To the guy on the train who yelled at me this morning... you can go right ahead and kiss my ass.
I am a fairly friendly person. I chat with strangers all the time, smile at people I run into on the street (that's a literal "run into" not a figurative one), and am generally pleasant whenever possible.
I have my days, of course, that pleasant is the last thing I can be, but I try.
When I get on the jitney, which takes me to the train, I usually greet the driver first.
"Good morning, Daniel! How the heck are ya?" or something to that affect.
He usually replies with an, "I'm blessed," and a, "how are you?"
Once I utter my usual, "I'm well, thanks," I head toward my seat. This exchange takes about ten seconds, enough time for me to walk up the 4 steps of the bus.
I then say, "Morning, everybody," as I make my way down the aisle.
Some mornings I get a semi-enthusiastic, "Morning," from my fellow jitney travelers. Some mornings I get a staccato, "Morning," that comes in unison and reminds me of a kindergarten class saying, "Good-mor-ning-Miss-Gren-fell," in their very tired morning voices.
But most of them at least say something.
The other night as I was taking the jitney from the train toward home, a woman stopped me and introduced herself.
"I'd just like to say how much I appreciate that you say 'Good morning' to everyone when you get on the jitney each day. It's just so nice."
I didn't really know what to say to her so I just said, "Oh, thanks." Totally lame response, I know, but it's what I said.
We proceeded to chat all the way to my stop and we smile and wave when we see each other in the evenings now.
This morning, however, was a different story.
Daniel and I did our usual routine, with the "How the heck are ya?" and the "Blessed."
As I turned to head down the aisle I hear a man say, "Oh, here it comes." He even rolled his eyes.
I looked right at him and said, "Morning, everyone."
"Yeah, yeah," he said, clearly cranky.
The people sitting around him all looked at me like, "Who the hell is this guy?"
I looked back like, "No idea."
We all rode the rest of the way to the train in relative silence, smiling at the new passengers and listening to our music.
At the train station the eye rolling man approached me. He just marched right up to me and stood there, looking.
"Hi," I said, thinking that this would be his cue to speak.
He just stood there, looking at me.
I went back to my music and tried to ignore him. He was, it seems, trying to figure out exactly what to say to me.
"You know... you don't have to say good morning every day. I mean... it's a little ridiculous."
I just looked at him nonplussed.
"Well," said I, "I'm sorry that you find it ridiculous, but I'm going to keep saying it every day. You don't need to listen."
"Are you effing kidding me?" (except he said the whole word). "You mean I have to keep listening to you? Every damned day?"
"Yup. Every. Damned. Day. And I suggest you switch to decaf." Then I smiled at him.
He stormed away as the man standing near us during this exchange said, "What a douche."
I couldn't agree more.
Tomorrow as I get on the bus I will make sure to look for this guy. I will look him dead in the eyes and say, "Good morning, everyone!" in my most chipper way. This jerk will not stop me.
So, to the guy on the train who yelled at me this morning... Pucker up, friend, 'cause you can go right ahead and kiss my ass.
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
Rudeness
To the lady on the train that doesn't know how to speak to people... unfortunately you are not the only one.
Lately I've been noticing a stunning lack of courtesy among my fellow travelers.
Mostly it's the little, annoying things that irk me. Like the person standing in front of the steps, blocking the path and when someone says, "Excuse me," they lean about an inch out of the way.
I'm sorry, but no one is one inch wide, nor can any human above the age of 1 fit through a space that small. Also, you know you're standing right in the way of anyone that needs to get to a seat - there is no reason to huff and puff that you had to lean your one inch out of the way.
Or the people that pile all of their things on the seat next to them so that no one will sit there, then proceed to complain and heave and sigh when someone asks them to move their stuff. You're not special - you don't get a two or three person seat all to yourself. Get over it.
And the people who sit idly by and watch as someone is struggling to put their things on the rack above the seats. This morning, a totally polite man walked almost the length of the train car to help an elderly woman get her carry-on up on the rack, while everyone close to her simply sat and watched her struggle. Would it kill you to help someone out?
Or the women who settle in to their seats only to begin to apply their face for the day, either poking their neighbor in the ribs or causing fits of sneezes as their powder puffs into the air.
Or the men who sit with their legs spread so wide that they seemingly have a basketball where their genitals should be.
Not to mention the nail clippers, farters, gum smackers, too-much-perfume wearers, etc.
I've been scoffed at for saying, "Bless you," after someone sneezes, huffed at for being where I am at any given time, chuffed at, yelled at, poked, prodded, manhandled, and more, by less than courteous people.
I try to speak to people courteously, smile, acknowledge them, say "thank you," and "bless you," and all of those things. Some days I'm too wrapped up in my own drama to think past myself, days that I am less than courteous. I try, though.
Some people, however, take a sharp right at Lack-of-Courtesy and head straight on into Rudeness.
This morning we were sitting snugly in a four-seats-facing-each-other seat, a man on my left, a woman directly across from me, and another man across the aisle. The woman, of course, had her stuff on the 4th seat on our side so that no one else could sit there.
The man next to me had his headphones in and his music playing fairly loudly. I could hear it through my own music, but it didn't particularly bother me as our music oddly matched and created an entirely new kind of song.
The woman across from me, all spread out and important, didn't like it. This was her prerogative, and she had every right to ask him to turn it down a little.
Unfortunately, she doesn't know how to speak to people.
"Ummmm... I can't listen to your music," said she.
"I'm sorry?" said he.
"I can't listed to your music!" said she.
"Wow... OK..." said he. He begrudgingly turned down his music, his attitude shifting to match his sudden bad mood.
She then huffed and chuffed in her seat due to his attitude toward her.
I couldn't believe how she spoke to this guy.
"You know, there's a better way to say that," said I.
"Ex-cuse me?"
"There's a better way to say that. Had you simply said 'would you mind turning down your music' I'm sure he would have complied with no attitude."
"She's right," piped in the man across the aisle. "Now there's all this tension because he's offended at the way you spoke to him, and you're offended at his attitude toward you. If you had asked him politely it would have been a nothing moment."
"Very true," said the man behind him.
"I can't believe you! How dare you chastise me when he was the one playing his music too loud!"
"Yes, but you were the one that was rude," said the man across the aisle.
We all shared a moment, the man across the aisle, the man behind him, and me. We shook our heads in acknowledgement and returned to our books/music/paper/Candy Crush.
The woman across from me fidgeted for a while, still huffy about the exchange.
The man next to me, the offender with the loud music, simply sat in thought for a while. Finally he looked at me with a most peculiar expression.
"Thank you. That meant a lot."
"I'm sorry she was so rude to you," I said.
"Yeah, man, me too," said the guy across the aisle.
"You'd think I would be used to it by now, but it still pisses me off," said the man next to me.
"Why would you be used to it?" I asked, oblivious.
His face blank, he looked at me for a long moment.
"I'm black," he said, so matter-of-factly.
The woman across from me jerked her head up at this, looking at him with the most alarmed expression. I could feel the attention on him: mine, hers, even the man across the aisle was intent on the scene.
Finally, her face softened and she squeaked, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it like that," in the smallest voice she could muster.
"Thanks," he said.
I could tell that she hadn't thought about how he would personalize what she said, how it would resonate with him. I don't think she meant it that way, especially because of the look on her face when she realized how he had taken her words, but that is the way he perceived her because of them. She was simply having a bad morning and she was so wrapped up in herself that she didn't take a moment to think of courtesy when speaking. That's all.
But that's enough. Enough to offend someone, set someone off. Enough to upset bystanders, total strangers who also didn't realize how he would personalize her words.
I was just upset at how rude her words were, I didn't factor in that he would see it as racism. Nor did the man across the aisle, it seemed.
Our words can have a profound effect on people in ways that we can't imagine. We don't know their perspective, don't know what it takes for them to get out of bed in the morning, to face the world each day. We don't know where they've come from, where they're going. We couldn't possibly know.
But if we could take an extra five seconds and speak to people with courtesy, no matter the mood that we are in, it could change not only the way that we see the world, but the way the world sees themselves. For if they are worthy of courtesy from a stranger, they are worthy of other things as well.
And so are we.
So, to the lady on the train that doesn't know how to speak to people... thank you for demonstrating this to me today. Your words carried unintended messages to those around you and I gained some new perspectives. I know that you didn't mean for your words to land the way they did, I know you were greatly offended that I chimed in, and I'm sorry that I offended you. But from now on I will try to speak with courtesy no matter what my own mood is at the time, no matter how difficult it may seem.
Imagine how the world would look if we all could do this, all the time.
You spoke to someone today without courtesy and almost ruined a stranger's day. You had not idea how your words would hurt, and unfortunately you are not the only one.
Lately I've been noticing a stunning lack of courtesy among my fellow travelers.
Mostly it's the little, annoying things that irk me. Like the person standing in front of the steps, blocking the path and when someone says, "Excuse me," they lean about an inch out of the way.
I'm sorry, but no one is one inch wide, nor can any human above the age of 1 fit through a space that small. Also, you know you're standing right in the way of anyone that needs to get to a seat - there is no reason to huff and puff that you had to lean your one inch out of the way.
Or the people that pile all of their things on the seat next to them so that no one will sit there, then proceed to complain and heave and sigh when someone asks them to move their stuff. You're not special - you don't get a two or three person seat all to yourself. Get over it.
And the people who sit idly by and watch as someone is struggling to put their things on the rack above the seats. This morning, a totally polite man walked almost the length of the train car to help an elderly woman get her carry-on up on the rack, while everyone close to her simply sat and watched her struggle. Would it kill you to help someone out?
Or the women who settle in to their seats only to begin to apply their face for the day, either poking their neighbor in the ribs or causing fits of sneezes as their powder puffs into the air.
Or the men who sit with their legs spread so wide that they seemingly have a basketball where their genitals should be.
Not to mention the nail clippers, farters, gum smackers, too-much-perfume wearers, etc.
I've been scoffed at for saying, "Bless you," after someone sneezes, huffed at for being where I am at any given time, chuffed at, yelled at, poked, prodded, manhandled, and more, by less than courteous people.
I try to speak to people courteously, smile, acknowledge them, say "thank you," and "bless you," and all of those things. Some days I'm too wrapped up in my own drama to think past myself, days that I am less than courteous. I try, though.
Some people, however, take a sharp right at Lack-of-Courtesy and head straight on into Rudeness.
This morning we were sitting snugly in a four-seats-facing-each-other seat, a man on my left, a woman directly across from me, and another man across the aisle. The woman, of course, had her stuff on the 4th seat on our side so that no one else could sit there.
The man next to me had his headphones in and his music playing fairly loudly. I could hear it through my own music, but it didn't particularly bother me as our music oddly matched and created an entirely new kind of song.
The woman across from me, all spread out and important, didn't like it. This was her prerogative, and she had every right to ask him to turn it down a little.
Unfortunately, she doesn't know how to speak to people.
"Ummmm... I can't listen to your music," said she.
"I'm sorry?" said he.
"I can't listed to your music!" said she.
"Wow... OK..." said he. He begrudgingly turned down his music, his attitude shifting to match his sudden bad mood.
She then huffed and chuffed in her seat due to his attitude toward her.
I couldn't believe how she spoke to this guy.
"You know, there's a better way to say that," said I.
"Ex-cuse me?"
"There's a better way to say that. Had you simply said 'would you mind turning down your music' I'm sure he would have complied with no attitude."
"She's right," piped in the man across the aisle. "Now there's all this tension because he's offended at the way you spoke to him, and you're offended at his attitude toward you. If you had asked him politely it would have been a nothing moment."
"Very true," said the man behind him.
"I can't believe you! How dare you chastise me when he was the one playing his music too loud!"
"Yes, but you were the one that was rude," said the man across the aisle.
We all shared a moment, the man across the aisle, the man behind him, and me. We shook our heads in acknowledgement and returned to our books/music/paper/Candy Crush.
The woman across from me fidgeted for a while, still huffy about the exchange.
