Yo, you guys! Check out my rebel spirit in action! I know you guys always hear me talk about it, but here it is, in the flesh. Shit’s real, you guys…Going up a down escalator. It’s like I’m fighting the currents that’re trying to bring me down. The forces that be, man…always pulling you down. Well, I’m working my way up. It’s like some kind of crazy metaphor or some shit. It takes some hard work, man. And people give you weird looks as they try to have a peaceful escalator ride. Get out of my way, brahs! I don’t care what they think of me, looking down their noses and shit. Soulless escalator-riders. Be real and take the stairs or something. They can have fun shopping in the basement floor of the mall. I’m working my way up. I’ll be in the fragrance section of Macy’s while they get lost in the Home section. Fools.
I figure it’s a nice way to display my physical prowess too. If you’re gonna fight the man, you can’t simply talk the talk. You got to run the proverbial run. Up the escalator. You gotta know how to fight, and for that, you gotta be in shape. I go to the gym. Do I use the treadmill? Elliptical? No. I use the StairMaster. Gets me ready for my big escalator-thons on the weekend taking the subway drunk with friends. I march up those things for an hour or so. It’s exhilarating. The StairMaster can be depressing, though. Always climbing and not going anywhere. Treadmill: always running, not going anywhere. That’s how the Man wants you to live: forcing you to fight and fight just to stay where you are. I’m mastering his ways slowly but surely. One day, mark my words: I will be the Stair Master.
I wish they had competitions for this sort of thing. What about escalators that go down faster than usual? See if I can climb up those. It’s a whole thing, you know. It’s easy to get intense about. You got to time yourself and try to beat your record. You got to keep in shape: rent that fourth-story walk-up apartment so you get some practice in. Even coming back from work or leaving to go do some escalator-running, you can get a good warm-up. If I walk past a playground, hell, I’ll try to run up the slide. It’s a whole other ball game, I know, but you got to beat the slide before it beats you. You slide, you fail. And you leave in disgrace, because a bunch of kids are crying that you ruined their slide. Well, you think that’s what they’re crying about, but that’s not why they’re crying. They’re crying because you failed.
I would say becoming an awesome up-a-down-escalator-runner is a step-by-step process, if I were an asshole who thought puns were funny. But I’m not. They’re not funny. It’s a whole endeavor. You have to look into yourself and discover what compels you to fight the constant downward trajectory of existence. It’s not all downhill from here; it’s all downstairs. The world will run you down. It will throw you down the stairs like a reluctantly pregnant woman. You got to run back up those stairs and defy the cruel hands of fate. Triumph over the forces that be.
Look, everyone needs to have their victories in life. For me, it’s when an MBTA official asks me quietly to leave the terminal before they report me for public intoxication and misconduct. I’ll show them. Unless they start doing escalator repairs and close them for a month, then that’s a problem. But I’ll show them bigtime. I really will, someday.
