In today’s global economy, to succeed you need to be at least bilingual. Speaking more than one language will increase your survival chances in any unexpected situation. Like today’s subway ride.

It’s the end of a long day and I have been walking around hauling my heavy laptop. I am not giving up the seat that I secured two stations ago. Not even it the Virgin Mary materializes in front of me and promises eternal salvation in exchange for this seat. An empty seat in rush hour, now that’s a miracle, Mary.

The train stops at the Union Square station and two big, lesbian newyorican women hop in. They speak very loudly in Spanish. When the seat next to me clears, one of them dives into it. So now I’m sitting between one petit very pregnant woman and a big loud newyorican.

As the train begins to move, the attack begins. The neworican woman standing in front of me tells the other one:
“¿Qué se creerá este pendejo? Con ese culito que tiene se podría parar y darme ese asiento” (Translation: I wonder what this jerk think he is.  With that tiny ass he has, he could get up and give me that seat).
I just sit there and smile at the pregnant woman next to me. They continue yelling at each other:
“Jajaja, Nada como el culo tuyo, mami. Eso si es lindo. Ya quisiera este tener un culo así. A lo mejor por eso no se para, le da pena” (Translation: Hahaha, nothing like your ass, baby. That’s a pretty one. Maybe that’s why he won’t get up, he’s embarrased about his).

They laugh some more.

As my station approaches. I finally turn to the one sitting next to me and tell her:
“Lo que este pendejo piensa es que pagó por poner este culito en un asiento y ustedes con ese culo tan grande, a lo mejor deberían pagar el doble” (Translation: What this jerk thinks is that he paid a fare to get this tiny ass on a seat. Maybe you and your big asses should pay twice as much.)

I get up and dash into the station, following the pregnant woman who also got off. She is surprisingly agile for such a pregnant state.
As we get to the street, I watch her reach under the back of her coat and suddenly her 8-month pregnant belly comes off. I just stand there in front of her as she smiles at the expression of surprise on my face and tells me:
“You gotta do what you gotta do to get a seat. I’m a waitress.  I’m on my feet all day.”
“Does that work?” I ask.
“Everyday. I’ve been ‘pregnant’ for more than a year now. I always find someone to offer me his seat.”

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