As a native New Yorker, I have been utilizing NYC Transit to get from here to there for as long as I can remember. If you’ve spent any amount of time riding the subway, you know that train delays are commonplace and guaranteed as sunrises and sunsets.
Delays can be caused by construction, track fires, sick passengers, police investigations, switch malfunctions, unauthorized persons on the track, or that poor, unfortunate soul hit by a train.
Hell, some straphangers believe that transit employees purposely cause train delays just for shits and giggles. I’ve never subscribed to that idea, but I can see why people felt that way, considering fares have consistently been increased without a considerable improvement in service.
Even though I didn’t like train delays any more than the next person, I was never one to yell and cuss over them. I took them in stride; I had plenty of other things to raise my blood pressure.
That was until I experienced the worst train delay of them all.
I was taking a power nap on the E train while on my way home from bowling and was awoken by a cacophony of slurred obscenities.
I looked around, spotted a guy with his phone out, and followed his gaze to two other guys sitting across from each other.
“F-fuuuuuk uuuuu! Tats y I fuked ur mudder.”
“Eat cockmeat samich biatch!”
The guy filming yelled “Worldstar” in an exaggerated voice when the two idiots got up and got in each other’s faces. They were so close that I almost expected them to kiss, but the train jerked forward a little, causing both to lose their balance and fall.
A distorted voice bellowed over the PA system; the only thing I could make out was a train delay. I was so caught up in the spectacle that I hadn’t noticed that the train was stationary in the tunnel.
I asked a couple sitting diagonally from me, “how long had we been delayed and what the next stop was,” but they shook their heads, clutched the cameras around their necks, and slid to the other side of the bench (seat?).
I asked myself, was it my breath, and laughed at the absurdity of people.
I checked my phone for the time—1 AM. I had been on the train for over an hour already and had no idea where we were along the route. I thought about asking someone else but didn’t feel like getting up to find a friendly neighbor.
I hadn’t heard any more arguing and saw that one of the lovebirds had moved to the other end of the car.
At least it was relatively quiet now.
There weren’t a lot of other passengers on the train. There was the (presumably) racist tourist couple, the two drunks/junkies, the aspiring filmmaker, a woman checking her makeup (at 1 AM), a sleeping couple, a guy jamming out to tunes, and a woman cutting her toenails. Everyone was scattered throughout the car, and I had the section next to the connecting doors to myself.
Announcements from the crew came here and there, but it was all the same unintelligible crap. “Train delays, blah blah blah.”
I started playing ‘Candy Crush’ to pass the time and was about to finish level 665 when the lights went out, and there was a collective gasp and a “hey, what happened to the lights?” I joined in with the others and toggled my flashlight on.
Either the MTA forgot to pay Con Edison, or there was a power outage. Mechanical difficulties would’ve explained why we had been in the tunnel for so long—about half an hour since I woke up.
The lights flickered on and off again, and an unpleasant smell permeated the car. It wasn’t so bad at first—after all, I had been riding the subway most of my life, and you kind of get used to the various scents and stenches you come across—but then the air started to get real thick, real quick.
The lights flickered on again, and a lady, adorned in black plastic bags and barefoot, was sitting across from the samich maker, who was fast asleep.
What the fuck! She hadn’t been there before, right?
I might have missed her when taking the headcount, or maybe she had come from the other car, but the connecting doors had been locked every time I had taken the E train. I checked my side, and it was locked.
Maybe the conductor/motorman/whoever forgot to lock those doors.
The bag lady mumbled something to herself while rocking back and forth in her seat. She became louder each second until I could clearly hear her say, “spare some tissue.”
I looked around the car, and everyone awake was transfixed on her.
The smell turned into a horrid stench when a black ooze started to puddle at her feet. I quickly pulled my shirt over my nose and hoped that the scent of my deodorant would protect my nostrils from the foul smell emanating from that woman.
She began laughing so loud it sounded like she was sitting right next to me, and the lights when off again. She was standing over the sleepy samich maker when they came back on. Someone said, “Hey, get away from him,” while another yelled at the man to wake up, but she ignored them.
The bag lady grimaced, reached under her dress, and pulled out a chuck of shit so big it had to weigh over fifty courics.
As she studied her handiwork, the mudderfucker got up from his seat and started to approach her, shouting, “get the fuck away from him you disgusting bitch!”
She looked at him, smiled, and then it went dark again.
The lights flicked on, and we all screamed as the trash bag lady was now standing in front of mudderfucker, shoving a piece of shit into his mouth. She pushed him and he fell on his back, gagging and clutching his throat. His lips started to fall away and white stuff oozed from his mouth as if his teeth had turned into Alka Seltzer tablets and dissolved in his blood. Chunks of flesh started to come off as he vigorously clawed at his face.
Chaos erupted and became everybody for themselves as we tried to escape the mayhem. I fought to open the connecting door next to me, but it wouldn’t budge. The camera couple was trying to pry the windows open, and the sleeping couple was trying to pull a set of doors open. The pedicure lady was banging on the doors and screaming “help.”
I looked back and saw the guy at the silent disco rushing her, but she stopped him dead in his tracks with a shitty slap to the face, exposing his flesh. He dropped and howled out in agony as she shoved her thumbs into his eyeballs, gripped his temples, and ripped his head clean down the middle.
