Jack The Clipper

You may have noticed I have a little bit of an issue with the Long Island Railroad.  I have always kidded though, “The only thing worse than the LIRR…is the people that ride it.”  Friday proved to be such a day.  The unfortunate part of commuting is taking Mass Transit.  And as I have similarly mentioned in a previous post, you can’t spell Mass without Ass.  Now while most passengers during the rush hour commute quietly keep to themselves, every now and then you will have the proverbial one bad apple spoiling the bunch.  These debase individuals can come in many forms.

Mary the Make Up Artist:  This person comes with the entire collection of Avon products to apply.  They set up shop, mirror and all.  Now, I can get freshening up your lipstick here and there.  But this is from foundation to blush.  You are serenaded to the sounds of opening and closing make-up containers.  All the while, getting the smells of each offering.  And yes, I will be mean here…every time it is someone who would have been better suited putting down the fork and spending make-up time on the elliptical machine.

Betty the Bag Lady:  This person comes with an oversized bag…one which contains everything they own.  During the ride the will pull out, one by one, each individually bagged item.  And then they go to work.  One might contain unread mail.  They will open each envelope, realize that who would really be contacting them anyway, and then rip it up loudly.  That must have taken a lot of energy because the next bag out will be breakfast.  This is usually wrapped in some sort of crinkly, noisy cellophane.  Seemingly sealed so many times around, what you thought was an orange turns out to be a grape.  The parade of packaging will continue the remainder of the ride.

Cell Phone Sam:  This person basks in his own self-importance.  His business is your business and his shouting on the phone allows you to know it.  He uses all the cliché business terms so often you would think his tongue would eventually refuse him.  As one conversation ends, another is soon to begin.  You see, he is a busy man…and the train is just an extension of his office.

This is just a sampling of the inconsiderate idiots, or “inconsidiots”, as I have dubbed them, which ride the rails.  All of these “inconsidiots” you can find a way to ignore.  At least, for the most part, they are containing their brashness to themselves.  However there is one that I detest, one I CANNOT ignore.  They decide to trim their fingernails right there on the train.  I call them, Jack the Clipper.

October brought us Sandy, November brought LIRR delays, cancellations and overcrowded trains.  Commuters were on edge, but many were happy to be in the warmth and lighting that the train provided over their own homes.  As the month wore on, so did the patience of the passengers.  My own nightly train was cancelled for the entire month.  This forced me to jam myself on an already crowded train that now had to handle the overflow.  The last day of November, a Friday, I was going to treat myself to a Holiday Train Show in Hicksville.  Instead of taking the overcrowded 5:41 to Ronkonkoma that stopped at Hicksville, I decided to take the 6:01 express that went directly to there.

It turned out this train would be overcrowded as well.  However, with a straight shot to Hicksville, the travel time would be much shorter.  I was able to get an outside seat of the windowless three seater, which resides against the train’s vestibule.  A young woman sat on the inner seat, her backpack placed in the middle seat in defiance to other commuters wanting to squeeze in.  The train was quickly over flowing with standing passengers so I knew her efforts would be thwarted.  As departure approached, a slender man in his early 50’s asked if he could sit there.  Both the girl and I really wanted to say no, but we were polite as she placed her huge knapsack on her lap as I got up to let him sit.  Hey, at least he was not an oversized man on the over packed train.

As he settled in the seat, the man placed his vintage leather briefcase upon his lap.  He proceeded to pull out enough paperwork that must have leveled half a forest.  The poor girl was now pinned against the wall of the train and was reveled with a relentless assault of his elbows.  As he flipped each page, he fidgeted like a fellow with ADD.  I was not spared from his boney appendages either.  But alas, he was doing work and I was not going to be on this train long.  About 15 minutes into the ride, he finally put away the paperwork.  Ah, my ribs can rest.  As the papers excited the scene, a small pouch appeared.  Hmm, it couldn’t be.  No, not a such a crowded train?  Not in the middle seat? As he unzipped the small bag, emerging was a nail clipper.

