So I had a stomach bug yesterday, which has mostly resolved itself into a little left-over fever and some trepidation about eating anything scarier than toasted white bread, but yesterday it was pretty bad, and I left work early. Somehow the A Train was packed in the middle of the afternoon, and I spent the first half of the stretch between 59th Street and 125th debating asking someone who was sitting for their seat. I wasn't going to pass out or anything, but standing was pretty miserable. I weighed this against my sort of unreasonable embarrassment about doing this, but I eventually settled on the nice-looking middle-aged Hispanic man sitting right in front of where I was standing. I leaned down to him and tapped his shoulder, and said quietly, "Excuse me, I'm not feeling well - could I sit down?" He looked at me apologetically - I'd pegged him right as a nice guy - and apologized in Spanish, "No Ingles." I smiled understandingly and stood back up. I haven't spoken Spanish in any real way in about eight years, but even as I resigned myself to another fifteen minutes of standing on the swaying, lurching fucking subway I started rifling through my brain. Me duele....? But then it came to me and I leaned over again. "Estoy enferma - puedo sentir?" I don't know how precise that was, but he knew exactly what I was saying, and I got to sit down - I may have even thrown in a "Muchas gracias" as I did, while also blushing pretty strongly, I could feel - and when he got off he gave me a little wave through the subway car window. Spanish may not do me shit with my Dominican super, but goddamn am I glad that I remember what I do.