Everyone who frequents this site knows that all of us here in the corporate offices of Jose el Retardo are pundits for public transportation, and as we are based mainly in the New York City area, the subway is the transportation of choice for most of us. As for myself, I use the subway, on average, twice daily, and generally find the experience to be a pleasant (if not sometimes crowded), efficient, and speedy way to traverse the urban landscape. Of course, whenever one injects him/herself into the general public, there are bound to be questionably fascinating scenarios unfolding around him/her from time to time. Mostly it comes in the form of conflict, whether the divergence is caused out of anger or mental illness (you’ve just got to LOVE crazy people quarrels, what with the spit and the fingernails, and the tin foil hats), but sometimes it comes in the form of swollen, pussy scabs.
For instance: the other day, I was on my way to somewhere (stop being so damn nosey, faithful reader), head down, rocking to the sounds of the new Radiohead album (which is pretty goddamned good, if you haven’t heard—In Rainbows—check it out), when a leg passed in front of my field of vision. A horrible leg. A disgusting leg. Presumably, a human leg. The human (?) male attached to the aforementioned monstrosity was wearing blue track pants with the typical double-white stripe up the seam, but had the right pant leg rolled up past the knee. And oh my lord…below the knee…
His right calf was inflamed to at least twice the circumference of the left, with huge bumps covering the shin and calf like the hideous calcifications that so disfigured John Merrick. The skin was shiny and tightly pulled across the shinbone, multi-colored with patches of red fading to ashy yellow. But the thing that really caught my eye was the HUGE FREAKING OPEN WOUNDS that covered the lower quarter of this ghastly appendage. Tinged white around the edges and juicy red in the middle, the wounds seemed to fester and bubble before my very eyes. As I stared mouth agape at this putrid mess, the man (who I now noticed walked with a cane), stopped walking, leaned over, and reached to correct his pant leg. “Oh good,” I thought, “cover that shit, bubba. Back to my music. Dooo do do doooo, dah dah dah…” Instead, he rolled the cuff higher.
Gentle reader, he wanted us to see.
As he passed me, I had to watch his slow progress. He stopped to lean against a subway pole (and for those of you unfamiliar with a NYC subway car, please note the picture to the left), and I shuddered to think of the hands that would soon be grasping this pole in the hours to come, looking to steady the body they were attached to, and hoping they would all be washed before aiding in the consumption of various tasty finger foods. His mouth began to move, so I removed my headphones (Koss Plugs, a great, inexpensive headphone) to see what this human-like creature had to say. He spoke quietly, so I could not hear his words, but as he spoke, a young woman—with black lipstick, so you know she must have been very with-it and cool—reached into her bag and pulled out a dollar to give to the patient (I call him this because goddamnit he should have been in the hospital getting care and not on the fucking SUBWAY), and my heart cried out for her fingers. “Oh no! Don’t touch him!” I almost cried aloud, but I bit back my words.
So he was begging for money. I should have known. Otherwise, he would have at least taken a minute to wrap some gauze around that stanky shit on his leg and pull his pants down to cover it. I swear to god, the NYC hobo population would carry their livers in a bucket if they thought they would get a fucking quarter for it.
Anyway, public transportation really does rock, and I urge all of you to use it more liberally.
24 Comments
Speaking of buckets:
http://icanhascheezburger.com/2007/01/14/i-has-a-bucket/
Dude what would you do for a dollar?
Hey, maybe instead of congestion pricing, they should be talking about infestation pricing.
It’s a good thought, LP. Submit evidence of disgusting distractions on your trip, receive a partial refund. The whole thing can be funded through a state mandated high-priced prostitution ring.
When did Rush Limbaugh start writing this blog?
Jose the guy, quite possibly, has no way to get his grotesque condition cared for in which case he probably can’t afford a car–how else do you suggest he ambulate? Have you heard about the health insurance crisis in this country? It’s real.
Also, this summer when I had poison ivy it left my right leg swollen, blister covered, and pretty much sick to look at. But, the discomfort was so great when I wore pants I had to wear shorts, and guess how I get around the city? Exactly. Anyhow, I got my share of disgusted looks from people and it felt shitty.
