The Subway Blower

While the list of hateful things that occur on your average NYC subway ride is long; one thing in particular had me prepared to decapitate the instigator of this event.

The scene: 7:37 AM, the 4/5 line headed downtown.

At this hour of the morning, the subway is frustratingly crowded, yet the train occupants are thankfully, if not oddly, still and quiet while the train is in motion. One is alternately confronted with this close stillness between stops and then the sudden, startling movement, noise and rush in and out of the doors at each stop. On this particular morning, as I politely 'moved to the center of the car', I came upon a rare, vacant seat. A brief glance about the area confirmed that there were no disabled people or pregnant women vying for it, so I settled in ready to distract my mind in the 10 pages that make up AMNY.

As the doors closed and the crowd settled I became aware of the scent of sharp onions and vitamins and noticed the pages of my AMNY lighly swaying as if caught in a breeze. Trying not to inhale, I looked up to find a small, spiky-haired Asian man with his head down and eyes closed, blowing air from his body much like a woman in labor might during a long 'push'. His cheeks puffed out like a trumpet player, he proceeded to repetitiously perform this act, spilling the foul air from inside his body out onto us helpless commuters seated directly below him. Desperately wanting to angrily shout, "Excuse me Sir, but what the f--k are you doing and can you please stop immediately!!!???!", I instead attempted to sink into my scarf and lean to the left to avoid this acrid stream of hot air being forced into my very limited personal subway space. With the subway doors still tightly sealed and the train at least 1 minute away from the next stop, there was no available space for me to vacate the seat or move elsewhere and an irate tension quickly filled my body.

Seemingly in perfect health, and neither meditating nor fighting off nausea, he opened his eyes and began to whistle while performing this blowing exercise. Borderline horrified, I lamely sat there and endured this strange violation wishing I had the nerve to break the hushed silence in the train car and tell him to blow someplace else (as everyone claims they would've undoubtedly done were they in my position).

At the next stop, as the doors finally opened and replaced the oniony-vitamin air I was breathing with fresh underground, soot-filled air, I thankfully arose from my seat, stood a full 4 inches taller than "The Blower" and you better believe I gave him one of the most disugusted looks I could. Unfazed, he re-adjusted his backpack to the front and promptly took my seat, at which time I proceeded to blow onto his head.