Good Morning, Prague

Early-morning commuting in NY is not a pleasant experience. Especially if you're coming into Manhattan from one of the other boroughs. Most especially if you've made the mistake of taking the G train on any leg of your journey. But this morning, it was made even more unpleasant by this girl who was drinking a Red Bull right next to me.

I don't like the smell of Red Bull; I find it acrid and sour and I don't care how much energy it gives you Brian-I think it's a stupid drink. It also reminds me of Europe, so I tend to associate it with Eurotrash. When I lived overseas, everyone who drank Red Bull had a faux-hawk, and wore orange turtlenecks and blue-blocker sunglasses, and talked about the irony of house music and their experiences back-packing around America. Eurotrash.

I was visibly delighted when half of it went all over the place thanks to a large man sneezing-thanks to his girth he physically affected everyone around him.

Because come on, Red Bull? At 7:45 in the morning? You can't have a cup of coffee like everyone else? You're THAT girl? Well then you deserve to have your day ruined.

(And yes, I am THAT hateful in the morning. At least until I get my coffee.)