Life Rule #37: Don't talk shit to a homeless person on the subway.
It's so simple. So why do I continue to break my own life rules time and time again? It's like I never learn.
Let me preface exactly how I wound up in a heated argument with a bearded homeless man last night on the train. It all began in Vegas. Well not Vegas exactly, but my company's version of Vegas in our "nap room." Yesterday at around 4:30 our entire office (14 girls) was summoned to meet for a little "team building activity," or so the email said. We entered the back break room to find a mock casino table set up, photos of Vegas on the wall, and a tower of champagne glasses. We had met our goal and were going to Vegas, screamed our HR girl as she was sprayed with champagne from head to toe. Just kidding. Just kidding I'm not. What? Isn't that normally how an HR department delivers good news to a company? Maybe we're just fun like that.
And so more champagne proceeded this announcement. We drank in the office and made plans for the trip ahead. A suite at the Palms? Maybe the Cosmo? Take in a show or two, a few of the girls have been dying to see Holly Madison's boobs in person. What a splendid night this was becoming, the only natural thing to do next was to head on over to the neighborhood bar for more drinks. As it turns out, our neighborhood bar is the Trump Bar just a hop, skip, and a jump away. So we sipped on $30 glasses of wine encrusted with diamonds and Trump's beautiful gold locks of hair as we made even more plans for Las Vegas 2012. My little Nebraska heart was beaming with excitement, I mean I still get "I'm so cool" butterflies when we get to drink at the Trump or the Grand Luxe Cafe (which my coworkers so rudely told me is Cheesecake Factory's sister restaurant... as if I didn't know. Losers.) And I happen to like Cheescake Factory, I mean is their menu a novel, or is their menu a novel! But anyway, now a weekend in Vegas at all of the greatest bars and restaurants? This girl is in the big leagues now. Although, my last trip to Vegas wasn't exactly half par either. I mean, the State Farm convention sure treated the Wolfe family right. All you could eat Haagen Dasz bars, free State Farm pens every where you looked, not to mention the complimentary mini bags of pretzels in our room, it doesn't get much better than that.
But I digress. Let's get back to rule #37. After too many drinks at the Trump, I decided it was best I make my way home. I made my way to the train, cursing the entire way I left my rain boots at the office because my feet were killing. I reached the platform just as the train was pulling up, something that rarely happens. I was Rosa Parkd and anxious to get a seat, which I was certain wouldn't be a problem at 8:45 in the evening. And it wouldn't have been a problem if a certain homeless man wasn't sleeping across FOUR seats. Just to give you a visual, some seats face forward, some to the side, blah blah blah, he was draped across four seats is the main purpose here. I see this and naturally I'm pissed. But I keep quite. RULE #3- never break your own rules, especially when you're drunk. Whatever, I keep quiet.
Stop after stop more people continue to pile on the train. Sleeping beauty doesn't stir until a very nice looking older man attempts to sit near his foot, at which point Sleeping HIV actually kicks him away. Oh hells. Not tonight. I start cracking my knuckles and cracking my neck (a weird tick I developed in basketball when things start to get heated.) If you ever see me do this, walk away. Shit about to get cray. Real cray cray. I tap the homie and say,
"Hey! You. This man needs to sit down."
Homie doesn't move. So I try again,
"MOVE! This is not fair, you need to sit up."
People start looking at me, it's not often voices are heard on a subway. Homie starts to move and looks at me and drunkenly mumbles,
"you got something to say, den say it."
So I drunkenly yell,
"I'm saying it! Get up, this is bullshit! You can't lay across four, we all payed for a seat on this train and you are breaking the rules."
At which point I gesture toward a rule sign on the wall. I know, real smooth. Much to my surprise, no one is backing me up. Or even supporting my argument. No, they're just looking at me like I'm as drunk and crazy as the homeless man. A swing and a miss. Even the business man I was sticking up for was discreetly walking further and further away from us.
Luckily, my stop was next. So homie and I mumbled a few more harsh (sloppy) words toward each other until I bolted out the doors fast and far away. I ran all the way home. I should have known better... Rule # 2- you DO NOT talk about the fight club. Who cares though, I'M GOING TO VEGAS!
