Whether it’s brawlin’ late-night riders or hemorraging day-hoppers, Conductor Bobby’s posts always seem to have a fair bit of blood in them.
“Sorry dude!” Said the passenger, now showing me his thumb which was dripping with blood. “I sliced it at work today and it won’t stop bleeding.” I looked down at the ticket he’d just handed me, still not comprehending his apology. There, between my index finger and thumb, lay a crimson colored piece of paper. It was the size and shape of a powder blue Metro North ticket, but streaks of plasma had left it unrecognizable.
But it’s not just blood. It’s snot. It’s sweat. It’s phlegm.
I frequently catch passengers holding tickets in their mouths. Sometimes they’ll go as far as using them as dental floss, spending the better part of the ride mining molars for forgotten bits of a $200 business lunch and then handing me a ticket covered in spit and shreds of steak tartar.
Too funny… I just found both of your blogs the other day, great stuff.