The man next to me, the offender with the loud music, simply sat in thought for a while. Finally he looked at me with a most peculiar expression.
"Thank you. That meant a lot."
"I'm sorry she was so rude to you," I said.
"Yeah, man, me too," said the guy across the aisle.
"You'd think I would be used to it by now, but it still pisses me off," said the man next to me.
"Why would you be used to it?" I asked, oblivious.
His face blank, he looked at me for a long moment.
"I'm black," he said, so matter-of-factly.
The woman across from me jerked her head up at this, looking at him with the most alarmed expression. I could feel the attention on him: mine, hers, even the man across the aisle was intent on the scene.
Finally, her face softened and she squeaked, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it like that," in the smallest voice she could muster.
"Thanks," he said.
I could tell that she hadn't thought about how he would personalize what she said, how it would resonate with him. I don't think she meant it that way, especially because of the look on her face when she realized how he had taken her words, but that is the way he perceived her because of them. She was simply having a bad morning and she was so wrapped up in herself that she didn't take a moment to think of courtesy when speaking. That's all.
But that's enough. Enough to offend someone, set someone off. Enough to upset bystanders, total strangers who also didn't realize how he would personalize her words.
I was just upset at how rude her words were, I didn't factor in that he would see it as racism. Nor did the man across the aisle, it seemed.
Our words can have a profound effect on people in ways that we can't imagine. We don't know their perspective, don't know what it takes for them to get out of bed in the morning, to face the world each day. We don't know where they've come from, where they're going. We couldn't possibly know.
But if we could take an extra five seconds and speak to people with courtesy, no matter the mood that we are in, it could change not only the way that we see the world, but the way the world sees themselves. For if they are worthy of courtesy from a stranger, they are worthy of other things as well.
And so are we.
So, to the lady on the train that doesn't know how to speak to people... thank you for demonstrating this to me today. Your words carried unintended messages to those around you and I gained some new perspectives. I know that you didn't mean for your words to land the way they did, I know you were greatly offended that I chimed in, and I'm sorry that I offended you. But from now on I will try to speak with courtesy no matter what my own mood is at the time, no matter how difficult it may seem.
Imagine how the world would look if we all could do this, all the time.
You spoke to someone today without courtesy and almost ruined a stranger's day. You had not idea how your words would hurt, and unfortunately you are not the only one.
Monday, September 29, 2014
Wow.
To the drunk people on the bus after the wedding... I think I might be old.
When I was a kid, especially in college, I did some crazy things. I did things that make me grateful that we didn't have camera phones and the Internet. My friends and I had some grand adventures, did some stupid things, drank a little too much, played a little to hard. We were in college and we acted like it.
But we took care of each other. We never allowed someone to do something that they might regret in the morning, if we could help it. We knew each others limits and we had no problem dragging someone away from a party when they went too far, physically if necessary.
It was a lesson I learned well my freshman year when I went visiting some high school friends at their University. It's a night that I still can't remember, and I don't know what happened, not really. I can guess, but I'll never know. It was so very out of character for me, but hey, I was in college, right?
When I returned to my own school, to the family I found in college, I realized that they, that we, would never let that happen to each other. Without ever having to say a word. We had a tacit understanding that we would protect each other, and we still do. My New York family as well. My tribe will always have my back, just as I have theirs.
What I witnessed happening around me this weekend after a wedding left me reeling, not only because it was so outrageous, but because it happened on my lap.
The wedding party had been shuttled around all day in a party bus, complete with disco lights, loud music with a great sub-woofer, and lots of beer. It was a hoot and I thought, "This is a great idea!" I could only imagine my tribe and I rolling around in one of those.
Our bus had rails along the ceiling to keep people from falling over while dancing as the bus was moving, but it looked really similar to this picture.
After the reception the party bus was used to transport the last of the revelers back to the hotel. Some of the wedding party was on the party bus, but most of the occupants were simply guests at the wedding. Most of them were friends of the bride and groom, all in their late twenties.
And they were drunk.
Very.
I was seated directly across from my friends, her sister and sister-in-law seated very nearby. We were crowded in there with no place to go, a stranger on my right and a couple on my left. She was sitting on his lap due to a lack of space, or so I thought.
I hadn't been paying much attention to the couple on my left, though I did notice her leaning on me quite a bit. I just thought it was lack of space and too much alcohol, so I didn't think much at the time.
Then I saw my friend's face.
His mouth agape, eyes the size of dinner plates, he was staring at the couple on my left. So was his wife. So was everyone else on that side of the bus.
I finally glanced over only to see the couple making out. No big deal, right? Then I noticed that her skirt, which when standing was barely covering her cookie, was up around her waist and his hand was down her dress. It was a bit much.
Suddenly she came up for air, handed her phone to a guy standing near, and said, "Take my picture!" before diving back into her make-out session.
Incredulous, the guy said, "You want me to take a picture of this?"
We were flabbergasted.
Next thing we know she is giving this man, who she apparently didn't know, a lap dance on a professional level. Everyone's jaw was on the floor, eyes wide, looking at each other like, "Is this actually happening?"
At this point the two of them are making out again, and he actually began to lay her out across my lap. I moved away a bit, but they kept on coming. The music was so loud, the sub-woofer going like gangbusters, we could barely hear ourselves think let alone hear each other. But, there they were, splayed across me going to town.
All I could do was laugh.
No one on our end of the bus seemed to know who this girl was, or who her people were. She was just putting on a show for the crowd.
They finally removed themselves from my lap, but only because she was back to lap dancing again.
"I'm old!" came from someone at the front of the bus. We were just so dazed by this display all we could do was nod in agreement.
This girl was totally out of control.
She eventually moved away to dance in the middle of the bus, her erstwhile lap dancing partner forgotten for the moment. He followed soon after, though.
As we emerged from the debauchery of the party bus we tried to find out who this girl was. It turns out that she was a friend of the bride who, and I quote, "Is a really nice person usually, she just gets out of control when she's drunk."
Really? Then why does anyone let her drink?
She faced a lot of ridicule that night, and was the subject of much discussion the next morning at breakfast, but all I could think about was her people. Where were they? Why did no one that knew her, that knew she gets this crazy when drunk, why didn't they keep an eye on her?
Where was her tribe?
Had that ever been me, my people would have snatched me right out of there, plopped me in the corner, and force fed me water and crackers until I sobered up enough to get into my room. Alone.
Her people just sort of aw-shucks and that's-just-her and what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it responded.
Which made me feel old.
No one her age seemed to give a rats ass that she was that out of control, giving Elizabeth-Berkley-In-The-Pool lap dances to a guy on a party bus filled with strangers.
I was, and continue to be, completely baffled by the whole thing.
Some guilt drifted in the next day as well, though, as I thought about that girl and that party bus. Knowing how I feel about the night that I can't remember, perhaps I should have done something. Perhaps I should have stepped in and stopped it.
Then again, as drunk as she was, there probably wasn't much I could have done not being one of her people, not knowing her at all.
I still feel guilty, though. And old.
And I feel a little sorry for her that she doesn't have people like mine, a tribe that would never let that happen to each other.
Mostly, though, I feel old.
So, to the drunk people on the bus after the wedding... I hope you find a tribe someday. I hope you never have a night that you can't remember, a night that haunts you. I hope that you don't regret what you did this weekend, and I'm sorry that I didn't help you. And mostly, I hope that other people your age aren't as crazy as you were on that bus or the future is in some trouble.
Also, I think I might be old.
When I was a kid, especially in college, I did some crazy things. I did things that make me grateful that we didn't have camera phones and the Internet. My friends and I had some grand adventures, did some stupid things, drank a little too much, played a little to hard. We were in college and we acted like it.
But we took care of each other. We never allowed someone to do something that they might regret in the morning, if we could help it. We knew each others limits and we had no problem dragging someone away from a party when they went too far, physically if necessary.
It was a lesson I learned well my freshman year when I went visiting some high school friends at their University. It's a night that I still can't remember, and I don't know what happened, not really. I can guess, but I'll never know. It was so very out of character for me, but hey, I was in college, right?
When I returned to my own school, to the family I found in college, I realized that they, that we, would never let that happen to each other. Without ever having to say a word. We had a tacit understanding that we would protect each other, and we still do. My New York family as well. My tribe will always have my back, just as I have theirs.
What I witnessed happening around me this weekend after a wedding left me reeling, not only because it was so outrageous, but because it happened on my lap.
The wedding party had been shuttled around all day in a party bus, complete with disco lights, loud music with a great sub-woofer, and lots of beer. It was a hoot and I thought, "This is a great idea!" I could only imagine my tribe and I rolling around in one of those.
Our bus had rails along the ceiling to keep people from falling over while dancing as the bus was moving, but it looked really similar to this picture.
After the reception the party bus was used to transport the last of the revelers back to the hotel. Some of the wedding party was on the party bus, but most of the occupants were simply guests at the wedding. Most of them were friends of the bride and groom, all in their late twenties.
And they were drunk.
Very.
I was seated directly across from my friends, her sister and sister-in-law seated very nearby. We were crowded in there with no place to go, a stranger on my right and a couple on my left. She was sitting on his lap due to a lack of space, or so I thought.
I hadn't been paying much attention to the couple on my left, though I did notice her leaning on me quite a bit. I just thought it was lack of space and too much alcohol, so I didn't think much at the time.
Then I saw my friend's face.
His mouth agape, eyes the size of dinner plates, he was staring at the couple on my left. So was his wife. So was everyone else on that side of the bus.
I finally glanced over only to see the couple making out. No big deal, right? Then I noticed that her skirt, which when standing was barely covering her cookie, was up around her waist and his hand was down her dress. It was a bit much.
Suddenly she came up for air, handed her phone to a guy standing near, and said, "Take my picture!" before diving back into her make-out session.
Incredulous, the guy said, "You want me to take a picture of this?"
We were flabbergasted.
Next thing we know she is giving this man, who she apparently didn't know, a lap dance on a professional level. Everyone's jaw was on the floor, eyes wide, looking at each other like, "Is this actually happening?"
At this point the two of them are making out again, and he actually began to lay her out across my lap. I moved away a bit, but they kept on coming. The music was so loud, the sub-woofer going like gangbusters, we could barely hear ourselves think let alone hear each other. But, there they were, splayed across me going to town.
All I could do was laugh.
No one on our end of the bus seemed to know who this girl was, or who her people were. She was just putting on a show for the crowd.
They finally removed themselves from my lap, but only because she was back to lap dancing again.
"I'm old!" came from someone at the front of the bus. We were just so dazed by this display all we could do was nod in agreement.
This girl was totally out of control.
She eventually moved away to dance in the middle of the bus, her erstwhile lap dancing partner forgotten for the moment. He followed soon after, though.
As we emerged from the debauchery of the party bus we tried to find out who this girl was. It turns out that she was a friend of the bride who, and I quote, "Is a really nice person usually, she just gets out of control when she's drunk."
Really? Then why does anyone let her drink?
She faced a lot of ridicule that night, and was the subject of much discussion the next morning at breakfast, but all I could think about was her people. Where were they? Why did no one that knew her, that knew she gets this crazy when drunk, why didn't they keep an eye on her?
Where was her tribe?
Had that ever been me, my people would have snatched me right out of there, plopped me in the corner, and force fed me water and crackers until I sobered up enough to get into my room. Alone.
Her people just sort of aw-shucks and that's-just-her and what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it responded.
Which made me feel old.
No one her age seemed to give a rats ass that she was that out of control, giving Elizabeth-Berkley-In-The-Pool lap dances to a guy on a party bus filled with strangers.
I was, and continue to be, completely baffled by the whole thing.
Some guilt drifted in the next day as well, though, as I thought about that girl and that party bus. Knowing how I feel about the night that I can't remember, perhaps I should have done something. Perhaps I should have stepped in and stopped it.
Then again, as drunk as she was, there probably wasn't much I could have done not being one of her people, not knowing her at all.
