...just not necessarily on the subway.
The other day I was on my way home from a day of grad school and Shake Shack deliciousness when my peaceful subway ride home while reading The Other Boleyn Girl (which has since graduated to my Netflix queue) was interrupted by an onslaught of clowns.
Yes, clowns.
At the 34th Street station, around 12 clowns came on to my car, along with a variety of clown accompaniments. One clown had a hula-hoop. One had a children's riding toy that looked like a fire truck. They all were in full clown regalia, including wigs and makeup. And they all talked in what were possibly the most annoying voices possible. It turns out clowns do not speak like normal people- they talk in high, squeaky voices that are incredibly grating.
The good thing about clowns is that they are pretty funny. Every stop when people got on the train, they said "hi!" and waved. They rode the fire truck down the center aisle of the train. They got random people on the train to hula hoop. They danced. They sang.
The thing is, I am both a jaded New Yorker and a wide-eyed optimist. Because of that, I was torn between ignoring the clowns and cracking up over them. I half read my book, straight faced and half watched them in growing disbelief. These clowns were all in my age range. Yet they kept this squeaky voiced routine up for 9 subway stops, and two boroughs. When they finally got out in Queens, the woman next to me commented that now they could go scare children.
The other day I was on my way home from a day of grad school and Shake Shack deliciousness when my peaceful subway ride home while reading The Other Boleyn Girl (which has since graduated to my Netflix queue) was interrupted by an onslaught of clowns.
Yes, clowns.
At the 34th Street station, around 12 clowns came on to my car, along with a variety of clown accompaniments. One clown had a hula-hoop. One had a children's riding toy that looked like a fire truck. They all were in full clown regalia, including wigs and makeup. And they all talked in what were possibly the most annoying voices possible. It turns out clowns do not speak like normal people- they talk in high, squeaky voices that are incredibly grating.
The good thing about clowns is that they are pretty funny. Every stop when people got on the train, they said "hi!" and waved. They rode the fire truck down the center aisle of the train. They got random people on the train to hula hoop. They danced. They sang.
The thing is, I am both a jaded New Yorker and a wide-eyed optimist. Because of that, I was torn between ignoring the clowns and cracking up over them. I half read my book, straight faced and half watched them in growing disbelief. These clowns were all in my age range. Yet they kept this squeaky voiced routine up for 9 subway stops, and two boroughs. When they finally got out in Queens, the woman next to me commented that now they could go scare children.
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