schlepic (n): [pron: SHLE-pic] a journey of epic proportions (from the Yiddish schlep).  A schlepic is often measured by length and grueling effort or by short distance with emotional energy expended. 

So, according to Vebster’s Dictionary of Yiddish phrases, a schlepic can be long but complicated and frustrating travel or a short subway ride full of bizarre behavior and emotional and psychic energy.  Or anywhere along the continuum between those two points.

I had a schlepic this morning:

Although I am feeling “waist creep” — that terrible feeling that you can’t suck in your stomach to close your pants from last year — I am still a small person who can fit easily in the small space between two large passengers on a subway car.

And yet, I didn’t have to fit easily between two people in the subway car.  I was at the end of the bench next to a hand rail, a comfortable distance away from the next passenger, who had a wide berth on the other side of him as well.  Then, a large man squeezes in next to me. 

The man on the other side of him still has room to move down a little, but insists on standing (er, sitting) his ground. So the force of gravity is heading my way on the right and there is a metal handrail on my left. 

I lean over to assess the situation and see if I can ask the man on the other side to move down.  As I lean forward, I realize that I have lost the back of the seat to my fellow traveller’s shoulders.  He never looks up and he takes out a text book to read (very convenient on the subway).  The man on the other side is looking down and is wearing ear phones, so my “excuse me, sir” falls on already noise-filled ears.  I try to reach over to tap the man, because if I get up, then textbook man will slide into my already diminished space.  Of course, I had to invade textbook man’s space to tap the other passenger.  That turned out to be an affront to his G-d-given right to comfort and self-determination on the subway.   I said, “I am just trying to get a little more room here,” and his response was a sigh of disgust, as if I am the interloper.  Ok, ok, ok, how does this work?  I am being squished out of my seat and I am the interloper and troublemaker?

Many mean thoughts raced through my head.  Then rage.  Then my stop came.  No resolution.  No catharsis. No release.  Just a jackass on a train who thinks he is right.  Ok, he represents a huge demographic in our country.  Probably over 60% of the population.

Emotions and anger continue to rage as I walk up the steps and out of the subway. 

It was short, but a schlepic nevertheless.