I still feel guilty, though. And old.
And I feel a little sorry for her that she doesn't have people like mine, a tribe that would never let that happen to each other.
Mostly, though, I feel old.
So, to the drunk people on the bus after the wedding... I hope you find a tribe someday. I hope you never have a night that you can't remember, a night that haunts you. I hope that you don't regret what you did this weekend, and I'm sorry that I didn't help you. And mostly, I hope that other people your age aren't as crazy as you were on that bus or the future is in some trouble.
Also, I think I might be old.
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
Ballet Barre
To the lady on the train that was living in her moment... I'm sorry I laughed, it really wasn't you.
As we were waiting for the train to pull in this morning I noticed a woman standing by the fence, her back to me.
I noticed her because the people walking by were gesturing behind their shoulders in that "did-you-see-that-crazy-person?" kind of a way.
So I noticed her. And once I did, I couldn't look away.
She was probably in her late 40's and a little weathered. She was dressed in very normal jeans and a top, tennis shoes, hair in a pony tail. At first glance there was nothing "crazy-person" about her.
She was just a woman, standing along the fence.
Then she started to dance. She was doing what I think was a ballet barre routine, though it looked nothing like any ballet barre I had ever done. She was all elbows and knees, broken lines and sickled feet. She didn't have ballet barre etiquette either as, when she turned around, she turned away from the barre rather than toward it. (It made my teeth hurt a little when she did that - Mark would have had my head).
Then I saw her face: complete joy and abandon. She didn't care a hoot that people were "did-you-see-that-crazy-person?" gesturing at her, not one bit. She was just enjoying her morning barre.
A smile lighting her face, all elbows and knees, she carried on as if she were alone in the studio. She was tendu-ing and frappe-ing along with some inner music that I couldn't hear, which was a little disconcerting as the music in my headphones didn't match at all.
I was enjoying her joy so much that I wanted to be a part of it. So, I decided to search for the music that she was hearing in her head. I pulled my iPod out from my pocket and began to fast-forward until I could find the song that matched her rhythm.
It wasn't The Imperial March which was too slow, or Seven Seas of Rhye which was to fast. The Tulsa Turnaround was too funky and Some Kind of Wonderful just wasn't right. On and on I clicked, finding some that were almost right, but nothing that paired her cadence.
Then, just as she looked my way, a song came on that matched her perfectly. I knew within a few notes that this was the song, this was the rhythm I was looking for.
It couldn't possibly have been the song in her head, as it was by no means as ballet barre kind of song, but it was just so perfect.
Bad luck, that's all it was... bad luck that she happened to look me right in the eyes as this song filled my headphones and I burst out laughing. I couldn't help it and I didn't mean to, but the laughter just flew out of me.
She didn't look terribly hurt, she was enjoying herself too much for that, but she did register my laugh thinking it was about her. And it did upset her a little.
My father taught me that the best defense is a good offense so I walked over to her, still laughing because it was still funny, and I said, "Hi. I'm Katy..." I explained my enjoyment and my quest to find the song to match and she seemed a bit mollified. When I told her what song actually matched her rhythm, the laughter burst from her as well.
Together we chortled and boarded the train. Each time our eyes met on the journey we giggled at our shared moment. I felt much better knowing that she understood my laughter and that it wasn't directed at her. Well, not directly at her anyway.
Oh, the song? It was Sit On My Face by Monty Python.
So, to the lady on the train that was living in her moment... I'm sorry I laughed, but how could I not? That song is hilarious on its own, but when you add a ballet barre filled with elbows and knees first thing in the morning, I didn't stand a chance. I'm so sorry, it really wasn't you.
As we were waiting for the train to pull in this morning I noticed a woman standing by the fence, her back to me.
I noticed her because the people walking by were gesturing behind their shoulders in that "did-you-see-that-crazy-person?" kind of a way.
So I noticed her. And once I did, I couldn't look away.
She was probably in her late 40's and a little weathered. She was dressed in very normal jeans and a top, tennis shoes, hair in a pony tail. At first glance there was nothing "crazy-person" about her.
She was just a woman, standing along the fence.
Then she started to dance. She was doing what I think was a ballet barre routine, though it looked nothing like any ballet barre I had ever done. She was all elbows and knees, broken lines and sickled feet. She didn't have ballet barre etiquette either as, when she turned around, she turned away from the barre rather than toward it. (It made my teeth hurt a little when she did that - Mark would have had my head).
Then I saw her face: complete joy and abandon. She didn't care a hoot that people were "did-you-see-that-crazy-person?" gesturing at her, not one bit. She was just enjoying her morning barre.
A smile lighting her face, all elbows and knees, she carried on as if she were alone in the studio. She was tendu-ing and frappe-ing along with some inner music that I couldn't hear, which was a little disconcerting as the music in my headphones didn't match at all.
I was enjoying her joy so much that I wanted to be a part of it. So, I decided to search for the music that she was hearing in her head. I pulled my iPod out from my pocket and began to fast-forward until I could find the song that matched her rhythm.
It wasn't The Imperial March which was too slow, or Seven Seas of Rhye which was to fast. The Tulsa Turnaround was too funky and Some Kind of Wonderful just wasn't right. On and on I clicked, finding some that were almost right, but nothing that paired her cadence.
Then, just as she looked my way, a song came on that matched her perfectly. I knew within a few notes that this was the song, this was the rhythm I was looking for.
It couldn't possibly have been the song in her head, as it was by no means as ballet barre kind of song, but it was just so perfect.
Bad luck, that's all it was... bad luck that she happened to look me right in the eyes as this song filled my headphones and I burst out laughing. I couldn't help it and I didn't mean to, but the laughter just flew out of me.
She didn't look terribly hurt, she was enjoying herself too much for that, but she did register my laugh thinking it was about her. And it did upset her a little.
My father taught me that the best defense is a good offense so I walked over to her, still laughing because it was still funny, and I said, "Hi. I'm Katy..." I explained my enjoyment and my quest to find the song to match and she seemed a bit mollified. When I told her what song actually matched her rhythm, the laughter burst from her as well.
Together we chortled and boarded the train. Each time our eyes met on the journey we giggled at our shared moment. I felt much better knowing that she understood my laughter and that it wasn't directed at her. Well, not directly at her anyway.
Oh, the song? It was Sit On My Face by Monty Python.
So, to the lady on the train that was living in her moment... I'm sorry I laughed, but how could I not? That song is hilarious on its own, but when you add a ballet barre filled with elbows and knees first thing in the morning, I didn't stand a chance. I'm so sorry, it really wasn't you.
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
Fantasy lives
To the guy on the train that sneezed... thanks.
Not a lot has been happening during my commutes lately. People get on the train, we ride, we get off. Nothing extraordinary.
This morning, as we trundled into the city, someone sneezed.
I glanced up, said "Bless you," and went back to my book. Then I glanced up again.
The guy that sneezed had captured my attention. He seemed to be around 30 years old, sitting there with his eyes closed, listening to his iPod. He was wearing jeans and a light blue button down shirt, loafers with no socks, and long, brown dreadlocks. He seemed so peaceful, riding the train and listening.
I wondered what he was listening to. What kind of music would he choose for his morning commute? Zeppelin? Queen? Jay-Z? Taylor Swift? Could he be listening to a podcast of some kind? A comedy routine? Stuff You Missed In History Class?
Then I began to imagine how all these different choices would change his personality. If he was listening to Zeppelin would he be a slacker? An achiever? What if it was Taylor Swift? What kind of man would he be? How would his choice of music affect my perception of him?
I imagined entire worlds for this stranger, his job, his girlfriend/wife (depending on his music choice, of course), his interests. I imagined him a football fan, an art lover, a hacker. I gave him friends and family, a dog, cats, a snake (the snake went with Blues Traveler for some reason). With each musical artist or group that I placed in his iPod I gave him an entire personality, a complete life as I imagined the person that would pick such a tune.
I found myself smiling, even giggling as certain combinations arose: the Taylor Swift listener is unlucky in love (of course) and enjoys World of Warcraft, while the Queen listener was an adventuresome traveler who works in human rights. I have no idea where these imaginings came from or why they went with the musicians they did, I just let fly. And it was great fun.
And he just sat there, listening.
I then realized that my imagination was extremely limited. Why couldn't he like World of Warcraft and Jay-Z? Why couldn't he be an adventuresome traveler and love Kelly Clarkson?
I then gave this man ALL the music and ALL the personality traits that I had previously compartmentalized. He suddenly became worldly wise, a free thinker, a humanist. He became an artist, a businessman, a sports lover. He became, in my mind, a man that would hang out with Banksy one night and Rand Paul the next, fitting in equally with both.
He became limitless.
I really liked that guy.
I wonder who he is in reality. I wonder if he feels his limits or if he allows himself to be immeasurable. I wonder if he reaches beyond himself.
Then I realized that I want to be that guy when I grow up. I want to be limitless.
In that moment I made a vow: I will try to see that version of people as often as possible. I will try to envision their infinity, their openness. I will try to look past the limits that people put on themselves and see the possibilities for them.
I soon thought, "If I can do it for others, I can do it for me."
Then I cried.
I haven't imagined possibility in so long that I had forgotten that it was feasible. I spend so much time fighting for things in my life, fighting for my health, clawing and scraping just to get by, that I didn't remember that I am also limitless. I have within me the possibility to do and be anything. I can be anything. I can do everything.
And I will.
As we exited the train, the guy that sneezed caught my eye.
"You OK?" he asked, seeing a tear on my cheek.
"Yes. Thank you." I replied. He had no idea what I was actually thanking him for, but he didn't need to know. It is enough that I do.
I wish this for everyone. I wish, for all of you, a guy that sneezes and takes you on a journey.
So, to the guy on the train that sneezed... you jump started my imagination and brought me to an epiphany today. You have no idea what you inspired, but I will be forever grateful. I will look for the limitless in others and, more importantly, in myself.
Thanks. Truly.
Not a lot has been happening during my commutes lately. People get on the train, we ride, we get off. Nothing extraordinary.
This morning, as we trundled into the city, someone sneezed.
I glanced up, said "Bless you," and went back to my book. Then I glanced up again.
The guy that sneezed had captured my attention. He seemed to be around 30 years old, sitting there with his eyes closed, listening to his iPod. He was wearing jeans and a light blue button down shirt, loafers with no socks, and long, brown dreadlocks. He seemed so peaceful, riding the train and listening.
I wondered what he was listening to. What kind of music would he choose for his morning commute? Zeppelin? Queen? Jay-Z? Taylor Swift? Could he be listening to a podcast of some kind? A comedy routine? Stuff You Missed In History Class?
Then I began to imagine how all these different choices would change his personality. If he was listening to Zeppelin would he be a slacker? An achiever? What if it was Taylor Swift? What kind of man would he be? How would his choice of music affect my perception of him?
I imagined entire worlds for this stranger, his job, his girlfriend/wife (depending on his music choice, of course), his interests. I imagined him a football fan, an art lover, a hacker. I gave him friends and family, a dog, cats, a snake (the snake went with Blues Traveler for some reason). With each musical artist or group that I placed in his iPod I gave him an entire personality, a complete life as I imagined the person that would pick such a tune.
I found myself smiling, even giggling as certain combinations arose: the Taylor Swift listener is unlucky in love (of course) and enjoys World of Warcraft, while the Queen listener was an adventuresome traveler who works in human rights. I have no idea where these imaginings came from or why they went with the musicians they did, I just let fly. And it was great fun.
And he just sat there, listening.
I then realized that my imagination was extremely limited. Why couldn't he like World of Warcraft and Jay-Z? Why couldn't he be an adventuresome traveler and love Kelly Clarkson?
I then gave this man ALL the music and ALL the personality traits that I had previously compartmentalized. He suddenly became worldly wise, a free thinker, a humanist. He became an artist, a businessman, a sports lover. He became, in my mind, a man that would hang out with Banksy one night and Rand Paul the next, fitting in equally with both.
