Never Drop Your Book into the Subway Tracks

There are points in your life that take decisive action. You have to prioritize tasks every second of the day. Weigh out the pros and cons in mere nanoseconds and react appropriately.

When I dropped my book into the subway tracks, I faced the daunting decision that examined my inner struggle between courage, fear, and frugality.

I was at 59th and Lexington, waiting for the 4 or 5 express train going downtown to Union Square. I had carelessly held the book under my armpit. Normally, the train comes every 6 minutes. Since, it was ten at night, everyone had been waiting for about twenty minutes. I precariously leaned over the tracks to look for the approaching train’s headlight. I could only see a couple rats, dripping water and a few bare light bulbs overhead that aided the transit workers.

Disappointed and exhausted, I quickly retracted backwards and spewed out, “Fuck! What’s taking so long?”

As I said this, my loosely held book slid slowly out and fell down to the tracks below.

This triggered a new series of biochemical reactions that combusted my rage into a nuclear holocaust.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Fortunately, everyone was listening to their iPods and nobody witnessed by childish, prison-like behavior.

My mind divided into three camps: The Miser, The Frat Guy, and The Pussy.

Then I looked up and I realized the iPod people were staring at me.

It looked like a scene from Lord of the Rings with Gollum and Sméagol.

Needless to say, The Pussy won. The irony of this struggle was the book’s title, The Art of Happiness.