A few weeks ago, Hungry commented on my post about The Very First Bento, and mentioned her own breakfasts throughout high school. It brought to mind what is easily my sister’s favorite story about me (and doesn’t involve poop; if you know anything about my family and the stories they like to tell about me, they almost all involve poop of some sort), and one that could only marginally be described as having to do with food. Well, it starts off about food; if you have a sensitive stomach or an overactive imagination, you may want to skip this one.
Sorry.
I attended high school in lower Manhattan, and commuted every day about an hour, hour and a half each way. (While I don’t think it takes an hour and a half, I know that no matter how hard I tried, I rarely got home from school before 4:30p, even though the last bell was at 2:50. This baffled my parents. It baffles me now, but as a teenager, it just seemed normal.) Early on in my high school years, I complained about being hungry in the mornings but not having time to make something to eat – I woke up at 6 or 6:30, left at 7:30, first period started at 9:25. (Is it obvious I’m terrible at managing my time? Because I am. I’m really, really awful at time management. Truly.) I frequently stopped at one of the ubiquitous carts that I passed during my walk from the subway station to my school and grabbed a bagel with cream cheese or a Boston creme donut, which is not healthy, but as I weighed about 100 lbs. (108 by the time I graduated) and stood 5’7+, my parents didn’t discourage my habit.
However, one morning, my father got it in his head that I should eat a real breakfast before going to school. I think he saw something or read something about breakfast being the most important meal of the day, and he was determined that his youngest child should have something hearty, healthy, filling to start her day of high school classes. So he made me breakfast and insisted I eat it before I leave: two sunny side up eggs, some sort of protein (bacon, or I miss my guess), buttered toast, and possibly a hash brown. It wasn’t a small amount of food, but I dutifully sat down and ate the breakfast he’d made for me, finished it, and then left for the subway.
(I know it sounds like my father had nothing better to do than to make sure I ate well, but… well, that was his goal, to make sure his kids were happy. He retired when he was 40 – and it became a running joke that my sister would retire when she was 30. Coincidentally, I quit my office job the year I turned 30, though I was 29 at the time, and I haven’t looked back. In any case, he retired at 40 after working very hard to make sure his family had everything they could ever want – owning a few restaurants, working as a computer programmer, and just pushing himself to achieve those things. His decision to retire was spurred by the realization that his children were growing up too fast for him to really be there for them, and he wanted to change that. There’s a large age difference between my sister and I, so I comment frequently about me being his favorite partially because after he retired, he spent an extraordinary amount of time involved in my life, more than he had with either of my siblings, simply due to our age differences and when he retired. Okay! Now that you know more about my family history than you ever thought you would, and more than my family probably wants you to know, back to our regularly scheduled program…)
As I walked the 15 minutes to the subway, I felt very hot and uncomfortable. I was wearing what had to be the ugliest down jacket ever created – solely for the purpose of embarrassing an insecure high school girl, I think – it made me look like a football player, all lumps and bumps but no real shape to me. I unzipped it and tried walking slower, but eating breakfast had taken some time and I needed to get to school on time. I wasn’t a big fan of my first period class – biology with the infamous Mr. Kane, who, rumor had it, had impregnated one of his students and subsequently married her – and I couldn’t afford to be late another time. (The rumor is true, though told to sound more scandalous than it is; all of that happened after she’d graduated, though she did have him as a teacher while she was attending high school.)
I boarded my first subway, the R train, and found a seat easily as was the norm. I settled in for a quick nap, which helped ease the growing discomfort in my stomach. After 20 minutes, the train pulled into Times Square, and I got up to transfer to the 2/3 train. The brisk walk from the R train over to the 2/3 platform was again uncomfortable, and I piled into the 2/3 train very uneasily as I felt queasy beyond all reason.
The train rocked back and forth. I was becoming noticeably ill and praying I could hold it until I got to school. It was extremely crowded – morning rush hour on a train that goes straight to the NY Stock Exchange and Wall Street is like that – but I couldn’t hold it.
If you know me now, and even if you knew me in high school, you might not believe this: I was the opposite of vocal. I was shy, almost painfully shy, to the point that I had trouble going up to the counter at McDonald’s to ask for more ketchup. I couldn’t talk to strangers. I would never dream of going up to someone just to chat. I could barely look servers in the eye (though that is another story, perhaps one day it’ll be told). I was ridiculously shy… and I’m still a little surprised at how the next few minutes played out.
After the 14th Street stop had come and gone, I knew my stop was next and I just needed to keep it together for a few more minutes. I was relieved. I was also starting to sweat a little – my face felt clammy and hot, and I knew I wasn’t in any shape to make it to school from the subway (it’s about two and a half long blocks). I was already plotting to duck into McDonald’s, which was on the way, to use the restroom, praying that no one from school would be there and recognize me.
The train lurched a little, and I started to sweat just a little bit more. Finally, I sucked it up and practically whispered to the man sitting directly in front of where I stood, “Excuse me… sir… I’m really not feeling well. Do you think… I could sit down for a minute? The next stop is mine.”
In hindsight, he was probably as surprised as I was; who asks somoene else for their seat? Why would anyone give it up, especially for a super young looking kid? He looked me in the face, and though I don’t blame him for saying no, he really didn’t have to snarl at me, “No, what? Really?” with an air that said exactly that: “Why would I do that?” It wasn’t him saying no that makes me feel marginally better about what happened next; it’s how he said no that makes me feel almost okay.
