On the subway this morning, I was witness to something so gut-wrenchingly nasty that I had to turn and look away. In fact I offer you, the reader, a warning: If you’re eating something, especially your own boogers, please stop before continuing to read this post. As a frequent customer of New York City’s Metro Transit Authority I’ve seen some harsh human interaction, but nothing could prepare me for what went down today. It happened just two feet away from me.

My ride on the number 2 train started out ordinary enough. A mostly full train pulled into the crowded transportation hub in Brooklyn known as “Atlantic Avenue Station.” A number of riders decided to wait until a mass of people were pushing into the car to announce that they were getting off. After a bit of scuffling and harsh looks, those getting off were gone and the ones getting on were packed in tighter than the Olson Twins trust fund.

As luck would have it, I found myself standing elbow to elbow with a scraggly looking twenty-something guy. He was reading a paperback, generally oblivious to his surroundings. I paid him no mind.

My usual routine on the train is glancing around to see if some unsuspecting lady is showing too much cleavage. If I find one, I ogle at her hoping to spy a slight jiggle from the train movement or a brief flash of nip. It’s a healthy way for me to start the morning and get my juices flowing without ingesting large amounts of caffeine and anti-histamines…but I digress.

As I gazed around the car, the fellow next to me made a quick sniffing sound without looking away from his book. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move through the air like a determined mosquito and land on the arm of a woman sitting at crotch level in front of the book dude.

The lady saw it too. She glanced down at her jacket and pulled off what had landed on it. Only after rubbing it between her fingers, did the poor woman realize she was fiddling with a stranger’s snot-rocket. It was a full-on, slimy raisin-sized booger delivered by an apathetic stranger.

The dread in her eyes when she looked up from her discovery was too much for me. I turned away, not wanting to add shame to the woman’s disgust. When you are the unwilling recipient of a stranger’s secretions in public, the last thing you want is a large audience. Multiple “worst case scenarios” quickly flashed through my mind. I half expected the woman to be sick; vomiting up her Chai Latte and bagel with cream cheese. It would have caused a massive chain reaction in such tight, poorly ventilated quarters. The scene from “Stand By Me” flashed through my mind as a reminder of just how bad it could be. My body braced for a possible fight when rage replaced disgust in the lady’s mind.

Fortunately, none of that happened. I didn’t even hear the soiled woman’s voice. She must have pantomimed her disapproval to the man who had sullied her because I heard him quietly say, “Sorry!” with a tone that suggested she was making too big a deal about nothing. It was a true dick-head move.

I felt badly for the women. It was obvious she didn’t know what to do with herself. At first she dug around for solace in her pocket book. When she found a small portable tissue package, she became quietly manic. Compulsively scrubbing a tissue on the arm of her coat, the outline of her eyes reddened as if she were holding back tears. It seemed like every little spot she detected became another hunk of half-dried snot. Like a mescaline junkie, she did her best to scrub away the demons that weren’t there, both on her purse and her clothing. Images of the shower scene in “The Crying Game” crept into my head as the theme song echoed in my ears. The woman was fouled and clearly not taking it well, as the perpetrator of the offense stood defiantly before her, blissfully unaware of her pain.

I wanted to reach out to the lady. In my heart, I felt she needed comforting. Things were going to be alright and she was going to get through this. I wanted to be the voice of reason and let her know these things; to let her know that I understand her discomfort. I was hoping to put my hand on her shoulder and tell her that some good would come of this; that she would be the subject of my next blog and possibly a new t-shirt some day. Unfortunately, she was permanently tainted now. Physical contact was completely out of the question.

-King 0f New York