True Story.
Only because it was so freakin hot did I sit down as I waited for the train. The train sat inside the tunnel, taunting me, because I was late as it was. There’s an announcement that Con Edison is cutting service. There’s no R to Queens and the W is out.
A man comes over to the bench, sits down, and says hello. This isn’t good. So I say hi and he asks if I’m keeping cool. Not good indeed. So I say I’m trying, there was already a mini-brownout at work. He was stuck for 20 minutes the other day with no A/C. Then he asks me what I do and I tell him. He’s impressed. Women who get kidnapped and stuff, right? He tells me he knows the owner of Legshow, and do I know what that is. Even though I could pretty much guess, I say no. I don’t know why.
Pictures of women’s legs in fishnets stockings and high heels, stuff like that.
Oh, fetish pinups.
One day, someone from the Russian mafia came in and demanded that she sell the magazine. She said it wasn’t up for sale, but he said, “Oh, yes, it is.” He offered the woman $8M and she sold the mag and bought a house in Westchester. They put out books on Bettie Page and all these WW2 pinups and now the guy owns all of it. He met her on the bus and she was going to meet Xaviera Hollander.
What the hell is this guy’s problem? Does he talk to random women taking mass transit hoping they have some sort of weird job? I look at his hands. Married. It’s not you, it’s me. I’m just not into married men. Goddamn train, and not because I’m late for my appointment. I just need to go 1 stop and it takes forever.
He asks me where we get our stories and asks if he can submit. I tell him he can. “And you’ll tell me how bad it is?”
I can.
“That stuff’s pretty tame by today’s standards, right? I bet it used to be pretty taboo. I remember that from when I was growing up.”
“Yeah, we get letters all the time about how women had to read it in the closet or under the covers by flashlight.”
He asks me where my office is and I tell him the cross streets and he asks again where that is. The train pulls in as he tells me that he’s read all of the Happy Hooker books and they’re so well written.
Well, this is where I get off. Well, this is me!
On the way back there are 10-20 minute delays and the clock in the station is flickering on and off. Going home, in addition to the 10-20 minute delays and no W and V, the R isn’t going into Queens, so take the F at 34th St., which is going local. So does that mean there’s no E? If they say take the F, I’ll take the F and besides, who the hell wants to walk through to the E in this heat?
I was thinking to bring my sneakers to work in case I have to hoof it back to Queens. Y’know, I wouldn’t mind it so much because I need exercise and it’s something to do. (Not a jinx. I’m just saying.) Of course I realize that I’m on the downtown F only after the doors close and they make the announcement that 23rd St. is the next stop. Of course, that could be why it wasn’t such a sardine can. At 23rd, the booth worker announces that there’s no V. Or is that no E? “There’s no E?” a woman asks. “No E!”
I notice the white tubing hanging overhead. Someone wrote Bush Be Lyin in the grime. To the left of that is Be yourself or die trying (Shit, I just looked at this in preview mode and realized that that rhymes.)
There are massive delays and major congestion up ahead. And cutting service is the way to help that? No, I heard wires were catching on fire and transformers blew. Actually, power was out along Queens Blvd. in Sunnyside. No traffic lights and everything. The subway was packed and the train was slow. I started hyperventilating at Jackson Heights and arrived home depleted. At least there’s nothing new there.
A man comes over to the bench, sits down, and says hello. This isn’t good. So I say hi and he asks if I’m keeping cool. Not good indeed. So I say I’m trying, there was already a mini-brownout at work. He was stuck for 20 minutes the other day with no A/C. Then he asks me what I do and I tell him. He’s impressed. Women who get kidnapped and stuff, right? He tells me he knows the owner of Legshow, and do I know what that is. Even though I could pretty much guess, I say no. I don’t know why.
Pictures of women’s legs in fishnets stockings and high heels, stuff like that.
Oh, fetish pinups.
One day, someone from the Russian mafia came in and demanded that she sell the magazine. She said it wasn’t up for sale, but he said, “Oh, yes, it is.” He offered the woman $8M and she sold the mag and bought a house in Westchester. They put out books on Bettie Page and all these WW2 pinups and now the guy owns all of it. He met her on the bus and she was going to meet Xaviera Hollander.
What the hell is this guy’s problem? Does he talk to random women taking mass transit hoping they have some sort of weird job? I look at his hands. Married. It’s not you, it’s me. I’m just not into married men. Goddamn train, and not because I’m late for my appointment. I just need to go 1 stop and it takes forever.
He asks me where we get our stories and asks if he can submit. I tell him he can. “And you’ll tell me how bad it is?”
I can.
“That stuff’s pretty tame by today’s standards, right? I bet it used to be pretty taboo. I remember that from when I was growing up.”
“Yeah, we get letters all the time about how women had to read it in the closet or under the covers by flashlight.”
He asks me where my office is and I tell him the cross streets and he asks again where that is. The train pulls in as he tells me that he’s read all of the Happy Hooker books and they’re so well written.
Well, this is where I get off. Well, this is me!
On the way back there are 10-20 minute delays and the clock in the station is flickering on and off. Going home, in addition to the 10-20 minute delays and no W and V, the R isn’t going into Queens, so take the F at 34th St., which is going local. So does that mean there’s no E? If they say take the F, I’ll take the F and besides, who the hell wants to walk through to the E in this heat?
I was thinking to bring my sneakers to work in case I have to hoof it back to Queens. Y’know, I wouldn’t mind it so much because I need exercise and it’s something to do. (Not a jinx. I’m just saying.) Of course I realize that I’m on the downtown F only after the doors close and they make the announcement that 23rd St. is the next stop. Of course, that could be why it wasn’t such a sardine can. At 23rd, the booth worker announces that there’s no V. Or is that no E? “There’s no E?” a woman asks. “No E!”
I notice the white tubing hanging overhead. Someone wrote Bush Be Lyin in the grime. To the left of that is Be yourself or die trying (Shit, I just looked at this in preview mode and realized that that rhymes.)
There are massive delays and major congestion up ahead. And cutting service is the way to help that? No, I heard wires were catching on fire and transformers blew. Actually, power was out along Queens Blvd. in Sunnyside. No traffic lights and everything. The subway was packed and the train was slow. I started hyperventilating at Jackson Heights and arrived home depleted. At least there’s nothing new there.
posted by heather @ 11:20 PM
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