Respect Authority

In the morning, I’m in one of three states: hung over, viciously hung over, or sleep deprived. I usually need a seat, but I can manage without one as long as nobody smells too strongly of piss. But what I definitely don’t need is sarcastic advertisement on the behalf of the MTA.

If you can’t make out the text from my super clear camera phone picture, the ad reads:

In 1986, the subway and bus fare was $1. That’s $1.89 in 2008 dollars. Today 30-day Unlimited Ride MetroCard brings the fare down to $1.17. Believe it.

Believe it?! You know what I believe, Mr. H Dale Hemmerdinger (I’m not making that name up, that’s the guy who really runs the MTA), I believe that paying $2 to squeeze onto an overcrowded train full of circus freaks and sideshow rejects is perpetual date rape.

Before you get all high and mighty about how great a deal you’re giving us, remember that we’re still liable to be shot, pushed onto the tracks, molested, or actually raped. So the last thing I need when I just finished enduring five girls scream their way through a shitty step dance routine four inches from my private zone is to transfer to a train full of intensive drumming and panhandling with a friendly and cheeky “New York” reminder that I could be charged more for this privilege.

Fuck you very much.