SUBWAY TALES

Part 3

Another hilarious episode from my life. One gorgeous (or not so gorgeous) evening I have decided to visit library after work. Since my work usually finishes a bit later than I would like, plus the usual dealings with absolute genius of library clerks, by the time I got to the subway station, it was a bit after seven, and I was a bit hungry. I had the option of going to one of local kosher eateries, or getting a quick snack at the pharmacy. Since it was getting late, and I was not in the mood for more rudeness, stupidity, pushing, and shoving, I have opted for Duane Reade.

It was not late enough to go on the downtown platform, though, so I decided to do my usual rush hour "circle". So, here I was: a well-fed shrimp, totally rumpled-looking as befits every single red blooded New Yorker at the end of the day, surrounded by overflowing bags, and happily munching on her snack. Diagonally from me there was a quintessential elderly "Russian" couple, who, I correctly guessed, was on the way to Carnegie Hall. They were both busy perusing different pieces of recyclable paper which amongst Russian-speaking denizens of New York pass for newspapers. The husband, in true masculine fashion, was doing just that; the wife, on the other hand, was multi-tasking: she was also busy perusing her fellow passengers. So, as soon as yours truly got comfortable, the piercing look went straight into my direction, and then the hapless husband got a sharp elbow in his ribs. Then, about half the car was treated to her emotional tirade (delivered in Russian, so, unfortunately, not everyone understood it). "Look at this obese woman eating chips! She is so fat, she should starve herself! Instead, she is eating chips! Look at her!" To her everlasting annoyance, the husband just barely picked up his head from his reading, mumbled something about him not caring about the chips, and went back on reading.

I decided to entertain myself and return her stare, for starters. I assumed that even if she did not detect the fact that I understood her words, at least she would figure out that I know that she is talking about me. No, that did not deter her at all from her chosen course, and she continued staring back at me, pointing with her finger, nudging at her husband, and mumbling loudly about chips, fat, dieting, and starvation. Soon the train arrived at 57th Street, and the couple and their newspapers departed for Carnegie Hall.

My friends kept asking me why I did not reply verbally. What can I say? As I have repeated over and over again, our parents' upbringing always fouls our lives: I couldn't ruin the evening at Carnegie Hall for a couple of senior citizens, even if one of them was a typical homo soveticus.