This Is Why I Like Teenagers
(Or, The G Train Strikes Back)
This morning my parents made their return to the Land of Enchantment. Our week long vacation seeing the sights of this fair cityÂ (the fun stuff, not the offal shilled in travel brochures) was pretty uneventful. That is until we decided to go to Manducatis last night for dinner. Or more accurately when we decided to come home via (you guessed it) the G train. For a Tuesday evening the train was curiously crowded. Mostly with teenagers in a very lively mood. I chose to sit next to them. My parents— not being acclimatized to such shenanigans (as are most retirees)— kept their distance. In hindsight this was an excellent decision on their part, as you will learn.
After we got off at Greenpoint Avenue we dropped by the local wine store and headed home. It was as I was headed up the stairs of our apartment building that the Mister spied something nested in the hood of my jacket. Upon closer inspection he told me what it was. Follows is my reply:
You’re kidding, right?
No. He wasn’t.
After we established that the prophylactic in question was indeed unused I ceased to care. My mother (who can be seen recoiling in horror in the background of the above photograph which was taken by Mister Heather*) felt differently. Now that I have had time to think about it, it isn’t so much the fact that someone saw fit to use me as some kind of walking advertisement for safe sex that troubles me. I’ve had lit cigarettes flung at my person with amazing accuracy. And worse. Public humiliation no longer fazes me. Rather, it’s the fact that I walked 2-3 city blocks with this hilarious item in tow and no one seemed to notice. Or care.
In closing I’d like to give a heaping helping of New York Shitty gratitude to those mischievous youths on the Smith – 9th bound G train. You gave my parents the quintessential Crosstown Local experience. Thanks guys!
*Who then proceeded to tell my parents:
She comes home with condoms stuck to her all the time.