He became limitless.
I really liked that guy.
I wonder who he is in reality. I wonder if he feels his limits or if he allows himself to be immeasurable. I wonder if he reaches beyond himself.
Then I realized that I want to be that guy when I grow up. I want to be limitless.
In that moment I made a vow: I will try to see that version of people as often as possible. I will try to envision their infinity, their openness. I will try to look past the limits that people put on themselves and see the possibilities for them.
I soon thought, "If I can do it for others, I can do it for me."
Then I cried.
I haven't imagined possibility in so long that I had forgotten that it was feasible. I spend so much time fighting for things in my life, fighting for my health, clawing and scraping just to get by, that I didn't remember that I am also limitless. I have within me the possibility to do and be anything. I can be anything. I can do everything.
And I will.
As we exited the train, the guy that sneezed caught my eye.
"You OK?" he asked, seeing a tear on my cheek.
"Yes. Thank you." I replied. He had no idea what I was actually thanking him for, but he didn't need to know. It is enough that I do.
I wish this for everyone. I wish, for all of you, a guy that sneezes and takes you on a journey.
So, to the guy on the train that sneezed... you jump started my imagination and brought me to an epiphany today. You have no idea what you inspired, but I will be forever grateful. I will look for the limitless in others and, more importantly, in myself.
Thanks. Truly.
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
Adventures in New Jersey Transit
To the guy on the train who repeatedly called all of us assholes... just wow.
So last night was one of the worst travel experiences I have had with New Jersey Transit, but some of the greatest people that I've met along the way.
We began our journey on our usual 6:18 train to Summit, though it was a bit more crowded than usual due to earlier cancelled trains. Everyone was either settled into their seats or leaning against the vestibule braced for the short journey home. We made it as far as Secaucus (the first stop outside New York and not a regular stop on our train) where we sat for more than an hour. Apparently the Portal Bridge, which we must use to get to Newark, had a fire.
So we waited. Very patiently, I must add.
At about 7:25 we were kicked off of that train in Secaucus and had to trudge across the station to get on a second train bound for Hoboken.
Beginning to get a little grumpy now, I said, "Another adventure in New Jersey Transit."
"Always a good time!" said the guy in the aisle.
"Hey, it could be worse," the woman behind him added.
"Yeah," I said, "We could be on the bridge."
"We could be stuck in the tunnel," said another man.
"It could have been Sandy again," said a third.
"Oooooo, right," we all agreed. Anything is better than Sandy.
So with that in mind we all trudged together to the next train headed for Hoboken, attempting to remain pleasant. This train was packed to the gills as it housed not only the passengers from our train but from another stranded train as well. With sighs and resignation we stood together on the way to Hoboken.
In Hoboken we disembarked and headed to our third attempt at getting home.
This train, now this train was truly packed. As we jogged down the platform it became evident that we may not be able to fit onto this train at all. The doors to the first two cars were closed so we had to head down the platform even farther. The first open door I came to I saw people already crowding the vestibule, but I saw a little daylight near the door so I stepped in. The people there welcomed me with looks of understanding and we all shifted to make room for me along with two people who stepped in behind me. I made it about 3 feet into the train car before the wall of people prevented any further movement. Everyone in the car was trying to help as many people as possible get on, but at that point there was simply no more room.
We were packed butt-to-balls, nose-in-armpit, crotch-to-face. There was no more room.
One man had some inside connection to the situation with the trains and was giving everyone in our car updates as he got them. Several of us shared our phones with people so they could call home, we laughed at all the gawky touching and talked about NJTransit experiences that were much worse in order to make ourselves feel a bit better. There was awkward laughter and sighs all around.
Then came the shouting.
From outside the car came the voice of a woman, shouting and screaming that we needed to move so that she could get on the car. Many of us shouted back (some politely, some not) that there was no more room, nowhere for us to go. She decided to test that theory and tried to shove her way onto the car. She pushed against the wall of people which caused the group to lean away a bit, then as the attempt to keep ourselves on our feet had us leaning back toward her en masse she ended up on her ass. This caused more screaming and shouting for the conductor who basically told her that she was not getting on this car, she would have to wait for another train.
A collective "Wow" could be heard rolling down the car at that point.
A few minutes later a man began to shout that we needed to move, at which point the people near the door explained what happened to the woman in great detail (which made the rest of us laugh a lot) and told the man to try another door. He started screaming and calling everyone an asshole.
"You're an asshole! And you, with the red tie, you're an asshole! The lady with the blue shirt is an asshole!..." and so on. He named as many people as he could see in his tirade of assholes, screaming and beet red all the while. I haven't seen or heard a hissy fit like that outside of the Terrible Twos. It was quite impressive. He stood there on the platform, pointing, screaming, practically foaming, calling everyone around him an asshole.
The people on the car began to get into the game.
"Hey, asshole, could you move your foot a bit?"
"Sure thing, asshole."
"Hey, asshole, I'm sorry I stepped on your toes."
"Don't worry about it, asshole, it wasn't your fault."
For the next ten minutes we all addressed each other as "asshole" and laughed and relaxed and tried to make the best of a bad situation.
As we finally landed in Maplewood and queued up to disembark a man from my Jitney yelled, "It was nice to meet all you assholes!"
Perhaps it was the relief at being at our home station, or perhaps his farewell was simply that funny, but everyone on the car howled. The spell was broken, the frustration roughly at an end, we were almost home.
Unbeknownst to him, the pathetic, screaming man created a new tribe last night, a tribe of assholes who tried to make the best of a really bad situation, tried to keep each other relaxed, who worked together to make it home.
Today I am not ashamed to say that I am an asshole. I travel with a pack of assholes, and we rock.
So, to the guy on the train who repeatedly called all of us assholes... you need to learn to go with the flow. Yes, it sucks. Yes, it was insanely frustrating. Yes, we are all miserable about it. And as we all learned last night, screaming will get you nowhere. Hissy fits will make you an item of ridicule. And being an asshole isn't always a bad thing. But you ... just wow.
So last night was one of the worst travel experiences I have had with New Jersey Transit, but some of the greatest people that I've met along the way.
We began our journey on our usual 6:18 train to Summit, though it was a bit more crowded than usual due to earlier cancelled trains. Everyone was either settled into their seats or leaning against the vestibule braced for the short journey home. We made it as far as Secaucus (the first stop outside New York and not a regular stop on our train) where we sat for more than an hour. Apparently the Portal Bridge, which we must use to get to Newark, had a fire.
So we waited. Very patiently, I must add.
At about 7:25 we were kicked off of that train in Secaucus and had to trudge across the station to get on a second train bound for Hoboken.
Beginning to get a little grumpy now, I said, "Another adventure in New Jersey Transit."
"Always a good time!" said the guy in the aisle.
"Hey, it could be worse," the woman behind him added.
"Yeah," I said, "We could be on the bridge."
"We could be stuck in the tunnel," said another man.
"It could have been Sandy again," said a third.
"Oooooo, right," we all agreed. Anything is better than Sandy.
So with that in mind we all trudged together to the next train headed for Hoboken, attempting to remain pleasant. This train was packed to the gills as it housed not only the passengers from our train but from another stranded train as well. With sighs and resignation we stood together on the way to Hoboken.
In Hoboken we disembarked and headed to our third attempt at getting home.
This train, now this train was truly packed. As we jogged down the platform it became evident that we may not be able to fit onto this train at all. The doors to the first two cars were closed so we had to head down the platform even farther. The first open door I came to I saw people already crowding the vestibule, but I saw a little daylight near the door so I stepped in. The people there welcomed me with looks of understanding and we all shifted to make room for me along with two people who stepped in behind me. I made it about 3 feet into the train car before the wall of people prevented any further movement. Everyone in the car was trying to help as many people as possible get on, but at that point there was simply no more room.
We were packed butt-to-balls, nose-in-armpit, crotch-to-face. There was no more room.
One man had some inside connection to the situation with the trains and was giving everyone in our car updates as he got them. Several of us shared our phones with people so they could call home, we laughed at all the gawky touching and talked about NJTransit experiences that were much worse in order to make ourselves feel a bit better. There was awkward laughter and sighs all around.
Then came the shouting.
From outside the car came the voice of a woman, shouting and screaming that we needed to move so that she could get on the car. Many of us shouted back (some politely, some not) that there was no more room, nowhere for us to go. She decided to test that theory and tried to shove her way onto the car. She pushed against the wall of people which caused the group to lean away a bit, then as the attempt to keep ourselves on our feet had us leaning back toward her en masse she ended up on her ass. This caused more screaming and shouting for the conductor who basically told her that she was not getting on this car, she would have to wait for another train.
A collective "Wow" could be heard rolling down the car at that point.
A few minutes later a man began to shout that we needed to move, at which point the people near the door explained what happened to the woman in great detail (which made the rest of us laugh a lot) and told the man to try another door. He started screaming and calling everyone an asshole.
"You're an asshole! And you, with the red tie, you're an asshole! The lady with the blue shirt is an asshole!..." and so on. He named as many people as he could see in his tirade of assholes, screaming and beet red all the while. I haven't seen or heard a hissy fit like that outside of the Terrible Twos. It was quite impressive. He stood there on the platform, pointing, screaming, practically foaming, calling everyone around him an asshole.
The people on the car began to get into the game.
"Hey, asshole, could you move your foot a bit?"
"Sure thing, asshole."
"Hey, asshole, I'm sorry I stepped on your toes."
"Don't worry about it, asshole, it wasn't your fault."
For the next ten minutes we all addressed each other as "asshole" and laughed and relaxed and tried to make the best of a bad situation.
As we finally landed in Maplewood and queued up to disembark a man from my Jitney yelled, "It was nice to meet all you assholes!"
Perhaps it was the relief at being at our home station, or perhaps his farewell was simply that funny, but everyone on the car howled. The spell was broken, the frustration roughly at an end, we were almost home.
Unbeknownst to him, the pathetic, screaming man created a new tribe last night, a tribe of assholes who tried to make the best of a really bad situation, tried to keep each other relaxed, who worked together to make it home.
Today I am not ashamed to say that I am an asshole. I travel with a pack of assholes, and we rock.
So, to the guy on the train who repeatedly called all of us assholes... you need to learn to go with the flow. Yes, it sucks. Yes, it was insanely frustrating. Yes, we are all miserable about it. And as we all learned last night, screaming will get you nowhere. Hissy fits will make you an item of ridicule. And being an asshole isn't always a bad thing. But you ... just wow.
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
Scars
To the guy on the train with the scar on his leg... it's beautiful - don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
This morning a man slid into the seat next to me wearing cargo shorts. His leg brushed up against mine as he settled in, which caused me to glance down from my book. As I did, I noticed a large scar on his leg that ran from his outer thigh down to his mid calf. It was really striking.
"That's a beautiful scar," I said.
"Yeah, right," he replied.
"No really, it's gorgeous. How did you get it?"
"Are you serious?"
"Yes. Why wouldn't I be?"
"My scar usually freaks people out," he said, "most of them can't even look at it."
"I know the feeling."
"You do?"
"Yeah. I have a scar on my back from when I was a kid and it tends to freak people out. I think its pretty, but most people tell me its gross."
"Huh. Yeah, people suck."
I laughed. "So, how did you get it?"
"Well..."
We spent the rest of the ride into the city discussing scars, how we got them, what they mean to us, how they define us. How people's reactions affect us. I learned a long time ago that someone's reaction to my scar is all about them, not me. When I was a kid I had no problem showing my scar in public, even after a woman tried to insist that my parent's had burned me with an iron (my scar looks nothing like an iron, by the way). He still seems to get rattled sometimes and lives in the defensive phase, but he hasn't had his scar as long as I have had mine.
"If people's reactions to it still upset you," I asked, "why do you show it? Why not just wear long pants?"
"Because f*$k them, that's why."
Attaboy.
