One of the two kids slouching by the subway door chooses the moment when we're delayed in the tunnel to switch on the (presumably bluetooth) speaker in his backpack and play the shitty hip-hop he's been saving for just this occasion.
It's after work, everybody's tired, nobody wants to hear this crap, and I find myself shaking with rage at the rudeness of it. I want to step up, talk to them, "Forgot your headphones, huh?" I envision pulling out my own bluetooth speaker (I know exactly where it is on the shelf at home), cranking up some blast beats or, better yet, some Carly Rae Jepsen.
Instead, I just shake my head, plug in my headphones, give them a dirty look, like everybody else, silently seething at them until they get off at Atlantic Avenue and I continue my ride home.