About a week ago, I rolled my eyes watching a young guy in slacks and a button down, clearly heading to work, bump into the turnstiles on his way into the subway- having forgotten to swipe. "Worth a shot," I snickered silently. The station was empty and the abrupt stop did not seem to return his mind to the present. I don't think he even saw me catch his awkward moment.
But, it seems, karma strikes even for sarcasm not vocalized, eye-rolling not seen.
As I pondered tonight's dinner, conjuring up an image of my fridge and seriously debating all the alternatives (all two alternatives), I, too, neglected to swipe my Metrocard. However, I was walking into a large station at rush hour, and in a massive crowd of purposeful commuters, professional New Yorkers, preparers of the Metrocard in advance.
The line doesn't stop for you; the next person swipes before you've even cleared the turnstile.
Therefore, the eager home-bound gentleman behind me inadvertently humped me (intentional humps are a different, sweet nuance of traveling the NYC subway system) just as we both realized my mistake, and as an insult to the non-physical but very real injury of marching into a turnstile that wasn't given the signal to turn.
I recovered gracefully, as anyone would do in my situation, and: (1) frantically rummaged through my Mary Poppins purse to find my card amid lunch containers, candy, socks, and mail, (2) swiped my card, and (3) proceeded onto the platform head down, weaving into the crowd to lose the humper and all witnesses - who, I'm sure, had no interest in following me.