Almost.
I simply nodded – because there was no argument, there was no need to prolong an unpleasant conversation, there was simply an urgent need for me to concentrate on keeping my breakfast in my stomach. An incredibly urgent need. Concentrate. Focus. Through sheer power of will, make my stomach behave.
The train lurched suddenly, practically throwing me towards the nasty man.
My stomach lurched suddenly, actually throwing its entire contents up all over the nasty man.
I was mortified.
He, however, was not mortified. He was livid. He began screaming at me, “OH MY GOD! LOOK WHAT YOU DID! THIS SUIT IS A HUGO BOSS SUIT! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THIS WAS? YOU ARE GOING TO PAY FOR MY DRY CLEANING” and other assorted words that are much meaner and ruder that I just won’t repeat here. I was 14. It was a bit excessive, but I could sort of understand how angry he was, just by putting myself in his shoes.
I was also terrified. I didn’t know how much dry cleaning was and I honestly had no money – maybe a few bucks? – and … well, what could I do? I didn’t know what he would do to me. So I mumbled my apologies more than once. More than twice. More than three times and then –
the subway pulled into my stop, and people began pouring off the train. I melted into the crowd disembarking and shouted more apologies as he spluttered furiously. I hung my head in immense shame, went into the McDonald’s, finished evacuating my stomach the rest of the way, and tried to calm down enough for bio class.
And I never ate a huge breakfast directly before getting on the subway again.
Eva says
Is it bad that all I could think about was how he deserved it? Karma anyone?
Feisty Foodie says
Haha, I think that’s why it’s my sister’s favorite story about me. I don’t know that he deserved it – would you have gotten up for some punk teenager?
Eva says
It’s so rare for people to ask for a seat that I’d be more likely to get up. I mean it also depends on how they ask it – if they’re nice enough about it I’d definitely get up.
Feisty Foodie says
It’s true – I mean, it took me a lot to work up the nerve to ask for it. But ah well. It happened.
Goats says
Poo stories please….
Feisty Foodie says
Not on the blog, they’re irrelevant. If you really want to know, though, I can share in person (they’re not even that good).
jane says
Are you a Stuy girl? That guy should be thankful that it was a vomit story and not a poop story. He deserved it! And really, what normal person wouldn’t be surprised to hear a polite request and then happily give up their seat?
Feisty Foodie says
Yep! Class of 98, you? And it would be pretty hard to poop on someone without totally getting naked from the waist down… ick… anyway… yeah I guess, I mean it’s pretty weird to ask someone for their seat already, so it should have been obvious I was in extreme discomfort, but … guess he didn’t see it that way!
hungry says
As a child growing up with severe motion sickness, I know how it feels to throw up in a full subway car. Luckily, things started to become more normal as I grew older. It subsided before high school. However, I still can’t read (book/phone/etc) in a moving car. Instant sickness/headache.
On another note, people are really rude on subways. I watched a fellow Stuy girl faint on the subway and no one got up out of a seat so she would be propped up. They left her on the floor. Jerks.
Feisty Foodie says
I started getting more motion sickness when I turned 26 I think… thankfully that’s gone away! But yeah, no reading in moving vehicles, though on the subway is marginally better than in a car. In a car, I can barely read a map without feeling sick.
I can’t believe someone fainted on the subway and no one moved. That’s so horrible. They were probably all thinking “oh god, no one report it to the conductor or we’ll have to go out of service because of a “sick passenger”
sherm says
Hilarious!
And, yes, he should have gotten up. You may have been a teenager, but you’re still a woman. A woman asks for your seat (as a man), you give it up. It’s that simple. I hope he had to work at his office all day with vomit-clothes.
Feisty Foodie says
He might’ve had a change of clothes in his office… or maybe just bought something, there are stores down by Wall Street…
IMAGINE IF HE WAS ON HIS WAY TO AN INTERVIEW?…
sherm says
lmaoooooo
T.C. says
I’m glad I dress bummy for most occasions. HAHA.
If he can afford a Boss suit and that kind of attitude, he can afford a cab/livery ride next time.
Pregnant ladies and the elderly should never have to ask for a seat. Ever.
Feisty Foodie says
Bad attitude for sure!
Maggie says
hey I didn’t know you were a stuy girl, I’m a stuy kid myself and i also threw up on the 2/3 train at 6am en route to swim practice after consuming a sausage mcgriddle in under 2 minutes. btw you might not remember me but we met briefly a year or so ago (in the parking lot of a td bank) anyway thanks for the story and also you look really young, i graduated class of 05 and thought we were the same age. thanks for the story 🙂
Feisty Foodie says
Of course I remember, at first you said “in the parking lot” and I’m like “creepy, what the heck was I doing there?” and then I remembered, the contest! How did you enjoy the game? I think it was a bad game… anyway, thanks for the compliment! That’s a really big one considering how much younger than me you are, plus you’re Asian so you’re probably better at telling Asian ages than other people… haha. Thank you!!! (I feel particularly old these days, so this especially put a smile on my face!) 🙂
Maggie says
well i actually got hired by a company in seoul shortly after we met so I sent my brother and my dad to the game. they sent me a blurry pic of them enjoying a few too many beers in the stands together so i think a good time was had 🙂 haha and you’re right, usually i am pretty spot on with figuring out people’s ages but i was definitely off the mark with you 🙂