I HATE You: Germaphobic Train Conductor

I'll set the scene. I was on the Long Island Railroad (as I often am... it's the hottest place in town, outside of Extreme Lacosta's Dojo) and was holding a can of soda in one hand and my phone in the other. I was sitting there, sipping on a decades-old can of Fresca, playing a game of Columns on my phone when the conductor busted into the train car bellowing for "Tickets!"

Now, most Long Island Railroad conductors are pretty cool. The ones with the regular 9-5 shifts have great attitudes, which is crazy because of how packed the trains can get. I had a particularly cool female conductor on the 9:11 AM train who used to throw her conductor's cap over my wang and then service me.  So, yeah, they're normally pretty cool.

But if you ride the train in off hours, like Saturday night at midnight, let's say, the conductors are a bit salty. That's because, I'm told, train conductors are people like the rest of us and would like to be partying on Saturday night. I personally think it's because the off-peak conductors are asspires (mystical, monstrous creatures who are like vampires but, instead of feasting on blood, they are total assholes).

Either way, I was on an off peak train, Fresca in one hand and my 1994 Motorola cell in the other (antenna up, bitches) and the salty (possibly asspire) conductor comes by to punch my ticket. Ah shit, both hands heavily occupied. What do I do? I put my foot-long cell phone down in my lap, grab my ticket out of my pocket and then, so I don't lose my game of Columns, place the tiniest edge of the corner of the ticket in my mouth and pick up my phone to pause the game.

He then angrily but precariously brought his ticket puncher to my ticket and punched it. Which is strange, because non-asspire conductors grab your tickets and punch it in their hands. So conducting himself like a train conductor (heh heh, conducting like a conductor), this son of an anus hair jabbed at me with his fucking punching machine, like he was an angry sonofabitch pirate who lost his hand and instead of a hook had a ticket punching apparatus installed.

It quickly dawned on me that he was a germaphobe. The cropped hair, the overly clean and ironed clothes, the "I H8 Germs" Novelty tie. It all made sense. Well, as regular readers of this column can attest, I normally balk from confrontation. But you, dear readers, inspired me. "Sometimes you just gotta say 'What the Xenu?'" as Tom Cruise is wont to say.

So a grin curled out on my face. I let some saliva collect in my teeth before I spoke and then, as I spoke, I let some dribble out. "What's the big deal?" I began. "I just brushed my teeth this morning." Spit dribbled all over my unshaven mouth.

"You... ! But..! RRRR!" The asspire turned beet red and stormed off. Hey asspire, didn't you see "Lionheart"? Never go into a fight showing off your weaknesses. Just as Jean Claude Van Damme had the piss taken out of his ribs in that cinematic classic, I took the piss out of that d-bag. Which really, when you think about it, is my purpose in this world.

The asspire and I parted ways then, but I'd like to think he slit his wrists when he got home that night. Not in that suicidal up and down sort of way but in the pansy-ass emo asspire cry-for-help sort of way. Hey, cunt hair, if you're scared of germs, don't get a job where you have to TOUCH OTHER PEOPLE and their OBJECTS!! Because the profession of train conductor? You gotta do that shit ALL DAY LONG.

Burn in hell, Germaphobic Train Conductor. I HATE You.