Don't Drink Milk When It's Spoilt!

It was already close to being 10 minutes late, and then it came. It boldly stopped in front of me, daring me to question its dramatic timing. But, I decided to save my words for other matters of concern, since I already knew that questioning it would only lead to an endless circling of meaningless answers. Its doors opened, so I entered. It proceeded to swallow me whole, as its doors closed behind me. For now, there would be no escape. It was then I caught a glimpse of a multitude of others who had fallen victim to this beast, this amalgamation of egotistical technology, this New York train.

The train was en route to Grand Central Station in Manhattan, New York, and it was late Saturday night, July 28. Since I knew that it was going to be a half hour ride, I decided to find an area where I could sit down and rest my weary feet. I looked to my left. There were no open seats available within my vicinity. So, I looked to my right. My vision then spotted its prey. I quickly urged my body to catch up with my sight and to greet the empty seat with my presence. My body gladly indulged itself in my desire.

Upon closer inspection, I discovered that the supposedly "open" seat had a small plastic bag resting on top of it. The contents of the bag did not pulsate through my curiosity. However, the lack of not knowing the identity of the bag's owner did. I assumed that the bag belonged to the white man who sat next to the "open" seat. So, I turned my mouth to him and uttered words that would eventually spark controversy.

I asked, "Is anyone sitting here?"

He simply replied, "No."

He then stared at me. I stared back, thinking that my stare would overpower his. I sought to infiltrate his body, by seeping manipulation and intimidation into his eyes. I craved to have such allies enter his body and converge at his arms with enough force to cause a reflex action, in order for him to move the bag. Strangely enough, he did not move the bag at all. It must not have been a full moon that night, because my supernatural powers failed me. He only continued to stare. So, I did the typical "human" thing, and began to move the bag myself.

It was then that a black man on the other side of the "open" seat began to raise his voice. He quickly grabbed the bag from my hand and scolded me for touching his paraphernalia. I scolded him back for his lack of courtesy and lack of motivation in learning social etiquette. Obviously, he had seen me enter the train. Obviously, he knew I wanted to sit down. Obviously, he knew I had already asked if the seat was available. Obviously, he knew I was trying to locate the owner of the bag. Obviously, due to his disrespectful nature towards me, I sat down in that seat anyway and claimed it as my own. His bag could find another home.

In disgust, I turned my head 98 degrees away from that man, only to find a four-member group of two Chinese men and two white men preparing to give me a performance that I never realized I was being seated for. If they were in fact 98 Degrees (the multi-platinum all-male group on Universal Records), then I may have appreciated their performance more. Needless to say, they were not.

For their opening number, they shouted derogatory statements at me. The subject matter of their statements was not troubling. And, at this point, I find it unnecessary to repeat their words, which have already escaped my memory. What puzzles me more is their immaturity. This wasn't a group of teenagers or adolescents. Instead, they were grown men, whom you would expect to have already achieved a certain level of mental development. I guess their parents just raised them wrong. Or, maybe they were just abused as children, who were scarred for life, thus causing them to act out their frustration through immature actions. It was then I knew that their parents did indeed raise them wrong.

As a show stopper, one of the Chinese men stood up, pulled down his pants and underwear, bent over, and pointed his naked butt in my direction. When the performance ended, neither me, or anyone else on the train, offered applause. Undoubtedly, "beauty" and "naked" do not exist together in his family. For an encore, that same man continued to taunt me, as he purposely petted a female dog he had brought to accompany his group on the train. But, this was no ordinary "petting." His hand suspiciously spent the majority of the time taking long strokes along the dog's stomach and "unmentionable" areas. I failed to understand the humor (or pleasure) in such bestiality. I could only turn my head in further disgust.

Unfortunately, by then, I had already run out of places to turn. So, my peripheral vision unexpectedly visited a familiar sight. Remember that man who owned the bag? Well, he then took it upon himself to expel intestinal gas from his anus, which immediately stunk up the train and cluttered my nostrils. The stench was so unbearable that he got up to search for another seat, at the opposite end of the train. Overall, his attitude itself was very anal. He abandoned us all, as we desperately tried to fend for ourselves in his deadly and poisonous air attack. Five minutes later, the train arrived at Grand Central Station, and I made damn sure that I was the first one off.

Now, tell me, was all this really necessary? What did I do to warrant such treatment? Why was I the one targeted for their attacks? Did I wrong them in a previous life? Has revenge finally caught up with me through reincarnation? Here, my questions led to an endless circling of meaningless answers. Next time, I'll forget riding the train and opt to drive a car.

(But, maybe I need to rethink that too.)

Just the day before, in nearby Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, a man was driving in his pickup truck, when he happened to come across 27-year old rapper Beanie Sigel and his friends. They were standing on Sigel Street (the street that serves as the rapper's namesake), refusing to make way for the moving vehicle to pass. When the driver got out of the truck to reason with Sigel and his friends, he was attacked. Sigel kicked and punched the man while he was down, causing him to have a fractured rib, an eye injury, and a concussion. Sigel was later arrested and charged with aggravated and simple assault.

(Maybe, it will be safer just to walk.)

This is the second time this year that assault charges have been filed against Sigel. I am awaiting to see if it will be his last. In February, Sigel was accused of pouring a drink on a woman and then threatening her with a gun. The charges were later dropped when the woman failed to appear in court.

(Or, maybe it will be safer just to stay home. I should follow the woman's example.)

The moral of the story is, "Don't drink milk when it's spoilt! If you do, it might cause brain damage."

If you don't believe me, then just ride a train in New York. You will find plenty of brain damage victims there. Or, if you're ever in Philadelphia, you can always drive down Sigel Street to find even more. Proceed with caution, because the brain damage doesn't discriminate. The people it effects might do though. And, forget about questioning the nature of the discrimination. It would again only lead to an endless circling of meaningless answers.