Then she farted, and a caustic green gas escaped from her ass and wafted toward samich maker, eating through the poles like it was flan. The gas encircled his head, and he started to scream while his nose and lips peeled off and dropped into his lap. His eyeballs popped and dripped like a runny yolk.
You know how they say that your life will flash before your eyes right before you die. Well, I experienced something similar. I saw myself standing on the approach, relaxing my body. I acquired my target on the lane and began my five-step approach, the same approach I had done hundreds of times before, and I hoped that I would be able to do hundreds of times more.
I planted my foot and slid on my left foot while my arm completed its pendulum arc, and I effortlessly released the ball onto the lane. It slid, then rolled, and snapped into the pocket once it hit the dry. It was a strike.
I looked back at the woman as she flung shit with deadly accuracy. It hit people in their faces and arms, feet and backs, and it ate through everything.
She saw me, wound up her game-winning pitch, and released a curved shit ball. Time seemed to slow as I watched it hurdle towards me. Tears fell down my face as I realized I was never going to get to go bowling again.
“Bowling!” I shouted when I remembered I had my bowling equipment with me. I ducked before the shit hit me. It landed on the window to the connecting door and started to eat away at the plexiglass and metal. I hefted my 50lb bowling bag into it, knocked the glass loose, and took a chunk of the door with it. I climbed out, jumped onto the tracks, and started running alongside the train. When I passed the front car, the motorman honked the train horn repeatedly, and I turned and yelled “run” as loud as I could; but I don’t think he heard me, but I didn’t wait to check. I had narrowly escaped whatever the fuck that trash bag woman was with my life, and I was not giving it any time to catch up with me.
I ran through the sparsely lit tunnel, ignoring my fear of the dark. Water splashed with each step, and the sounds of my footsteps reverberated off the tunnel walls.
I ran until my heart beat angrily, and my lungs burned with each breath. I didn’t know where I was or running to, but I figured any place would be better than the train.
I stopped when I heard loud squeaks. It was coming from in front of me, and I hoped it had been two rats fighting over a slice of 2 Bros Pizza. I approached cautiously and tripped over something. I fell into a puddle of jungle water and promptly spit it out. I shoved my finger into my mouth until I vomited, hoping to keep whatever I inadvertently swallowed out of my system.
I had tripped over one of those industrial wrenches. While my knee wanted me to chuck it and degrade it, I picked it up, just in case.
The squeaking got louder, more painful as I wiped bile from my mouth and trucked forward. The only way was forward, I kept telling myself.
I eventually found the source of the squeaking. It was a giant rat that looked like it had taken a bath in secret ooze. It was standing its ground against, well, it’s hard to describe. It was greyish and had four limbs, but they were bent in all different directions. The hands and feet were clawed, and the nails looked like talons.
“Fuck me,” I said, not realizing I wasn’t having an internal dialogue. The creature, beast, or whatever the hell you want to call it, looked in my direction. Rawyne ‘The Rat’ Ratson saw its opportunity and ran away.
It focused entirely on me and started its methodical approach, sniffing the air and licking its emaciated face. Its eyes were beady and crimson red, and its ribs pushed against the skin.
I couldn’t even begin to process what I was looking at, but I didn’t make it that far to just cower in fear, so I gripped the wrench and said, “come on you National Geographic reject!”
The beast growled at me, and I readied the wrench. It leaped an impossible distance, and I connected the wrench with its head, sending it flying into the wall with a satisfying crunch, but just as soon as it touched the ground, it leaped at me again. I hit it again, but the creature’s forward momentum pushed us to the ground.
I was able to push the wrench into its neck before it was able to take a chunk out of my face. I strained with all my might to keep it from enjoying a late-night snack, but I was tired, and my energy was rapidly draining.
The creature chomped and chomped, and I had the perfect view of its jagged and rotten teeth. Drool dripped onto my cheek and burned with each drop. Knowing I had reached my last stop, I closed my eyes and let my arms fall to my side.
I waited for death to come and take me, but then it felt like a weight had been lifted off my chest. I lay there for several moments before opening my eyes and seeing that the creature was now standing near the top of my head.
It let out a deep, menacing growl, and I didn’t understand why until the lights started to violently flicker and a pungent smell wafted into my ole factory.
Mumbling started echoing throughout the tunnel, and I knew the trash bag lady had followed me.
Maybe they were mortal enemies or past lovers, but the beast lost all interest in me and looked straight ahead.
I saw my opportunity and ran. My body ached all over, but I had been given a third chance at life, and I wasn’t going to waste it.
I could hear them locked in eternal combat behind me as I pushed myself forward.
I began to see the light at the end of the tunnel and walked into the World Trade Center train station. I couldn’t fucking believe it. I had only been one stop away the whole time, and I saw no reason why there would be a train delay unless it were because that thing was having a meal on the tracks.
That would be ridiculous, right?
I climbed onto the platform and limped out of the train station, ignoring the stares from night owls.
I hailed a cab, got in, and inhaled and exhaled deeply.
I gave the cabbie my address and quickly patted my body down to see if I was injured anywhere else. Fortunately, I only had a few raw spots on my cheek.
The driver looked at me through the rearview mirror and asked, “do you want to go to the hospital.”
I told him no, “I have a first aid kit at home.”
He asked, “rough night?”
I looked at him, and for some reason, I laughed.
“Yeah, I just fucking hate train delays.”