Then on my way home - the dam broke. I got so infuriated by the asinine, screwball antics perpetrated by the powers that be run the PATH train, while waiting for what seemed like hours (it was 25 minutes) for the train to take me back from the pleasure of Newark Penn Station to the jewel of Manhattan known as Lower. From my phone, I fired off a barrage of mean-spirited, vile language-laden e-mail assaults via their Contact Us link on their mobile website. 
I made sure in my introduction to proactively tell the person(s) responsible for collecting these inquiries that I was not directing my idiotic rage towards them, to not take it personally...because the root cause of my ire was born in the belly of the bureaucratic beast known as the lofty, appointed and non-accountable assholes known as the Board of Commissioners. What followed generally consisted of me accusing the BoC of being the modern equivalent of Wild West train robbers. Misusing public funds and trust to line their own pockets and self-interests while peons like me sit at their mercy due to the incredibly 'f-ed up' fact that they have such a convenient monopoly. So after calling them all greedy bastards and spoiling scum on the bottom of humanity's shoe in a number of emails, I decided to call it quits.
Did I feel better? Not really. Did I accomplish much? No. Did it tarnish the relaxing weekend I just experienced? Nuh-uh. So what does this mean? It means...I'm an old man yelling at a cloud. And for that moment...that's really all I needed to be. It was temporary and I moved on because being an old man yelling at a cloud is silly. To do that everyday...to shake my fist and call people names and accuse them of over-the-top crimes and misdemeanors in a self-righteous gloat is no way to live. Looking back on it, it's kind of embarrassing especially considering that the person picking up my "feedback" is probably sitting in a call center in Utah (yes - that's the new domestic outsource nirvana...Utah. They work for a cheap wage, are cheerful, don't talk back, are on time and never break a sweat....) Utah is the new Mumbai.
Anyway - it's okay for me to yell at a cloud and shake my fist out the window. Every once in a while I let my guard down and stick my left foot into the leg of a pair of underwear already occupied by the right foot. And I shake my fist at those bastards at Fruit of the Loom. As long as I move on and do not allow my shaking fist to smolder and burn so that my entire day is an aggravated shit hemorrhage (favorite expression of my mother who used to threaten us kids with "When you're father gets home, he's going to have a shit hemorrhage") - then I'm cool.
PS - to the PATH BoC:
