Glass Houses

Yesterday afternoon I had just come from the city of cones of shame, NYC DMV and headed to capital of cones of the shame, the subway. The subway, sadly, always provides endless material for this city kitty. Alas, yesterday was no exception. The train arrives, it's fairly crowded but not to the point of feeling like I'm in the the middle of a stuffed meatball-parm sandwich. Oops, I digress.

As I walk onto the train I see there is an open seat. I walk over to the area and there is a woman sitting perpendicular to the next set of seats with her feet on the seats. As the train begins to move forward to it's next stop, there is a man a few seats away who begins clipping both his and his son's nails on the train. This absolutely skeeves me out. It makes me want to vomit. It's utterly disgusting and just flat out gross. Obviously deserving of a cone-of-shame.

With that said, however, what I found more amusing was the feet-on-the-seats woman. She was obviously disgusted by the man's behavior -- so much so that she began to loudly protest his actions -- talking about how this is "not a beauty parlor." I too agreed with her sentiments. Let me make that clear: I AGREE WITH HER COMMENTS. Yet, this is the same woman who saw fit to place her disgusting, dirty, filthy, shoes on the seat of the subway. Shoes that have been traversing the city streets, walking through all the grime, grit and grizzle that covers the streets of the cement jungle, NYC. So this woman, who put the bottoms of her feet onto the seat of the subway wherein other passengers will sit, sat in her glass house throwing stones at the, albeit gross, nail clipper.

So my feeling is, yes, nail-clipper-man gets a giant cone of shame. But you mam, in your glass house of filth, you too shall get a cone of shame.