....but i'm not

Friday, August 20, 2010

Curse You El Goop

I was in a war this morning. It was an ugly, mind-twisting, clusterf*ck of a war...and I lost. It will probably go down in history as the "The Battle of Mystery El Juice at the Quincy Brown Line."

What is this mystery fluid you ask? No one really knows if it's pigeon pee, human pee, nuclear waste, or condensation from the humidity. The optimistic side of me wants to say there's a decent chance it could be kryptonite.

The goop drips consistently into an approximate 12-inch wide oval, five steps down from the spinney gate in the outer Loop platform (which in itself is an obstacle course). It takes a little shimmy, a little shake, some bumpin' and grindin', a dip to and fro, but once you've got it down you're golden. For the past 10 months I have successfully done the dance-of-el-goo-avoidance. Hopefully my strategy doesn't turn too many people on at 8am.

It takes skill - you've got to be able to precisely pinpoint the exact location and velocity of the next drip. I like to think I'm the only one who has figured out this strategy. The evil side of me takes some pleasure in thinking that my resourcefulness has caused major nausea for the poor schmuck behind me who gets the fatal splat on the face.

Well this morning I found out what it's like to be that schmuck.

It all happened so fast. I saw the initial drop, thought I had enough time to maneuver to the right a few inches, when all of a sudden in slow-motion I saw it lurking toward me...the giant drop slowly encroaching on my right shoulder. In my head, I cried out in horror "curse you el gooooooooooo!"(picture arms flailing, fist pumping toward the ceiling, frantically padding my hair to make sure I didn't have a bald spot). In reality, I just prayed that nobody saw it happen because let me tell you, the moment that drop hits your forehead, it sounds like a freakin' jackhammer.

Why not take a different exit route you ask? That's like asking me to stop eating peanut butter and banana sandwiches. Absurd.

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