The Real Sushi Samba

This morning, a horrible thing happened.



I was on the C train this morning. A couple entered the C train at High Street. The husband looked remarkably like Sacha Baron Cohen (Da Ali G Show) in one of his many disguises. I noticed he was eating breakfast on the train. A common annoyance, but nothing out of the ordinary. Then I realized he was eating sushi. For breakfast (Okay, I know you're going to give me the argument that the Japanese often eat rice and fish for breakfast, but this is entirely different). On the C train. With chopsticks. While standing! To make matters worse, he was practically forcing his wife to eat the sushi, repeatedly saying "Mmmmmm!" in a VERY loud voice. Just when I feared he was going to start making airplane noises (single engine, no doubt), they mercifully got off at the Canal Street station.



Now, I get irritated when there's a passenger with an open container of coffee on the subway, fearing the train will suddenly jerk and some unsuspecting victim soaked. But I can justify this as normal, if somewhat inconsiderate. I am not, however, prepared to take a faceful of Spicy Tuna! If this becomes a trend, I will seriously have to consider moving. And I LOVE sushi. But this was bad bad sushi. The kind that comes in the cheesy little black plastic container that we all know and love. The kind that Sushi Express would throw back. Dig?



You know what? I have a better idea. I'll start a new trend. Tomorrow morning, I will travel the subways with a very large lasagna, asking the other passengers if they want a piece. I'll rub my tummy repeatedly, signifying the lasagna's unquestionable goodness.



Well, I have my work cut out for me. I'll see you tomorrow.