Last Updated on September 16, 2025 by Michael

Acceptable Situations for Soiling Yourself on Public Transit: A Comprehensive Guide

Alright. We’re doing this.

Nobody asked for this guide but here we are, staring into the abyss of humanity’s darkest moment, and the abyss is shaped like a subway car that smells like hot dog water and broken dreams.

Let’s Establish the Ground Rules

There exists—deep in the collective unconscious—a secret tribunal that judges every public transit disaster. No one elected these judges. They just appeared one day, probably on the Brown Line, armed with clipboards and absolutely zero mercy.

The Official Hierarchy of “Yeah, That’s Fair”

Chapter 1: When Physics Attacks

Isaac Newton was a sadist. Change my mind.

That whole “object in motion” thing? He invented that specifically to destroy you at your weakest moment. The train lurches. Your coffee remembers it exists. That breakfast burrito from the place with the one-star Yelp review suddenly wants out. And physics—physics is like “lol, good luck with that, meat sack.”

You ever notice how the emergency brake only gets pulled when you’re at maximum capacity? That’s not coincidence. That’s the universe having a laugh.

Stand clear of the closing doors? How about stand clear of the seven-bean soup you thought was a good idea four hours ago?

Your Digestive System Is Not Your Friend

It’s actually your worst enemy, and it’s been plotting against you since birth.

The stages of betrayal:

First comes the whisper. Just a little “hey buddy, might want to find a bathroom in the next, oh, thirty seconds.” Cute. Real cute. You’re forty-seven stops from home and the nearest bathroom requires a DNA sample and your mother’s maiden name to access.

Then comes the negotiation phase. You’re literally bargaining with your own intestines like they’re a used car salesman. “How about we wait until Herald Square? No? Grand Central? PLEASE?”

The sweating starts. But it’s not normal sweating. It’s that special kind of cold sweat that only happens when you’re about to either die or wish you were dead. Every bump on the track is a personal attack. Every delay announcement is a war crime.

And then.

Well.

Then you become a statistic.

Wildlife: The X Factor Nobody Discusses

We need to talk about the ecosystem down there. Pizza Rat was propaganda. A carefully crafted lie to make you think the wildlife is quirky and fun.

The truth? There’s a whole civilization of creatures that have evolved specifically to witness your downfall. That pigeon that somehow got into the car? It’s not lost. It’s here for the show. That rat giving you side-eye? It’s seen things, but even it’s like “damn, this human’s about to have an incident.”

You know what’s worse than making eye contact with a rat during a crisis? Making eye contact with a rat who’s clearly judging your life choices. That rat pays rent. You’re the interloper here.

There’s something living in the space between cars that science refuses to classify. It feeds on human misery and MetroCard receipts. When you’re at your lowest, it knows. It KNOWS.

The Social Terrorism Matrix

Other humans are the real threat. Always have been.

Someone clipping their toenails? Your body’s like “absolutely not, we’re out.” That couple having their ninth breakup this week, but louder? Instant biological mutiny. The guy eating hard-boiled eggs at 6 AM? That’s chemical warfare and your intestines are Switzerland—completely neutral and refusing to participate.

Category 5 Human Disasters:

• Impromptu saxophone solo
• “Let me tell you about my vision board”
• Competitive phone conversation
• The great manspreading epidemic of forever
• Whatever that smell is (it’s always something)
• Poetry slam but the train is the slam

Your digestive system has standards, apparently. And those standards don’t include being trapped in a metal tube with someone’s emotional support ferret and their thoughts on essential oils.

Distance: The Cruelest Variable

Math doesn’t lie. The closer you were to salvation, the less sympathy you get. It’s like drowning in a puddle. Technically possible, but nobody’s going to feel bad for you.

Environmental Factors (Your Only Hope)

Weather is your get-out-of-jail-free card, but only if it’s biblical.

Light drizzle? That’s on you. Polar vortex where breathing hurts? Society understands. Heat wave where the metal poles are giving people second-degree burns? You get a pass. “Feels like” temperature is lying by 30 degrees? Reality has left the building and so have everyone’s standards.

But here’s the kicker—perfect spring day, birds chirping, children laughing? You’re going to hell. No atmospheric amnesty. No environmental clemency. Just you, your choices, and the unforgiving judgment of everyone within a three-car radius.

