Dear Retarded Subway Driver...

I came to a conclusion on the subway last night:

There’s something just not right about a city that hires subway drivers that are either drunk, have a very serious speech impairment or are just plain retarded.

Now it’s not that I’m saying a retarded dude can’t drive a subway train. Hell, have you seen these transit people? Besides, if we can teach a monkey to fly a capsule into space, a retarded dude can surely drive the subway.

But if you are going to hire a retarded dude to drive public transit, please provide him with a buddy to atleast announce the subway stops on the P.A. system. Maybe James Earl Jones or that guy who voices all the movie trailers for Disney. I’d even accept Bobcat Goldthwait if I have to.

This is mass transit. You can’t have the person making the call on the speaker system sounding like a drunk Scottish soccer hooligan talking with a mouth full of saltines.

Or maybe that makes me an asshole.

But I like to think of myself as atleast a functional asshole.

After all, if my demand is the difference between being able to understand the driver’s instructions to get out after the power suddenly crashes for unknown reasons and the train is stuck in the middle of a tunnel...or instead, sitting in a damp, dark train arm-to-arm with a group of stinky, panicked strangers screaming, “we’re all gonna die!” in horrified panic while some unintelligible caveman blasts indistinguishable grunts over the P.A. system…

...well, tattoo ‘asshole’ right into the middle of my forehead, ‘cause brother, at that point, I dunno about you but I’ll be looking for the sun.