Running of…
I think I’m ready for Pamplona now. The city, in the northeast of Spain, is the annual host to the San Fermín festival, known to the rest of us mainly for the running of the bulls. Never mind that I normally root for the bulls; it’s time.
And what, you might ask, qualifies me for this feat? Agility? A spry physique? Monumental derring-do? Not so much. I live and work in New Jersey, and I’m a commuter. ‘Nuff said.
Now, for those of you who live outside the tri-state area, or who’ve been spared the joys of the PATH system (or any other part of public transportation) hereabouts, a little explanation may be in order. Every morning when I get off the train or the PATH, I have to contend with a horde of Mongols in worsted wool, or Huns in penny loafers. Some mornings, it’s something closer to a herd of bulls (and a fair share of cows, to be fair) trampling all and sundry underfoot. Commence the Running of the Assholes. I’ve seen little old ladies tossed in the air by paralegals, hapless office drones gored by lawyers’ umbrellas, and stockbroker matadors facing off warily against fine specimens of investment bankers. All that’s missing is a mass of Basque shirts, red berets, and wine bottles strewn at trackside.
And Hemingway. The PATH system needs its Hemingway.
Tags: commuting, mass transit, NJ Transit, PATH