Whiny post: You've been warned

Gawker reports that the F train was acting odd today. I can verify this, kind of. After leaving work and going out into the rain, noticing that my boot had lost its sole, taking a pair of my mother's boots (with her consent!), going back to Midtown via the slowest bus in the world, descending the ten trillion escalators of the 63rd and Lexington station, I waited a long, long time for the F train to arrive. I mean, it did eventually, and did not turn into a G train (though that would not have affected me, so perhaps it did and I didn't notice), but that station doesn't try to hide the fact that it's wayyy below ground. It looks a bit like hell as conceived of by the creators of South Park, except flooded. Plus, riding the F reminded me that the 1-2-3 and 4-5-6 have spoiled me. Geez, the F train is slow. And it's the sort of train where you're about to take a seat until you notice that the seat next to the one you were eyeing has on it an upright coffee cup. It might have been empty, but I wasn't so much in the mood to check. Then there was the inevitable vest-wearing, psycho-rather-than-ethnic-or-religious-or-athletic-or-hipster-headgear-sporting, nervous-looking man, who got on the train (where else?) right before it entered the tunnel.

Yes, there are people suffering more than I was today. Including those passengers of the F who found themselves inexplicably on a G. But still, orange-alert subways and just-repaired-but-now-defunct boots are not good, not good at all.