If I’m on the subway in the morning with sunglasses on trying to read the paper my head still fuzzy because I haven’t had coffee yet, please don’t enter the train at Penn Station with a bunch of your friends where you’re all obviously arriving, (already drunk at 9AM), from New Jersey being loud and in Yankees attire carrying open Bud Light cans in plastic bags talking in front of me about bad movies and pretzels and declaring you hate “The city,” and “Could never live here” (we know that) and “What stop is this? Is this our stop?” every two seconds because you have no idea where you are, while proving how amazingly unable you are to stand up in the train as it’s moving and ultimately stepping on my foot more times than I can count.
Because if you’re going to do that, “sorry” just isn’t going to cut it.
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