Wednesday, October 12, 2005

It's What You Wear from Ear to Ear

Dorothy, my computer, has been Medivac-ed to Japan for some serious CD-ROM drive surgery. In her absence it's been difficult to turn unbloggable molehills into hilarious mountains, which inevitably leads to four day silences broken only by pictures of myself. I never claimed I'm not a narcissist, but I swear, I have more to write about when I have something on which to write it.

Had my trusty (well, I mean, trustyish--the CD/DVD drive did break after a whopping two months of ownership) laptop been available to me yesterday, I would've been able to bring live, kernel-by-kernel commentary of the woman who pulled an entire, cooked, cold, wrapped-in-cellophane ear of corn out of her Tigger purse and ate it on the D train.

I'm very sensitive about food noises. I'm also a giant hypocrite, because I know I'm not the quietest or neatest eater in the world, but that doesn't change my near pathological inability to handle chewing noises produced by mouths other than my own. When I eat dinner around particularly enthusiastic masticators, I have to crumple my napkin next to my ear to drown out the noise. Or else talk incessantly, or kick my chair, or just take my plate up to my room and slam my door if it happens to be 1995 and I had a bad day at Mildred E. Strang Middle School.

So it is that being trapped on a moving subway car crammed so full of people I can't get up out of my seat, which is located directly across from a woman who is attacking an entire ear of corn while the rest of the Brooklyn-bound crowd, including her husband, watches with reactions that range from vague interest to unconcealable nausea is my absolute worst nightmare.

It was so awful I couldn't take my eyes off of it. I noticed her rooting around her bag in that particular way that old ladies do when their blood sugar is low and it's time for a Vicks or a little packet of oyster crackers or something, dang it. I couldn't even tell what she had removed from her bag until eight inches of Saranwrap had been rolled down off of it, condensation dripping from the plastic into her purse like sweat off a pale old guy. She attacked the thing with a gusto that made her onlooking husband wince and cross his legs.

From there on it was all a fog of spit and corn and bits of yuck wedged between teeth and the near end of my short, neurotic life.

See, if I'd had my laptop, you would've gotten a much more vivid picture.

The really surreal part was that when she got about halfway down the ear, it became clear that the cob itself was crooked. Not only was the entire production gross, it was now awkwardly and tragically sexual.

I mean, it is the New York subway, and I guess I should be happy that what I had to deal with yesterday was just an old woman with a fistful of phallic produce and not a schizophrenic with a fistful of his own genitals, but the latter is, at least, an offense. There's cops a plenty on the subways these days, but so very few who are willing to intervene in a malicious corncobbing.

5 Comments:

Anonymous brad said...

DON'T YOU EVER SAY 'CORNCOBBING' AGAIN

3:15 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

did you get a housewarming gift from brad's mom yet?

- ms. texas

1:06 PM  
Anonymous brad said...

yes! we did get it! i'm framing the duck and putting it in the bathroom. thank you!!

10:05 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

HOORAY! glad you like it!

~ms. texas

9:26 AM  
Anonymous mombi said...

wtf? who eats an ear of corn in public? unless it's at a picnic. which i won't even do. i will only eat an ear of corn in my own domain, near the bathroom with the toothbrush.
disgusting, oh my gawd.

6:42 AM  

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