Our scars are a piece of who we are, a natural tattoo to mark an event in our lives. Our scars are part of what makes us us. Without them we would be totally different people. I can't remember a day when I didn't have the scar on my back, it has always been a part of me. I have added several scars to the lineup over the years, but that one is my favorite.
When I mentioned that to the guy on the train he said, "Your favorite?"
"Yes. I love that scar. You'll love yours someday."
"... I don't know."
"You will. It's really beautiful."
He looked at me for a long while, measuring me. "Thank you," he almost whispered.
As we looked at each other in that moment we saw beneath the layers, beneath the scars. We saw the people. It was an intimate moment between strangers that I won't soon forget.
I love most of my scars (a few still piss me off) and I am so interested in the scars of others. It seems to be a subject most people don't broach, don't want to know about. I won't stop asking about them, though. I respect it when someone doesn't want to talk about their scar, but most people seem to have no trouble telling the story. They fascinate me.
His fascinated me.
So, to the guy on the train with the scar on his leg... love your scar, man. It marks an event in your life that you are meant to remember. It has helped to make you the man you are today, it has helped you see people for who they are when they see it, helped you realize who you are without the physical part of you, the beautiful part. It has marked you, yes, but you live to bear the mark. You are more stunning because of it, not in spite of it.
It's beautiful - don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
This morning a man slid into the seat next to me wearing cargo shorts. His leg brushed up against mine as he settled in, which caused me to glance down from my book. As I did, I noticed a large scar on his leg that ran from his outer thigh down to his mid calf. It was really striking.
"That's a beautiful scar," I said.
"Yeah, right," he replied.
"No really, it's gorgeous. How did you get it?"
"Are you serious?"
"Yes. Why wouldn't I be?"
"My scar usually freaks people out," he said, "most of them can't even look at it."
"I know the feeling."
"You do?"
"Yeah. I have a scar on my back from when I was a kid and it tends to freak people out. I think its pretty, but most people tell me its gross."
"Huh. Yeah, people suck."
I laughed. "So, how did you get it?"
"Well..."
We spent the rest of the ride into the city discussing scars, how we got them, what they mean to us, how they define us. How people's reactions affect us. I learned a long time ago that someone's reaction to my scar is all about them, not me. When I was a kid I had no problem showing my scar in public, even after a woman tried to insist that my parent's had burned me with an iron (my scar looks nothing like an iron, by the way). He still seems to get rattled sometimes and lives in the defensive phase, but he hasn't had his scar as long as I have had mine.
"If people's reactions to it still upset you," I asked, "why do you show it? Why not just wear long pants?"
"Because f*$k them, that's why."
Attaboy.
Our scars are a piece of who we are, a natural tattoo to mark an event in our lives. Our scars are part of what makes us us. Without them we would be totally different people. I can't remember a day when I didn't have the scar on my back, it has always been a part of me. I have added several scars to the lineup over the years, but that one is my favorite.
When I mentioned that to the guy on the train he said, "Your favorite?"
"Yes. I love that scar. You'll love yours someday."
"... I don't know."
"You will. It's really beautiful."
He looked at me for a long while, measuring me. "Thank you," he almost whispered.
As we looked at each other in that moment we saw beneath the layers, beneath the scars. We saw the people. It was an intimate moment between strangers that I won't soon forget.
I love most of my scars (a few still piss me off) and I am so interested in the scars of others. It seems to be a subject most people don't broach, don't want to know about. I won't stop asking about them, though. I respect it when someone doesn't want to talk about their scar, but most people seem to have no trouble telling the story. They fascinate me.
His fascinated me.
So, to the guy on the train with the scar on his leg... love your scar, man. It marks an event in your life that you are meant to remember. It has helped to make you the man you are today, it has helped you see people for who they are when they see it, helped you realize who you are without the physical part of you, the beautiful part. It has marked you, yes, but you live to bear the mark. You are more stunning because of it, not in spite of it.
It's beautiful - don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
Thursday, June 26, 2014
Communication Phenomenon
To the ladies on the train talking over each other... I'm impressed!
The train was unusually crowded this morning, so I was stuck in a 4 person seat, two-to-a-side facing each other. Not my favorite seat.
Three women joined me in the other seats almost immediately, chatting away, obviously friends. We all settled in, me with my book and they with their phones, two of them talking away the other seemingly texting.
It took me a moment or two to realize that they were not, in fact, talking on their phones - they were talking to each other. Talking over each other would be more accurate. Neither of them stopped to listen to the other, they just kept talking over each other, answering whatever the other one said without taking a break. It was amazing.
I have no idea how they heard anything the other was saying.
Every once in a while the third lady would pop in with a "yeah," or a "totally," continuing to text all the while, each time forcing me to suppress a laugh.
I realized after a bit that my mouth was hanging open watching this phenomenon of communication. I was only able to catch snippets of what they were saying, but they seemed to understand each other perfectly. I was amazed.
We were on that train for an hour and a half today due to delays, and they did not stop the entire time, talking over each other the whole way. It was insanely entertaining. A sit-com in the making.
These two ladies were oblivious to everything except each other and the occasional "whatever" from their peanut gallery friend. By the time the train landed in New York I was exhausted, listening to them had zapped me.
They exited the train before me, and I could still hear them going from the bottom of the escalator. I have never seen, or heard, anything like it.
So, to the ladies on the train talking over each other... I have no earthly idea how you managed it, but I must say, I'm impressed!
The train was unusually crowded this morning, so I was stuck in a 4 person seat, two-to-a-side facing each other. Not my favorite seat.
Three women joined me in the other seats almost immediately, chatting away, obviously friends. We all settled in, me with my book and they with their phones, two of them talking away the other seemingly texting.
It took me a moment or two to realize that they were not, in fact, talking on their phones - they were talking to each other. Talking over each other would be more accurate. Neither of them stopped to listen to the other, they just kept talking over each other, answering whatever the other one said without taking a break. It was amazing.
I have no idea how they heard anything the other was saying.
Every once in a while the third lady would pop in with a "yeah," or a "totally," continuing to text all the while, each time forcing me to suppress a laugh.
I realized after a bit that my mouth was hanging open watching this phenomenon of communication. I was only able to catch snippets of what they were saying, but they seemed to understand each other perfectly. I was amazed.
We were on that train for an hour and a half today due to delays, and they did not stop the entire time, talking over each other the whole way. It was insanely entertaining. A sit-com in the making.
These two ladies were oblivious to everything except each other and the occasional "whatever" from their peanut gallery friend. By the time the train landed in New York I was exhausted, listening to them had zapped me.
They exited the train before me, and I could still hear them going from the bottom of the escalator. I have never seen, or heard, anything like it.
So, to the ladies on the train talking over each other... I have no earthly idea how you managed it, but I must say, I'm impressed!
Thursday, June 12, 2014
Liquid Karma
To the guy on the train that purposefully spilled his coffee on the seat... the joke's on you, pal!
There seems to be a new trend on New Jersey Transit. People are going to new levels to try to make sure they get a seat to themselves, especially when sitting in a two-seat row.
Now, we would all be much happier if we all got a seat to ourselves on the train, able to sit more comfortably all the way to our destination. Most of us realize, however, that there are other passengers who may want a seat, and so we understand that the ride will be slightly less comfortable, but not uncomfortable, slightly less private, but by no means invasive.
Just people sitting in the seat next to us.
In the olden days, people would just pile their extra bags on the seat next to them to try to dissuade others from asking for a seat. It didn't always work, as those of us with a little hutzpah would wait patiently while they moved their bags to the overhead rack, or simply put them on their laps.
Or they would spread their dinner out next to them, eating slowly and deliberately in hopes that no one would dare ask them to move it.
Nowadays, though, there is a new trend: people are sitting in the aisle seat, purposely pouring some liquid on the seat next to them, and then sitting back to enjoy their private seat. People come along and ask to sit, only to be told that "someone spilled something there" in mock sympathy.
The first time I saw this I thought it was a singular event. The next time I thought that, maybe, it was the same person.
I have now seen this being done many times, and it's obnoxious.
Today, though, Karma got involved.
The guy got on the train, found his aisle seat, and promptly spilled some leftover coffee onto the one next to him.
The important thing to note, is that for the majority of the ride the train is in motion. The physics of liquids, especially when not contained, are varied and unpredictable. And he was wearing khaki pants.
There he was, smug look firmly attached to his face, eyes closed, enjoying his morning private seat, warning people away from the "spill."
No one said anything to him about this behavior, though I'm sure that many were tempted by the looks on their faces. We were contained.
The liquid not so much.
As we arrived in the city and stood up to leave, there were many twitters of laughter happening behind him. It turns out that Karma sent that coffee in the direction of his khaki pants, a long, brown stain emerging on his left butt cheek. He must have shifted at some point allowing more liquid to encroach his hind region (or Karma has more tricks up her sleeves than we realized) because that stain had spread to his middle.
I don't envy him the day he was about to have, how many times he would need to explain away the brown stain on his butt. I don't envy him having to walk the city in those coffee stained, khaki pants.
But... Karma.
So, to the guy on the train that purposefully spilled his coffee on the seat,Karma's a bitch, liquid Karma even more so. And the joke's on you, pal! I hope you'll think twice before doing that again.
There seems to be a new trend on New Jersey Transit. People are going to new levels to try to make sure they get a seat to themselves, especially when sitting in a two-seat row.
Now, we would all be much happier if we all got a seat to ourselves on the train, able to sit more comfortably all the way to our destination. Most of us realize, however, that there are other passengers who may want a seat, and so we understand that the ride will be slightly less comfortable, but not uncomfortable, slightly less private, but by no means invasive.
Just people sitting in the seat next to us.
In the olden days, people would just pile their extra bags on the seat next to them to try to dissuade others from asking for a seat. It didn't always work, as those of us with a little hutzpah would wait patiently while they moved their bags to the overhead rack, or simply put them on their laps.
Or they would spread their dinner out next to them, eating slowly and deliberately in hopes that no one would dare ask them to move it.
Nowadays, though, there is a new trend: people are sitting in the aisle seat, purposely pouring some liquid on the seat next to them, and then sitting back to enjoy their private seat. People come along and ask to sit, only to be told that "someone spilled something there" in mock sympathy.
The first time I saw this I thought it was a singular event. The next time I thought that, maybe, it was the same person.
I have now seen this being done many times, and it's obnoxious.
Today, though, Karma got involved.
The guy got on the train, found his aisle seat, and promptly spilled some leftover coffee onto the one next to him.
The important thing to note, is that for the majority of the ride the train is in motion. The physics of liquids, especially when not contained, are varied and unpredictable. And he was wearing khaki pants.
There he was, smug look firmly attached to his face, eyes closed, enjoying his morning private seat, warning people away from the "spill."
No one said anything to him about this behavior, though I'm sure that many were tempted by the looks on their faces. We were contained.
The liquid not so much.
As we arrived in the city and stood up to leave, there were many twitters of laughter happening behind him. It turns out that Karma sent that coffee in the direction of his khaki pants, a long, brown stain emerging on his left butt cheek. He must have shifted at some point allowing more liquid to encroach his hind region (or Karma has more tricks up her sleeves than we realized) because that stain had spread to his middle.
I don't envy him the day he was about to have, how many times he would need to explain away the brown stain on his butt. I don't envy him having to walk the city in those coffee stained, khaki pants.
But... Karma.
So, to the guy on the train that purposefully spilled his coffee on the seat,Karma's a bitch, liquid Karma even more so. And the joke's on you, pal! I hope you'll think twice before doing that again.
Friday, May 23, 2014
Rockin' Out
To the guy on the train that was rockin' out to his tunes... you put on a hellofa show, man!
While meandering down the aisle looking for seats, we all came to notice that everyone already seated was watching something. We could see them watching, looking around us as we walked by, and they were thoroughly enjoying whatever they were watching. Hmmm..
As we new additions to the car found our seats and turned to face the same direction as the previous occupiers of the car, we saw it too. In the end seat, facing everyone else, there was a man. His eyes were closed, his hair hanging long and loose, large, old-fashioned looking headphones in place.
