And then we have the drunks.
Drunks don't care what day it is, as long as its not Sunday. This is mostly because in some places in the city, means that the wine stores are closed and makes it a bit more difficult for them to get some Jesus juice.
So Karin and I are waiting on the 3 train to go downtown to 14th street. Its Sunday afternoon, so the amount of people waiting with us is not too bad. As people come in, I love watching them. A couple who are obviously not from here (he wore a huge cowboy hat while she had bangs the size of a small tent). You have the construction worker who is dropping "F" bombs on his cell phone while eating a sandwich.
Then....well, we have the drunk.
This guy looked like he got kicked out of a James Brown concert in 1968 and been drinking ever since (without ever changing his clothes). This guy walks in through the gate to the train station so drunk, Tara Reid would have asked him to check into rehab. I don't think he could have walked on a straight line if it was 4 feet in width. I am just saying, he was pretty drunk.
He walks over and leans on the wall. I keep talking to Karin but every once in a while I look up. I am not sure why I look up at him. Its kind of like a car accident on the freeway, you just have to look. I look back to Karin as we continue to talk about rats that we saw earlier walking through the train tracks. Suddenly, I hear a thump. I turn around and look and there is our drunktard laying on the train track.
For those not in NYC or never been, the subway comes equipped on the concrete with a giant yellow line. This is the "Keep your ass behind this line" line. Somehow, for a drunk person, it became the "Pool is beyond this line" line. And this guy took a swan dive right into the empty pool and took his empty brain with him. It took me a second to figure out what was going on. Perhapse he dropped his $2 train ticket (for an alcoholic, that's the cost of another Pabst Blue). Maybe he was tossed in by a mafia who he owes money. Or maybe, just maybe, the guy is so drunk he decided to make out with the train tracks.
Instincts take over guilt. Guilt would have felt sorry for the guy but would have continued to watch. Instinct reminded me that the 3 train was less than 3 minutes away and it usually comes at a good 60 miles an hour.
I run up and so does the construction worker and another guy. The cowboy decided to leave the helpless to himself. Makes sense. The president of this country is a cowboy and he loves to leave helpless people behind too (see Iraq as well as Katrina victims). We rush over and this guy (drunk boy) is still laying on the ground. At first I thought "maybe he hit his head" but then I noticed he was moaning. He was just half passed out, half resting.
We all started telling eachother we have to get this guy in but he was a good eight feet underneath us. The construction guy finally takes a leap of faith and stretches himself to the fake 1991 leather jacket this drunk bastard was in. As soon as he grabbed him, I reached for his matching belt. The third guy grabs me and helps me pull up. It felt like it was taking hours to lift this guy. He was not even trying to help himself out. He kind of slothed out and let his weight drop against our lift. We finally dragged his body onto the yellow line where he belonged and dragged his lazy body across the dusty floor to safety. Once there, we all kind of let him go to let himself pick his body up and hopefully pick up some dignity with it.
The 3 train sure enough came not too shortly after. The man mumbled a "Thanks man" under his Absolute breath and then got on the 3 train. Karin and I waited for the next one.
Moral to the story: Always give a helping hand, otherwise...you are just another cowboy.
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