Medium Happiness
What can I tell you, Medium. I saw your poison ivy, and it was NOTHING like the mess on this man’s leg. Look, whatever, sorry if this guy was your uncle or something, but you also, I’m quite sure, don’t go around using gross-out tactics to get dollars out of people. Also, I doubt this man had the discomfort of poison ivy going on. He could have, and for his own health and for the health of others, SHOULD have had this shit covered and protected. Just because someone is down on his luck doesn’t mean he has the right to sneeze in my face.
Look, I am a citizen of a major urban area, and I’ve pretty much seen it all when it comes to the hobo community. I’ve seen guys fake cerebral palsy while literally moaning and crying for money (yes, I saw it, when he got to the subway he threw the crutches under his arms and started WHISTLING, I swear to god), I’ve seen guys beg for money on the train with the hard-luck family stories, get the money out of the less-hardened, and then they get out at the same stop as me, walk into the same deli as me, and use the money they just begged to buy beer. I’ve seen people beg for money, claiming they wanted to buy food, be OFFERED food, and turn it down. I realize that there must be some concern about food that has been handled by others, but hey, it’s got to be better than food from the dumpster, right? So yes, maybe I have been turned callus, but I can tell you this:
I have on countless occasions given money to the homeless when they have sung, played music, performed magic tricks, drawn pictures, read poetry, and one guy I will never forget came onto the train and fucking cracked everybody up with his own stand-up routine that certainly made my trip home better and improved my mood. So do I want the homeless to do parlor tricks for me? No. But fuck man, we ALL have problems. If you want my money, be like everybody else and DO something for it. Don’t stick your infection in my face.
Medium, you are showing quite the judgmental streak. Seems the cream that cleared up your poison ivy also cleared up your sense of humor.
PS–Rush Limbaugh would love the clothing Vampire Weekend wears.
Well if the cream that you’re inventing had worked the way it was supposed to I wouldn’t have these problems then, would I? Your soon-to-be-invented cream sucks! It is too late and it’s not working.
Retardo, I do have a sense of humor. I guess when things become mean spirited and it’s not a celebrity or political figure being attacked I get soft. Maybe it’s because I was made fun of and picked on so much as a kid.
Medium, so was I. Who wasn’t?
Well, hasn’t that informed the person you are? I mean I guess this is more a discussion about public hygiene and underhanded pan handling technique than it is about cruelty.
In any event, as my grandpa would say, who also sent me an email yesterday with this amazing language, he writes in all caps, of course, “I CAUGHT A 10 INCH BASS SUNDAY EVENING FROM BANK. HIT A JIG. DICK AND I WILL GET OUR LITTLE QUEEN MARY IN WATER THIS AFTERNOON WHEN WATER WARMS. SUPPOSED TO BE IN UPPER 60S. WE HAVE A SMALL ELECTRIC MOTOR TO PROPEL THE SCOW…MUST RUN. AM GOING TO WALK BACK TO OUR ABODE TO GET OLE LEGS LOOSENED UP.” Jose, you’re a scholar and a gentleman.
Actually, your grandfather, in all seriousness, writes quite a bit like Hemingway. You know I care for your opinion, Medium. I love our arguments, really. They sharpen my wits.
I guess what the bullies of life (from childhood on) have done for me is thickened my skin. There is much to be sad for in life, and around every corner there is a brand new bit of nastiness waiting to stomp my foot and take my lunch. I try to balance that with humor, when possible, and a healthy dose of pragmatism.
I could be wrong, and often am, but it seems that those who ask for my tears are usually the least likely to deserve them.
Can we find out what your grandfather has to say about all of this?
I hate it when you guys fight.
I’d walk around town in jean shorts, knee-high white socks and cowboy boots…. for a dollar!
Pops, I know for a fact that you’ve already done this.
I think it’s just simple market research. They guy probably covered it up and got $5 total yesterday. The day before, with it exposed, he got $25. So, the bandage had to go. Like the guy with no legs who hand-walks/slides down the subway. I’m sure he has a wheelchair, at home.
I’d come to work with puss-dripping sores if they paid me more to do it, and so would you.
Well, zenpvnk, they’d pay me more if I came to work in a tie, but I won’t do that, so I doubt I’d take them up on the pussy sores.
Jose… I believe you’re the wrong gender to have pussy sores!
“I am not an animal! I am a human being! I… am… a.. man!”
John Merrick
would you lick that guys leg for an hr. drumming of your choice?
No, Danzig. I would not.
Nice ass.
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