Dear New York (subway letters) . . .

We all do it. Every single New Yorker who rides the subway does it. We compose the rants we wish we could say (and once in a while, do) to our fellow commuters. Sometimes the pile of undelivered letters gets too large, and we have to jot a few of them down. Please share yours in a comment.

Subway Letters.

To the coven of Wall Street business types,

I see you standing in your very important circle of suits in the coveted space just to the left of the subway door. I realize how vital it is that you keep you chatty, coffee circle, wide and open, so you can have space for your attache cases at your feet. I realize how your protective circle helps keep the unwashed masses from touching your pristine suits. I realize all of this, but it’s Calcutta just to the right of you, so I’m sure you understood why I felt it was necessary to reclaim some of that space for others by gently elbowing you until you moved.

Thank you for your understanding.

To the subway fine diner,

Thank you so much for sharing your meal with the entire subway train. We all love the smell of your chicken dinner so much, that I’m quite sure it’s why you chose to leave all the bones on the seat. It was so we can savor the delicious aroma of your meal all the way home to Brooklyn.

Bon appetit!

To the scowling teen,

I see you in your pants down to your bum, and your stupid cap with the straight rim and the (inexplicably) important round sticker still under said brim. I see you sitting there looking tough and scary and scowling. I see you glaring at others as if to say “stay away from me”. I also see you when you helped that woman down the stairs with her stroller. I see you be the only passenger to stand up when you noticed the old woman clinging to the poll. I see you shrug her thanks off with a grunt of “whatever”. I see you, and know you are not the “thug” that the rest of America would think you are. New Yorkers see you.

To the tourist family on the Canal Street Q train,

Yes. That is a bag of fish heads.

Welcome to New York.

To the music lover on the 2/3

Yes, please do turn your music up. We all share your taste in music and are so very very happy that you are providing a concert for us. No, don’t worry, that person trying to read the paper is more than thrilled to have a sound track.

We know headphones are uncomfortable, we would never DREAM of asking you to wear them.

To the man clearly on a first date,

You know you like her. You know you took her to a Broadway show, and probably and expensive dinner. You know this is not your train, but you are riding her home. You know you keep looking at her every time she is not looking at you. What you don’t know is she keeps looking at you every time you look away.

It’s going well.

Congrats.

To the family of disgusted tourists,

Just because we are all wearing headphones staring straight ahead does not make us deaf. We can all hear you.

To the dad who is wearing his backpack on his chest (looking like an idiot) saying “this is how you have to protect yourself from these people”, and the wife who is clutching the littlest one to her training him to be afraid saying, “don’t look at anyone, they could be dangerous” and the teenage daughter who refuses to touch the subway poll because “eww, I don’t know who’s touched that”, so therefore keeps loosing her balance and bumping into me, and to the son who disgustingly declares “Can you believe they cram into these trains everyday. Nobody has cars here. I feel so sorry for them” – to all of you we have the following to share.

We didn’t want to hurt you before, but we do now.

Go home.

That’s only a handful of the letters that rattle around in my head, but it’s nice to get a few of them out.

Thanks I feel better.