Fireballs, smoke, rats, live wires, and heart attacks…. just another day in the Big Apple.
This week on the IRT line (which, incidentally is the one I take to work), there was a small electrical fire near 51st Street.
The equivalent of the entire City of Andalusia was trapped in the subway tunnels for two hours. 18,000 people waited in the dark on hot, smelly, and stuffy trains while the authorities up here tried to figure out what to do.
New Yorkers, being New Yorkers, were irritable and cowardly. Little old ladies were trampled and one woman described the small fire as a “giant fireball that roared down the tunnel at me.” Gee, it’s pretty amazing that she escaped to tell all the reporters.
I personally don’t like the subway. It’s downright communist. And as everybody knows, the worst thing about being a communist is that you have to share everything.
You’ve gotta share your space, the air you breathe, the seat you occupy. And if a big fireball really did come roaring down a tunnel at you, you’d have to form a committee to determine how to escape.
Most of the time, people on the subway are sharing things with me that I would rather not be exposed to.
Real Americans drive. Yessir, the automobile is truly an American invention. It’s private. You’ve got your own air, your own music, your own seat.
And you go as fast as you like, so long as it ain’t in McKenzie. It’s democratic. It’s decent.
Unfortunately, cars are practically a thing of the past in New York City.
The average speed of traffic in Manhattan is three miles an hour according to New York State Highway and Thoroughfare Department. Seems that a bunch of scientists came up with this statistic by measuring traffic and average commute times. Evidently, none of them have ever been in a New York City cab.
Taxis in New York City defy the laws of physics.
They are all yellow-orange sedans.
I’ll bet most ya’ll didn’t know that a sedan can do warp speed, did you? The worst thing about going that fast is that in a city that is crowded, it’s hard not to hit something.
Most stationary objects in this city that are near the ground level have some sort of yellow-orange battle scars: fire hydrants, posts, other cars, buses, and people who don’t move fast.
It is a widely quoted fact that most cab drivers are foreigners (like me), which explains why they drive so fast — they’re in a hurry to get outta this city.
Clearly New York City needs the nefarious traffic constables from McKenzie to properly control this speeding epidemic.
Just yesterday I took a cab home from work and it was like a scene from The Dukes of Hazard except there weren’t any women in short britches and fat men in white suits. What we did have though, were screeching tires, chase scenes, near accidents, and maniacal drivers terrorizing innocent civilians.
If I could just learn to say “Slow down you got-dang fool!” in Arabic, I’d be a lot better off.
I’m seriously considering sponsoring my last cabbie in the Talladega 500. He could probably give those boys a run for their money and pick up a couple of fares along the way to boot.
But I’m being harsh on New York. We don’t drive much better in Alabama. Our idea of cruise control is a cinder block on the accelerator. 1-65 is worse than the Alabama Motor Speedway.
When the Germans came to our fair state check out their new Mercedes plant, they seemed surprised to be passed by jacked-up pickup trucks with Rebel flags and about six dogs and a washing machine in the bed.
Shoot, everybody here knows that a good washing machine will help you improve the aerodynamics of your pickup.
So Andalusia, keep your foot to the floor and don’t take a train into any dark tunnels.