And he was living!
He began with the air drums. In his mind he must have been on par with Neil Pert (Rush) or Keith Moon (The Who). His imaginary sticks were flying, he was groovin' right along, air-playing his heart out.
Fairly soon he seemed to switch to conducting, the sticks morphing into a baton, as he directed his virtual band, or orchestra, or symphony (from his performance I would glean that his imagination would create a fantastic symphony the likes of which can not exist outside his mind). The musicians in his head were obviously as enthusiastic as he, his facial expressions becoming more and more exaggerated as he directed the music and encouraged his vision to produce.
No one on our car was speaking, we were so enjoying the show, smiles on all of our faces. We weren't laughing at him, not at all! We were right there with him, our imaginations having been co-opted by his, trying to see as he saw.
Conducting naturally transformed into choreography, his entire body becoming a part of the dance. He grooved. He bopped. He got down.
It was mesmerizing.
He remained completely unaware of his audience, didn't feel our eyes on him at all. Or, maybe he did, and rather than be embarrassed he soaked us in, drew on our energy, to create his masterpiece.
I have no idea what he was listening to. No idea what his symphony consisted of, what his dancers were wearing, what the stage looked like... no idea of the depths of his imagination... but, man, would I have loved to have seen it.
He created with abandon, his joy and enthusiasm seeping into everyone around him. It was bliss. We were watching a passion piece, and we got to contribute a part of our own imagination as we tried to conjure his vision in our own minds.
As the train pulled into the station, and his mind was pulled into the now, he opened his eyes and, realizing that all of ours were upon him, offered a sheepish smile.
In response, we clapped. Many people thanked him. Most just smiled back.
Guy on the train, you changed a lot of people this morning, even if only for a little while.
So, to the guy on the train that was rockin' out to his tunes... I hope you get to realize your vision someday. I hope your imagination and passion can combine in reality, and I hope that they are with you, always. Keep dreaming, guy on the train, you put on a hellofa show!
While meandering down the aisle looking for seats, we all came to notice that everyone already seated was watching something. We could see them watching, looking around us as we walked by, and they were thoroughly enjoying whatever they were watching. Hmmm..
As we new additions to the car found our seats and turned to face the same direction as the previous occupiers of the car, we saw it too. In the end seat, facing everyone else, there was a man. His eyes were closed, his hair hanging long and loose, large, old-fashioned looking headphones in place.
And he was living!
He began with the air drums. In his mind he must have been on par with Neil Pert (Rush) or Keith Moon (The Who). His imaginary sticks were flying, he was groovin' right along, air-playing his heart out.
Fairly soon he seemed to switch to conducting, the sticks morphing into a baton, as he directed his virtual band, or orchestra, or symphony (from his performance I would glean that his imagination would create a fantastic symphony the likes of which can not exist outside his mind). The musicians in his head were obviously as enthusiastic as he, his facial expressions becoming more and more exaggerated as he directed the music and encouraged his vision to produce.
No one on our car was speaking, we were so enjoying the show, smiles on all of our faces. We weren't laughing at him, not at all! We were right there with him, our imaginations having been co-opted by his, trying to see as he saw.
Conducting naturally transformed into choreography, his entire body becoming a part of the dance. He grooved. He bopped. He got down.
It was mesmerizing.
He remained completely unaware of his audience, didn't feel our eyes on him at all. Or, maybe he did, and rather than be embarrassed he soaked us in, drew on our energy, to create his masterpiece.
I have no idea what he was listening to. No idea what his symphony consisted of, what his dancers were wearing, what the stage looked like... no idea of the depths of his imagination... but, man, would I have loved to have seen it.
He created with abandon, his joy and enthusiasm seeping into everyone around him. It was bliss. We were watching a passion piece, and we got to contribute a part of our own imagination as we tried to conjure his vision in our own minds.
As the train pulled into the station, and his mind was pulled into the now, he opened his eyes and, realizing that all of ours were upon him, offered a sheepish smile.
In response, we clapped. Many people thanked him. Most just smiled back.
Guy on the train, you changed a lot of people this morning, even if only for a little while.
So, to the guy on the train that was rockin' out to his tunes... I hope you get to realize your vision someday. I hope your imagination and passion can combine in reality, and I hope that they are with you, always. Keep dreaming, guy on the train, you put on a hellofa show!
Friday, May 2, 2014
It Takes A Village
To the guy on the train that brought his kids to work today... you rock!
Several of us noticed you strolling your two young children up to the platform this morning, juggling two tiny backpacks, your shoulder bag, and a juicy cup. Your kids seemed really excited to go on the train! You, however, looked a little daunted.
When the train arrived, several of us offered to hold some of your things as you took the giant step up onto the car. Once on the train, seating was scarce, so we rushed ahead to save you and your children some seats. We managed, but barely. We held off the commuters who couldn't care less about a Dad and his kids. We all shared looks of triumph when the three of you were able to sit together.
Once we settled in for the ride, your children were delightful. They sang us songs, played games, and asked good questions. You looked so grateful that no one was annoyed by them. As more people joined our car, they too enjoyed playing with your children. It was a lovely ride.
As we exited the train, several of us grabbed a bag for you, or a stroller, or even held a child's hand.
"Thank you so much, everyone. I really appreciate your help." The relief on your face was evident.
We were all happy to assist. Your kids were great.
So, to the guy on the train that brought his kids to work today... remember, it takes a village. I hope your kids enjoyed going to work with you today. Also, you rock.
Several of us noticed you strolling your two young children up to the platform this morning, juggling two tiny backpacks, your shoulder bag, and a juicy cup. Your kids seemed really excited to go on the train! You, however, looked a little daunted.
When the train arrived, several of us offered to hold some of your things as you took the giant step up onto the car. Once on the train, seating was scarce, so we rushed ahead to save you and your children some seats. We managed, but barely. We held off the commuters who couldn't care less about a Dad and his kids. We all shared looks of triumph when the three of you were able to sit together.
Once we settled in for the ride, your children were delightful. They sang us songs, played games, and asked good questions. You looked so grateful that no one was annoyed by them. As more people joined our car, they too enjoyed playing with your children. It was a lovely ride.
As we exited the train, several of us grabbed a bag for you, or a stroller, or even held a child's hand.
"Thank you so much, everyone. I really appreciate your help." The relief on your face was evident.
We were all happy to assist. Your kids were great.
So, to the guy on the train that brought his kids to work today... remember, it takes a village. I hope your kids enjoyed going to work with you today. Also, you rock.
Monday, April 28, 2014
Terrible Marketing
To the lady on the train that tried to recruit me to your "team"... your sales pitch sucks.
This morning I boarded the train as usual, sat in my seat as usual, and closed my eyes (as usual) for the trip to the city. This morning, however, I could feel her watching me.
My career in the performing arts has made me very tuned in to when people are watching me. I can feel their eyes on me, I can tell their attention is focused my way. It goes with being an actor, I think.
I cracked my eye to look for the source of my feeling, and I saw a woman sitting across the aisle, a few rows away in a seat that faced mine, staring. Not trying to hide it at all. Just... staring.
I decided to close my eyes again and just ride it out. I did peek every so often, when the feeling became unbearable, and each time I caught her staring. It was a bit disturbing by the end of my 45 minute train ride.
Finally, as we were in line to exit the train, she handed me her business card with a hand written note on it. She didn't say a word, just handed me the card. My naturally curious instincts had me taking the card from her and saying "Thank you" before I had looked at what I was taking.
As it turned out, I was being handed an insult, and I took it with a "Thank you."
She handed me an Herbalife card (for those of you that do not know, Herbalife is a weight loss system that costs an arm and a leg). On the card was written a note. Now, a good person would have said something like "Feel free to call me if you have any questions," or "I have had great results, you should give me a call so I can tell you all about it." Both of those are a bit insulting, but at least they are polite and a bit conspiratorial. A decent person would have said something like "I believe I can help you," or "You should give us a try." A little more insulting, but nothing I couldn't abide.
A terrible person would write what this woman did. As I looked at the card to read her note my heart dropped and I actually felt ill.
"You're too fat. You need this."
Excuse me?
I said "Wow, I'm really not interested."
She said "You should be."
"Lady, you don't know my life. You don't know anything about me. How dare you hand me something like this. I hope you have as good a day as you've just made mine."
She had the nerve to look insulted.
The woman behind me asked what she gave me, so I showed her. She hugged me and said "You are beautiful. Don't let that heffer make you feel bad." I almost cried.
The woman behind her hugged me too. Someone else patted me on the back. The gratitude I felt for those people in that moment can not be measured.
That this woman thought that it would be OK to hand me that card, with that message, hoping that I would call her to buy her products is astounding. How on Earth could she think that I would find that note enticing? What made her think that saying that would be the best way to get my business? What really pissed me off is that I said "Thank you" before I knew what I was taking. What an ass.
Not only did she ensure that I will never call her for anything, ever, she ensured that I will never use Herbalife. If a company has that kind of person representing them, I want no part of it.
So, to the lady on the train that tried to recruit me to your "team"... I hope Herbalife knows the kind of person they have representing them. I hope you experience, just once, what you put me through today, simply so you will know how it feels. You need never make any assumptions about another human or the path that they have to walk. It makes you an ass.
Also, your sales pitch sucks.
This morning I boarded the train as usual, sat in my seat as usual, and closed my eyes (as usual) for the trip to the city. This morning, however, I could feel her watching me.
My career in the performing arts has made me very tuned in to when people are watching me. I can feel their eyes on me, I can tell their attention is focused my way. It goes with being an actor, I think.
I cracked my eye to look for the source of my feeling, and I saw a woman sitting across the aisle, a few rows away in a seat that faced mine, staring. Not trying to hide it at all. Just... staring.
I decided to close my eyes again and just ride it out. I did peek every so often, when the feeling became unbearable, and each time I caught her staring. It was a bit disturbing by the end of my 45 minute train ride.
Finally, as we were in line to exit the train, she handed me her business card with a hand written note on it. She didn't say a word, just handed me the card. My naturally curious instincts had me taking the card from her and saying "Thank you" before I had looked at what I was taking.
As it turned out, I was being handed an insult, and I took it with a "Thank you."
She handed me an Herbalife card (for those of you that do not know, Herbalife is a weight loss system that costs an arm and a leg). On the card was written a note. Now, a good person would have said something like "Feel free to call me if you have any questions," or "I have had great results, you should give me a call so I can tell you all about it." Both of those are a bit insulting, but at least they are polite and a bit conspiratorial. A decent person would have said something like "I believe I can help you," or "You should give us a try." A little more insulting, but nothing I couldn't abide.
A terrible person would write what this woman did. As I looked at the card to read her note my heart dropped and I actually felt ill.
"You're too fat. You need this."
Excuse me?
I said "Wow, I'm really not interested."
She said "You should be."
"Lady, you don't know my life. You don't know anything about me. How dare you hand me something like this. I hope you have as good a day as you've just made mine."
She had the nerve to look insulted.
The woman behind me asked what she gave me, so I showed her. She hugged me and said "You are beautiful. Don't let that heffer make you feel bad." I almost cried.
The woman behind her hugged me too. Someone else patted me on the back. The gratitude I felt for those people in that moment can not be measured.
That this woman thought that it would be OK to hand me that card, with that message, hoping that I would call her to buy her products is astounding. How on Earth could she think that I would find that note enticing? What made her think that saying that would be the best way to get my business? What really pissed me off is that I said "Thank you" before I knew what I was taking. What an ass.
Not only did she ensure that I will never call her for anything, ever, she ensured that I will never use Herbalife. If a company has that kind of person representing them, I want no part of it.
So, to the lady on the train that tried to recruit me to your "team"... I hope Herbalife knows the kind of person they have representing them. I hope you experience, just once, what you put me through today, simply so you will know how it feels. You need never make any assumptions about another human or the path that they have to walk. It makes you an ass.
Also, your sales pitch sucks.