  

I can look the other way on a lot of train stupidity.  But this is where I draw the line.  Already annoyed by his lack of middle seat etiquette, I informed him “Dude, oh no, you are NOT going to clip your nails here”.  Now, one would think a normal response would be to put the clippers away…someone called me out on it.  He responded with “You can’t tell me what to do!”  Wrong answer.  As I proceed with this story you might actually feel sorry for the guy.  For all the years of LIRR frustration, both with the railroad and its riders, came to fruition.  I jumped up from my seat.  I shouted at him, “One clip and I’ll drop you right here!”  He said, “Go Ahead!”  Wrong answer #2.  He had no idea how close he was to getting pummeled.  When the switch goes off, consequences are the last thing on my mind.

In that moment, while on the outside was only a few short seconds, all the scenarios played out in my head.  Ultimately what saved this man a beating, and me an assault charge…was I really wanted to go to the train show.  Lucky for him it was not a regular nightly commute for me.  I guess lucky for myself too.  However I was not going to back down, as far as the shouting I was beyond the point of no return.  Instead of belittling him physically, I proceeded to do it verbally.  I went on to jab him with the likes of “what planet are you from that this is acceptable” and roundhouse him with “how disgusting are you, are you going to pick your nose next?”  He continued to be obstinate as I said no one on this train wants you to clip your nails.  He huffed, well no one else is saying anything.  Just then, a voice that sounded like George Costanza’s mom herself shouted, “Don’t cut your nails, that’s disgusting.”  I gave him the look, the same kind of look I give my wife when I am right.  I told him again, in a not so nice voice, to put the nail clippers away.  He quipped, “Well, I am putting them away NOT because you are telling me to”.  I said, “I am not TELLING you, I am THREATENING you!”  I continued to stand up as I said I don’t want to sit next to such a repulsive human being like himself, and I am sure no one else will want to either.  He responded, it’s a crowed train…someone will take your seat.  No one did.

I took a standing spot in the aisle since the vestibule was packed.  The gentleman next to me gave me kudos for speaking up.  He started with a story of how he felt he should have been born in a different time…during the time of knights and the Middle Ages.  He would have liked to be a hero and he said today I was THAT hero.  He said back in those days a hero could stand up for what is right, however, by doing so, he could put himself in a perilous position.  At first I wasn’t sure where he was going with the story, but I did get the message.  I wasn’t trying to be a hero, or a champion for the people on the train.  I was just someone who finally had it with the inconsideration of certain people.  I was not about to sit idly by as this man clipped.  I was not about to walk away quietly either.

As the train continued on, I continued on.  Even though I was no longer in nail shrapnel range, my verbal onslaught of the man continued.  Eventually the train arrived at Hicksville and Jack the Clipper scurried out.  He must have concluded once clear from the confines of the train car I would consummate our confrontation.   I however, was delayed a bit.  Seems the commuters wanted to thank me for saying something.  Even coming up to me asking, “Are you the nail guy?”  To be clear I said I was the guy yelling, not the guy cutting.  The poor girl who was squished against the wall had a huge smile.  She couldn’t thank me enough for putting a stop to Jack the Clipper.  I said I was just tired of people who feel they can do whatever they want while riding Mass Transit.

As I excited the train after all the accolades, I realized I was shaking.  People may not know I really do not like confrontations, and my body was telling me so.  I took a moment to compose myself before I descended from the platform.  Surprisingly, my wife was waiting for me at the bottom.  She saw a look on my face as I was shaking my head.  At first she thought I was annoyed at her for not waiting in the car.  I quickly dispelled that as I said let me tell you what happened on the train.  As I finished the tale, she said “Wait a minute, what did this guy look like?”  As I described my foe, Christina said “I saw him…there was a man that fit that description who came bolting down the stairs and took off running to his car.”  At the time she thought that was very odd, why was he in such a hurry.  When she realized it was I he was running from, and being married to that same person, she quipped.

“Ah, it all makes sense now”