I've Become A Garden-Variety Lunatic

Almost no New Yorker in his right mind stays in the city during the hot, smelly month of August. What this means is that those in their wrong minds make up a much greater percentage of the city's population at this moment. Every other person is a vacant-eyed, sweaty lunatic. And I've become one of them.

Tonight, I was sitting in a two-seater on the R train, calmly reading Page Six. When the subway doors opened at 42nd Street, a group of extremely noisy people got on. Of course one sat next to me, and the others proceeded to yell at each other from both sides of the car. They were speaking, or shouting, in a language I couldn't understand, so I couldn't even eavesdrop. The girl next to me, while yelling, also started to fan herself (and me, unfortunately) with her newspaper.

I could no longer concentrate on even the frivolous, mindless gossip page. But of course, it wasn't like I could ask people in a public place to be quiet. So, I hit upon a devious, maniacal, and misanthropic plan.

Since I could no longer read the newspaper, I began strategically ripping it. I knew the sound was akin to someone raking their nails across a blackboard. Rip, r--i--p, rrrrrrip. Soon, the loud girl next to me moved to the other side of the car. Then the girl in front of me followed suit. I could still hear their yelling, but at least they weren't sitting adjacent to me.

I think I've hit upon a solution to antagonize people without directly confronting them. I also think I've become a garden-variety lunatic.