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Small Heroes
To the guy on the train that gave up his seat... thank you.
Yet again this morning, New Jersey Transit was cancelling trains. The exact quote used in their announcement was, "New Jersey Transit would like to apologize... we were forced to cancel the 8:31 train to New York..." Forced. Uh huh.
When our normal train gets cancelled, they usually have the express train run local, which means, beginning at our stop, people are standing in the aisles. Today was no exception.
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We were all standing there, bracing ourselves for the rocky ride, dealing with the sighs and groans from the sitters, upset that their space was getting crowded. Every time we came to a stop the guy standing next to me stomped on my foot, trying to pretend that he was far more graceful than the evidence suggested. He never apologized.
In short, nothing new for a cancelled train day.
Then something awesome happened.
A man a few rows down from where I was offered his seat to a woman standing in the aisle. She was appropriately grateful. Then, catching the gratitude wave, another man a few rows away offered his seat to another woman that had been standing. And then another one! It was amazing to see; the men looked slightly proud that they had done a good deed for the day, and the women were grateful, appearing fairly surprised that they found chivalry on New Jersey Transit.
About two stops into the journey, a woman sitting a row away from me exited the train. The man that had been standing right next to her offered me her seat. "Would you like to sit here?" "Yes, thank you so much!" I said. He smiled at me. "You're quite welcome."
By the end of our ride another two or three women had been offered seats, with very little complaining from the men left standing in the aisle (I say very little complaining because it would not have been a NJT train without some blowhard being pissy about something).
It is so nice to see people catching a wave of courtesy and jumping on. I don't usually expect that kind of offer on the train, everyone so intent on getting from point A to point B that we barely see each other. The men that gave up their seats made a woman very happy, made her feel noticed. And sometimes, that is enough.
So, to the guy on the train that gave up his seat... thank you. You made my day.
Yet again this morning, New Jersey Transit was cancelling trains. The exact quote used in their announcement was, "New Jersey Transit would like to apologize... we were forced to cancel the 8:31 train to New York..." Forced. Uh huh.
When our normal train gets cancelled, they usually have the express train run local, which means, beginning at our stop, people are standing in the aisles. Today was no exception.
We were all standing there, bracing ourselves for the rocky ride, dealing with the sighs and groans from the sitters, upset that their space was getting crowded. Every time we came to a stop the guy standing next to me stomped on my foot, trying to pretend that he was far more graceful than the evidence suggested. He never apologized.
In short, nothing new for a cancelled train day.
Then something awesome happened.
A man a few rows down from where I was offered his seat to a woman standing in the aisle. She was appropriately grateful. Then, catching the gratitude wave, another man a few rows away offered his seat to another woman that had been standing. And then another one! It was amazing to see; the men looked slightly proud that they had done a good deed for the day, and the women were grateful, appearing fairly surprised that they found chivalry on New Jersey Transit.
About two stops into the journey, a woman sitting a row away from me exited the train. The man that had been standing right next to her offered me her seat. "Would you like to sit here?" "Yes, thank you so much!" I said. He smiled at me. "You're quite welcome."
By the end of our ride another two or three women had been offered seats, with very little complaining from the men left standing in the aisle (I say very little complaining because it would not have been a NJT train without some blowhard being pissy about something).
It is so nice to see people catching a wave of courtesy and jumping on. I don't usually expect that kind of offer on the train, everyone so intent on getting from point A to point B that we barely see each other. The men that gave up their seats made a woman very happy, made her feel noticed. And sometimes, that is enough.
So, to the guy on the train that gave up his seat... thank you. You made my day.
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Inappropriate Sounds
To the guy on the train making love to his popcorn... shut it down!
I had to take a later train home last night and, apparently, it was the dinner train. Everyone around me was quietly and politely eating their dinners, trying as much as possible to keep it private.
I ended up sitting in one of those "facing each other" seats, across from a man and his popcorn. He had this popcorn in a paper bag tube (that's the only way I can describe it) that was as long as his arm. He would hold the bag up like a trumpet, his mouth attached to the end of the bag, and chomp on mouthful after mouthful of this popcorn.
If only that was all he did.
Each time he held the bag up to his face, he would moan, groan, smack his lips, and "num-num-num" for the entire 30 to 45 seconds the bag was aloft. It was incredibly inappropriate. After he had filled his maw with as much popcorn as he could, he would continue the moaning and groaning while he chomped and chewed with his eyes closed.
People around us were getting very uncomfortable. The girl sitting behind him was mortified and kept hiding her blushing face in her hands. The people across the aisle were giving him looks of death, and fanning themselves. One guy walking down the aisle looking for a seat actually muttered, "Oh, man!"
It got to the point where people started to look at me like, "Dude, do something!"
I would look at them back like, "Why me?!?!"
Then they would look at me like, "You're closest!"
And I would look back like, "That doesn't make me in charge!"
And they would look at me like, "Somebody's got to do something!"
And I would look back like, "Not it!"
And then we all just looked at each other. Except popcorn guy. He just kept on "num-num-numming" his way through the bag.
Finally, when the bag was empty of popcorn, and he pulled the piece of bag from his mouth, he heaved a big sigh.
I said, "Good popcorn?"
Everyone around us laughed.
He just looked at me.
So, to the guy on the train making love to his popcorn... it is really inappropriate to do that in public. Shut it down!
I had to take a later train home last night and, apparently, it was the dinner train. Everyone around me was quietly and politely eating their dinners, trying as much as possible to keep it private.
I ended up sitting in one of those "facing each other" seats, across from a man and his popcorn. He had this popcorn in a paper bag tube (that's the only way I can describe it) that was as long as his arm. He would hold the bag up like a trumpet, his mouth attached to the end of the bag, and chomp on mouthful after mouthful of this popcorn.
If only that was all he did.
Each time he held the bag up to his face, he would moan, groan, smack his lips, and "num-num-num" for the entire 30 to 45 seconds the bag was aloft. It was incredibly inappropriate. After he had filled his maw with as much popcorn as he could, he would continue the moaning and groaning while he chomped and chewed with his eyes closed.
People around us were getting very uncomfortable. The girl sitting behind him was mortified and kept hiding her blushing face in her hands. The people across the aisle were giving him looks of death, and fanning themselves. One guy walking down the aisle looking for a seat actually muttered, "Oh, man!"
It got to the point where people started to look at me like, "Dude, do something!"
I would look at them back like, "Why me?!?!"
Then they would look at me like, "You're closest!"
And I would look back like, "That doesn't make me in charge!"
And they would look at me like, "Somebody's got to do something!"
And I would look back like, "Not it!"
And then we all just looked at each other. Except popcorn guy. He just kept on "num-num-numming" his way through the bag.
Finally, when the bag was empty of popcorn, and he pulled the piece of bag from his mouth, he heaved a big sigh.
I said, "Good popcorn?"
Everyone around us laughed.
He just looked at me.
So, to the guy on the train making love to his popcorn... it is really inappropriate to do that in public. Shut it down!
Thursday, April 10, 2014
Eavesdropper
To the guy on the train that totally eavesdropped on my conversation... thank you!
This morning, my train friend Judy and I were talking about the new Heartbleed virus that has supposedly affected at least 66% of the Internet, and how scary it is. Neither of us being tech or security experts, we could only wonder at the scope of this virus. (It even has its own logo!).
I noticed that this guy sitting in front of us getting awfully fidgety during our discussion. Finally, he turned around and said, "Hi. I don't mean to eavesdrop, but I heard you talking about the Heartbleed virus. I work in IT and it is a huge problem!"
He went on to explain that the virus is affecting the open SSL servers up to version 1.0.1g, which has been fixed, meaning that any open SSL server between 1.0.1 and 1.0.1f are affected. What this virus allows the hacker to do is to view all encrypted data on all affected websites. However, the most dangerous and problematic issue, is that the hacker can view all secure certificates issued by the open SSL servers. That means that even after a company has secured their servers, the hacker can still get into the system through an old certificate.
This poor guy was telling me that he has to go through the last three years of certificates, close them all out, and issue new ones, for every transaction from the last three years. (Heartbleed has only been affecting servers for the last two years, they think, but his company wants to go back three years just to be sure).
I asked him what I could do as a layperson to protect myself and my information, and his response was, "Change all your passwords and stay off the Internet for about a week." He also suggested using Google Chrome for my browser (which I already do) and adding the Chromebleed applet, which alerts you if you are heading to a site that has been affected, or continues to be affected, by Heartbleed.
Well, I work on the Internet, so that's out, but I did change all my passwords. He also suggested that I change my passwords again in a week, and again a week after that. This bug is apparently a doozy!
If you'd like to know a little more, check out this article about Heartbleed.
Also, tell your families, friends, acquaintances and strangers to change their passwords. We could all be dealing with this virus for a while.
So, to the guy on the train that totally eavesdropped on my conversation... good luck and I'm sorry that you have to deal with this bug on a professional level. Also, thank you! I feel slightly better about the Internet after chatting with you on the train.
This morning, my train friend Judy and I were talking about the new Heartbleed virus that has supposedly affected at least 66% of the Internet, and how scary it is. Neither of us being tech or security experts, we could only wonder at the scope of this virus. (It even has its own logo!).
I noticed that this guy sitting in front of us getting awfully fidgety during our discussion. Finally, he turned around and said, "Hi. I don't mean to eavesdrop, but I heard you talking about the Heartbleed virus. I work in IT and it is a huge problem!"
He went on to explain that the virus is affecting the open SSL servers up to version 1.0.1g, which has been fixed, meaning that any open SSL server between 1.0.1 and 1.0.1f are affected. What this virus allows the hacker to do is to view all encrypted data on all affected websites. However, the most dangerous and problematic issue, is that the hacker can view all secure certificates issued by the open SSL servers. That means that even after a company has secured their servers, the hacker can still get into the system through an old certificate.
This poor guy was telling me that he has to go through the last three years of certificates, close them all out, and issue new ones, for every transaction from the last three years. (Heartbleed has only been affecting servers for the last two years, they think, but his company wants to go back three years just to be sure).
I asked him what I could do as a layperson to protect myself and my information, and his response was, "Change all your passwords and stay off the Internet for about a week." He also suggested using Google Chrome for my browser (which I already do) and adding the Chromebleed applet, which alerts you if you are heading to a site that has been affected, or continues to be affected, by Heartbleed.
Well, I work on the Internet, so that's out, but I did change all my passwords. He also suggested that I change my passwords again in a week, and again a week after that. This bug is apparently a doozy!
If you'd like to know a little more, check out this article about Heartbleed.
Also, tell your families, friends, acquaintances and strangers to change their passwords. We could all be dealing with this virus for a while.
So, to the guy on the train that totally eavesdropped on my conversation... good luck and I'm sorry that you have to deal with this bug on a professional level. Also, thank you! I feel slightly better about the Internet after chatting with you on the train.
Monday, April 7, 2014
Commuters
To the guy on the train that just wants to get through it... I'm with you, man.
There are a lot of people that commute into and out of the city everyday. I mean, a lot. Between New Jersey Transit, Long Island Rail Road, Metro North, subways, buses, ferries... it's a lot of people.
This morning I took the earlier train in order to have a quick meeting before work. This 8:00 train is much more crowded than my normal 8:30 train. Its also much less jovial and much, much quieter. The group heading into the city at 8:00 seems to just want to get it over with. They all understand the drill, they find a seat, park their butts, and ride it out. There is no happy-making ticket guy, no chatty pals, no busybodies; just commuters. Lots and lots of commuters.
I got off the train toward the front this time as I had to catch the 1/9 up to my meeting, rather than my usual egress toward the back of the train and the hell that is 8th Avenue in the mornings. It turns out that the 1/9 section of Penn is a whole different kind of hell in the morning.
The major difference between the 8th Avenue hell and the 1/9 hell is the people. At least on 8th Avenue we are outside and the crush of people can be scootched around if necessary (though you sometimes take your life in your hands while scootching). The 1/9 side, however, is all underground. The same number of people, all stuffed into sticky hallways and onto pee infused platforms.
