Dr. Pemulis' Good Time Family Subway Solution (Berbalerbs Remix): Step Step Stop

Hi Kiddies! Dr. Pemulis asked me if I could come in and tell you all a nice little story of the super-cuckoo stuff that happens on the New York Subway that irks the ever-loving fuckjuice out of me.
Today's topic: Door Blockers

"Chee wor hard for dee monee, bap bap, bap bap, sooooo hard for dee monee bap bap, bap bap"

The space by the doors on the subway is a coveted bit of real estate. I get it. You can lean back if you like, you don't have to hold on to anything, you can dance while staring at yourself in the reflection from the window, and if there's an attractive lady sitting in the seat next to where you're standing, you can check out her cleavage while you convince yourself she only looks 14. And, of course, you're first in line to get off the train! All in all, a pretty nice fuckin' space to stand on the subway.

Which is why some New Yorkers like to "call dibbs" on the spot. In the most retarded, asshole-ish way possible.

Picture this, if you will: it's 8:56 AM. You're standing in the Hoyt-Schermehorn station in Brooklyn waiting for the A/C train to wisk you away to another day of expense reports, flight arrangements, spreadsheets, and trying to rub one out beneath your desk without being conspicuous. You're a little miffed because you spilled some of your delicious Dunkin Donuts iced coffee on your new white shirt, which you knew was going to happen because every single fucking time you wear a white shirt, this type of shit happens and you don't even know how the fucking coffee got on your shirt because you're always doubly fucking careful with a white shirt on and--

You get the picture. Shitty morning already.

So the train pulls up, and there are quite a few people getting on, which is normal for rush hour on a weekday. There's only one person ahead of you in line to get on the train, so you're thinking "not bad, might have an off chance of grabbing a seat or a coveted doorway spot."

BING. BONG.(hehe, "bong," hehe)

The train doors open. Dude in front of you steps on. Stops.

The car is not full. There are many people still boarding the train (including you) and. this. mother. fucking. goober. stops.

Ladies and Gentlemen of New York City: if you really fucking need your little doorway spot that badly, if your bones are too brittle to stand without support on all sides of you (NOTE: most of these door blocking asscakes are big young guys with either a business suit or a fitted back Yankees cap on) FINE, take a step onto the subway, TURN FUCKING SIDEWAYS and proceed to annoyingly bump everyone as they board the train, and return to your precious little fucking standing space. BUT AT LEAST LET THE REST OF US GET ON THE FUCKING TRAIN YOU ABSOLUTE SCOURGE TO MANKIND.

"But the space next to me is open," you say. "I'm not blocking the whole entrance." Interesting point. Do me a favor? Today after you get home from work try and kill yourself with a claw hammer in just one swing. Do that for me, will you?

I don't know what it is, but for some reason I get subway rage as bad as drivers get road rage. All of a sudden, I'll disregard the fact that the dude who just "stepped stepped stopped" looks very similar to Deebo from Friday and just plow into the motherfucker. I feel like it's a personal responsibility of mine to inform the miscreints of this fair city that you will NOT break the social contract of the MTA without consequences. This, thankfully hasn't gotten me killed yet. Yet.