The Midnight Exemption Clause

3 AM on public transit is a lawless wasteland where someone’s definitely eating soup with their hands and another person has brought their entire bedroom furniture for reasons that will never be explained.

At 3 AM, someone could perform surgery on themselves and the response would be a sleepy nod. You could show up in a dinosaur costume playing the tuba and nobody would blink. Your biological emergency? That’s actually the most normal thing happening.

Peak judgment hours are 5-7 PM when everyone has just enough energy to be angry but not enough energy to be understanding. These people have opinions and they’re not afraid to think them really loudly in your direction.

Morning rush hour? Everyone’s dead inside. You could spontaneously combust and the most you’d get is someone moving slightly to avoid the flames.

So It Happened. Now What?

Congratulations, you’ve just become urban legend.

First thing: You don’t exist anymore. This is beautiful, actually. It’s the most coordinated humans have ever been about anything. Complete strangers instantly agreeing to erase you from reality. If only we could harness this power for good.

Get off at the next stop. Doesn’t matter if you’re headed to Brooklyn and you’re now somehow in Queens. Geography is meaningless. Your old life is dead. This is your stop forever.

That confident walk everyone talks about? Forget it. You’re not walking anywhere. You’re teleporting through sheer force of denial. Moving so fast that technically you never existed in that space at all.

New identity isn’t optional. Witness protection program but for dignity. New name, new hair, maybe develop an accent. Definitely switch to buses.

The Support Group Nobody Admits Exists

Here’s a secret: there are more of you than you think.

You can spot them by the way they always stand near the doors. The way they’ve memorized every bathroom in a five-mile radius. The haunted look when someone mentions the Red Line.

These people are your tribe now. You’ll never speak to each other, but you’ll share a bond deeper than blood. It’s the bond of people who’ve seen hell and it looked like the inside of a subway car on a Tuesday.

Some Uncomfortable Mathematics

Let’s be honest about what public transit really is: a social experiment that went too far and now we’re all too deep to stop.

The “mysterious” puddle everyone steps around? Not mysterious. The smell that has colors? We all know what that is. That one car that’s always empty? There’s a reason, and the reason has a police report.

Someone eating yogurt with their fingers is considered normal, but your emergency isn’t? Someone brought a shopping cart full of mannequin heads on board (true story, look it up), but YOU’RE the problem?

The double standard is real and it’s spectacular.

Your Accidental Enlightenment

You’ve achieved something most people only have nightmares about. You’ve touched the absolute bottom of human experience and discovered that, actually, there’s a basement. And a sub-basement. And possibly a portal to hell that smells like burnt coffee and resignation.

But you survived.

You can’t make eye contact with anyone who was there. You can’t eat solid food without having flashbacks. That particular train line is dead to you forever. But you’re ALIVE.

Every other problem in your life has been recalibrated. Bad day at work? At least you’re not having THAT day again. Awkward date? Could’ve been Tuesday, Car 4, 2019. We don’t talk about Tuesday, Car 4, 2019.

The Final Truth Bomb

Public transit is where dignity goes to die anyway. It’s a collective delusion that we’re civilized when really we’re all just animals in a moving box trying not to make eye contact while someone clips their toenails and another person eats what can only be described as “meat?”

You’re not special for having a crisis. You’re just the one who lost the lottery that day.

Tomorrow it’ll be someone else. Maybe the guy who brings his emotional support keyboard. Maybe the woman having a conference call about her rash. Maybe that teen who thinks Axe body spray is a shower replacement.

The wheel of fortune spins, and eventually, everyone gets their turn.

Keep your head up. Keep your Uber app charged. And for the love of whatever deity you believe in, keep a go-bag with supplies. You know what kind. We all know what kind.

Welcome to the club you never wanted to join. There’s no newsletter, but you’ll recognize the other members. They’re the ones who actually read this entire guide and nodded knowingly instead of laughing.

They’ve been there.

And they’re never, ever, EVER taking the Brown Line again.

For everyone who’s ever Googled “can you legally change your name online” from a subway platform. You’re not alone. You’re also not welcome on the 6 train anymore, but you’re not alone.