Don't Shoot!

I feel I should preface this story by preluding that I've been reading a book, Weekends at Bellevue by Julie Holland, M.D. It's a recount of her nine years as a resident at Bellevue Psychiatric Hospital, and basically a testament to the truth that EVERY person in New York City is in some way off their rocker... I try to hide the title when I'm reading on the subway, so as not to spark any crazy person's memory that they wish to recount with little ole' me. (This happens more often than you'd expect)

Tonight on my usual trip home I was pleased to find myself on a new subway car. There's a really cool Target Store advertisement on the outside, and red and white pictures of hands holding the subway rails on the inside. Also, the end seats fold up when no one is on them. So, because I can't resist trying new things, I make a point to sit in the end chair that folds out. (I'm sure it's actual purpose is to make room for the thousands of people; not to entertain me.) I can tell this fabulous black (and I've decided should probably be British) gay man and I are both eyeing the parallel seats, but we end up both getting one. I'm glad it worked out for the both of us. Any way, I'm toting my computer bag today, which is stuffed to the brim with books/scripts/extra-electronics-that-I-thought-I'd-charge-at-work-but-just-didn't. So, I'm sort of focused on taking the pressure off my back as I sit up, but really the bag's taking up most of the seat. During my fidget session with this overbearing bag, I almost miss my transfer stop. I mean, I was only going one stop away, I probably shouldn't have sat down at all.

So, when I hear, "Please stand clear of the closing doors," I leap up to make my way off. Suddenly there is a loud BANG! Here's my thought process: 1. Look around this car, because some one's shooting. 2. No one's standing with a gun, so we ran over a mammoth. 3. Well, we're still coming to a stop, so maybe it's just random subway noise? 4. Why is everyone looking at me?

Turns out, when I stood up, and in my haste not to miss my transfer, I've forgotten that I fought to sit in the cool foldy-uppy seat. My seat snapped up on its own and every passenger on that train is looking at this crazy girl with the large "bag woman" purse who was slouched in the seat. Including the two deaf women, who I'm not sure that they decided I was the source of some calamity, but I'm sure it's just obvious by the stares of every other innocent subway rider.

I hastily apologize, "Oh. Sorry. That was my fault," with a sort of half-hearted gesture toward the chair. On my way out the door I get a wink from the fabulous gay man across from me. Well, at least someone found it amusing, because I'll probably be receiving a summons for causing public panic.