The best New York has to offer

Seriously, people: if you come to New York hoping to see interesting things, don't go to the Empire State Building, don't go to any of the museums, and don't go to 5th Ave. All you need to find amusement, intellectual stimulation, and mind-blowing insanity is ride the subway.

Best commute EVER:

I entered the Chambers St. station at rush hour, like I do every day. As I stood on the platform, waiting and waiting for the unusually slow uptown A, I was approached by a disheveled looking guy who asked when the K train would be there. At first, I simply assumed I'd misheard and he was actually talking about the A train (since that was, after all, the platform we were on) - I told him I had no idea. Far be it from me to predict the inner workings of the MTA. He persisted, repeatedly asking where the K train was. At that point I realized I was talking to a lunatic, mostly because there simply is no K train. With great effort, I finally succeeded in convincing him that I was not his best travel resource. He turned away and started walking in the other direction....only to be bowled over by a man who was running along the subway platform. No, not running from something. Just...running. For exercise. In expensive running gear. In the subway. At rush hour. Why on earth anyone would choose to run in an underground tunnel that reeks of urine is utterly beyond me, to say nothing of why anyone would voluntarily run in a place where there is a very real risk of tripping over any number of objects (a banana peel, a stroller, a sleeping homeless person, the possibilities are endless) and falling onto train tracks that carry lethal amounts of electricity. Needless to say, I was more than a little alarmed.

Fortunately, at this point, the train finally rumbled into the station, and I got on it gratefully. I sat down, pulled out my iPod and my knitting, and lost myself in the angsty world of Green Day. The train filled up. I paid no attention. Around West 4th St, I became aware that the man standing in front of me was looking at me with unusual frequency. I met his gaze. He bent over until his nose was inches from mine, ROARED LIKE A LION, waggled his tongue menacingly, and then turned away. WTF? How does one even react to that? Besides getting off at the next stop and switching cars, which is exactly what I did.

I settled into my new car, resumed my knitting, and tried to push creepy lion man out of my mind. I only dimly noticed when, several stops up the line 2 school-aged girls sat down on either side of me (because, why would I?). I only dimly noticed as they squabbled about something across my lap. And then, all of a sudden, I became aware of 2 things: 1) the fighting had stopped and 2) I was very wet. I looked up from the scarf I was making and assessed the situation: the 2 increasingly red-faced girls still sat flanking me, one holding an empty beverage bottle, the other holding the severed cap. My pants were drenched in a murky brown liquid, a puddle of which pooled around my drenched feet. I was covered in chocolate milk from the waist down.

Fortunately, I was heading home from work, where a clean change of clothes awaited me, and besides - all my outerwear was already so covered in grease from the port that a few more stains blended in nicely. I assured the mortified girls that it was no problem, I wasn't mad, and all was well. They got off at 59th St, apologizing until the subway doors closed. I thought we were done. What I hadn't taken into account was that no one wants to sit next to the girl in the filthy coat who's sitting in the middle of a puddle of brown liquid (it never even occurred to me to move - I had a much coveted seat in a crowded rush hour train and I was already as wet as I was going to be. Why bother?). And that the A runs express from 59th to 125th St. That's over 60 uninterrupted blocks of being stared at like you're a leper, as rivulets of chocolate milk drip down your legs. And here I was embarrassed for eating a cupcake in my safety vest last week.

What I still don't understand is why I'm the only one of my roommates to have subway stories such as these. Are the crazy people only on the A/C trains between 125th and Chambers? Do my roommates just not notice the insanity that surrounds them? Or do I just attract lunatics? You be the judge.