belong.