That said, the 1/9 side of the station is filled with people just getting it over with. Very little emotion, very little eye contact, mumbled "excuse me's" and "pardon's," but no one getting bent out of shape, no one laughing, no one feeling. Just people moving from point A to point B.
People just trying to get through it.
Taking the early train was a nice change of pace today, but I think I prefer my jovial, friendly train and my 8th Avenue hell. The group of folks just trying to get where ever they were going with very little connection made me feel a little sad, a little defeated. Keeping our heads down and just getting through is no way to go through life. I would rather be bothered. I would rather someone be too inquisitive, someone try to make me laugh, someone notice I'm there. I would rather take my life in my hands trying to pass some slow folks that refuse to let go of each other's hands while walking down the street, than to move along like cattle and not notice or be noticed.
I would rather get where I'm going full of emotion, no matter the emotion, than get there feeling dead inside and defeated before the day even begins.
I would rather take a ride, than simply commute.
So, to the guy on the train that just wants to get through it... I'm with you, man. And I hope you get where you're going. I hope you arrive feeling something. Anything. And I hope, next time, that you notice me. I'll be the redhead that smiles when you look up.
There are a lot of people that commute into and out of the city everyday. I mean, a lot. Between New Jersey Transit, Long Island Rail Road, Metro North, subways, buses, ferries... it's a lot of people.
This morning I took the earlier train in order to have a quick meeting before work. This 8:00 train is much more crowded than my normal 8:30 train. Its also much less jovial and much, much quieter. The group heading into the city at 8:00 seems to just want to get it over with. They all understand the drill, they find a seat, park their butts, and ride it out. There is no happy-making ticket guy, no chatty pals, no busybodies; just commuters. Lots and lots of commuters.
I got off the train toward the front this time as I had to catch the 1/9 up to my meeting, rather than my usual egress toward the back of the train and the hell that is 8th Avenue in the mornings. It turns out that the 1/9 section of Penn is a whole different kind of hell in the morning.
The major difference between the 8th Avenue hell and the 1/9 hell is the people. At least on 8th Avenue we are outside and the crush of people can be scootched around if necessary (though you sometimes take your life in your hands while scootching). The 1/9 side, however, is all underground. The same number of people, all stuffed into sticky hallways and onto pee infused platforms.
That said, the 1/9 side of the station is filled with people just getting it over with. Very little emotion, very little eye contact, mumbled "excuse me's" and "pardon's," but no one getting bent out of shape, no one laughing, no one feeling. Just people moving from point A to point B.
People just trying to get through it.
Taking the early train was a nice change of pace today, but I think I prefer my jovial, friendly train and my 8th Avenue hell. The group of folks just trying to get where ever they were going with very little connection made me feel a little sad, a little defeated. Keeping our heads down and just getting through is no way to go through life. I would rather be bothered. I would rather someone be too inquisitive, someone try to make me laugh, someone notice I'm there. I would rather take my life in my hands trying to pass some slow folks that refuse to let go of each other's hands while walking down the street, than to move along like cattle and not notice or be noticed.
I would rather get where I'm going full of emotion, no matter the emotion, than get there feeling dead inside and defeated before the day even begins.
I would rather take a ride, than simply commute.
So, to the guy on the train that just wants to get through it... I'm with you, man. And I hope you get where you're going. I hope you arrive feeling something. Anything. And I hope, next time, that you notice me. I'll be the redhead that smiles when you look up.
Saturday, April 5, 2014
Just Deserts
To the guy on the train that was harassing people for money... you got what you deserved.
I'm used to people begging and harassing on the subways - it's part of being a New Yorker. Heck, that guy Patrick on the 1/9 train has been out of work for "the last 2 years" and wearing the same arm cast for about 15 years now.
It's very rare on the NJ Transit trains. There was a begging man today, though.
This guy was something else. I could hear him yelling at people from about two cars away. Anyone who told him "no" or ignored him got a tongue lashing. Especially the women.
I had such a good day that I tried to take the coward's way out and just closed my eyes. I didn't want anything to sully the niceness of my day. The next thing I knew I was being shaken by the begging man. Shaken. Not nudged, or poked. Shaken.
Snapping my eyes open I said "What?"
"I need a dollar!"
"Sorry."
"Gimme a dollar!"
"No!" I closed my eyes again, hoping that he would just leave. I know... coward's way out.
Then he shook me again. He didn't nudge. He didn't poke. He shook. He bit off a bit more than he could chew with that one.
"Motherf%$@*r you'd better back off! Put your hands on me again and see what happens!"
(I am a redhead, after all).
Then he put his hands on me. Again. My arms began to fly, trying to deflect the shaking.
At this, the man sitting across the aisle from me (and consequently behind the begging shaker-man) stood up. He was huge. 6'5" at least. Shaker-man didn't see him. Everybody else did, though.
My hero grabbed the begging shaker-man by the back of his neck, marched him down the aisle and tossed him off the train. Shaker-man went limp as though my hero had some kind of Vulcan death-grip on the guy, rendering him immobile. And I mean tossed him off the train - I don't think the shaker-man's feet touched the ground the whole way. There was a lot of screaming and yelling outside the train car, with lots of colorful phrases that I will store away for future use. It was amazing.
There was a great tension in the car as my hero returned. He was a little scary. And very large.
I said "And stay out!" at which point the tension broke and we all laughed. People even clapped for my hero.
"Thank you," I said. "That was incredible of you."
"My pleasure, ma'am."
I was rescued by a stranger on the train!
My good day remained unsullied by the begging shaker-man, thanks to my hero who stepped in and took care of things.
There are some really nice people on the world and they reach out to each other, and help a stranger, and smile unexpectedly, and clap for heroics, and give up their seats for the elderly or for children, and do what they can to make the day a little better. They are everywhere. They are legion. And they are really nice.
So, to the guy on the train that was harassing people for money... you totally got what you deserved. But we got to witness a hero in action. So thank you for that, begging shaker-man. But you totally got what you deserved.
I'm used to people begging and harassing on the subways - it's part of being a New Yorker. Heck, that guy Patrick on the 1/9 train has been out of work for "the last 2 years" and wearing the same arm cast for about 15 years now.
It's very rare on the NJ Transit trains. There was a begging man today, though.
This guy was something else. I could hear him yelling at people from about two cars away. Anyone who told him "no" or ignored him got a tongue lashing. Especially the women.
I had such a good day that I tried to take the coward's way out and just closed my eyes. I didn't want anything to sully the niceness of my day. The next thing I knew I was being shaken by the begging man. Shaken. Not nudged, or poked. Shaken.
Snapping my eyes open I said "What?"
"I need a dollar!"
"Sorry."
"Gimme a dollar!"
"No!" I closed my eyes again, hoping that he would just leave. I know... coward's way out.
Then he shook me again. He didn't nudge. He didn't poke. He shook. He bit off a bit more than he could chew with that one.
"Motherf%$@*r you'd better back off! Put your hands on me again and see what happens!"
(I am a redhead, after all).
Then he put his hands on me. Again. My arms began to fly, trying to deflect the shaking.
At this, the man sitting across the aisle from me (and consequently behind the begging shaker-man) stood up. He was huge. 6'5" at least. Shaker-man didn't see him. Everybody else did, though.
My hero grabbed the begging shaker-man by the back of his neck, marched him down the aisle and tossed him off the train. Shaker-man went limp as though my hero had some kind of Vulcan death-grip on the guy, rendering him immobile. And I mean tossed him off the train - I don't think the shaker-man's feet touched the ground the whole way. There was a lot of screaming and yelling outside the train car, with lots of colorful phrases that I will store away for future use. It was amazing.
There was a great tension in the car as my hero returned. He was a little scary. And very large.
I said "And stay out!" at which point the tension broke and we all laughed. People even clapped for my hero.
"Thank you," I said. "That was incredible of you."
"My pleasure, ma'am."
I was rescued by a stranger on the train!
My good day remained unsullied by the begging shaker-man, thanks to my hero who stepped in and took care of things.
There are some really nice people on the world and they reach out to each other, and help a stranger, and smile unexpectedly, and clap for heroics, and give up their seats for the elderly or for children, and do what they can to make the day a little better. They are everywhere. They are legion. And they are really nice.
So, to the guy on the train that was harassing people for money... you totally got what you deserved. But we got to witness a hero in action. So thank you for that, begging shaker-man. But you totally got what you deserved.
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
Cranberry Juice
To the lady on the train that was too interested in my personal life... back off.
There is something about me that just makes people want to tell me things. No matter where I go, I find myself talking to total strangers about all kinds of things, including some very personal details. Standing in line anywhere, I usually hear about someone's love life, or their health problems, or how hard it is to find good underwear (yes, that was a real conversation). About 90% of the time I don't mind at all; people fascinate me and I am totally willing to listen to their stories. 8% of the time it annoys me as I am usually in a hurry or not feeling well and I really don't want to listen. The other 2% of the time, though, it really pisses me off. This morning was a 2% morning.
There I was, sitting peacefully on the train, drinking cranberry juice and trying to read my book.
Then she got on the train...
Her: Hi.
Me: G'morning.
Her: Do you have a UTI?
Me: Nnnnnnnnnoo...
Her: It means a Urinary Tract...
Me: Yeah, I know what it means.
Her: So do you have one?
Me: No!
Her: But you're drinking cranberry juice!
Me: Yes. I like cranberry juice.
Her: Women only drink cranberry juice when they have a UTI.
Me: Yes. Also, when they like cranberry juice!
Her: You don't have to be shy, honey, we're all friends here.
Me: No, actually, we're all strangers who happen to ride the same train.
Her: Well, for a UTI what you really should be doing is...
Me: Lady, seriously, I just want to drink my juice, and read my book.
Her: Well! When that UTI gets worse you just come find me and I will tell you how to fix it for good.
Me: Sure thing.
For the record, I really do just like cranberry juice.
So, to the lady on the train that was too interested in my personal life... mind your own business. And back off!
There is something about me that just makes people want to tell me things. No matter where I go, I find myself talking to total strangers about all kinds of things, including some very personal details. Standing in line anywhere, I usually hear about someone's love life, or their health problems, or how hard it is to find good underwear (yes, that was a real conversation). About 90% of the time I don't mind at all; people fascinate me and I am totally willing to listen to their stories. 8% of the time it annoys me as I am usually in a hurry or not feeling well and I really don't want to listen. The other 2% of the time, though, it really pisses me off. This morning was a 2% morning.
There I was, sitting peacefully on the train, drinking cranberry juice and trying to read my book.
Then she got on the train...
Her: Hi.
Me: G'morning.
Her: Do you have a UTI?
Me: Nnnnnnnnnoo...
Her: It means a Urinary Tract...
Me: Yeah, I know what it means.
Her: So do you have one?
Me: No!
Her: But you're drinking cranberry juice!
Me: Yes. I like cranberry juice.
Her: Women only drink cranberry juice when they have a UTI.
Me: Yes. Also, when they like cranberry juice!
Her: You don't have to be shy, honey, we're all friends here.
Me: No, actually, we're all strangers who happen to ride the same train.
Her: Well, for a UTI what you really should be doing is...
Me: Lady, seriously, I just want to drink my juice, and read my book.
Her: Well! When that UTI gets worse you just come find me and I will tell you how to fix it for good.
Me: Sure thing.
For the record, I really do just like cranberry juice.
So, to the lady on the train that was too interested in my personal life... mind your own business. And back off!
Friday, March 28, 2014
Morning Smiles
To the guy on the train that takes the tickets... you rock.
Usually, the folks at my Jitney stop (the little bus that takes us to the train) are the loud bunch. We meet, we chat, we laugh, we get on the Jitney and laugh again at all the eye rolls and "oh, it's THAT stop" looks. (For those that know me, this should not be a surprise). We don't mind. We have fun.
This morning we were all a bit subdued: a few of us were not feeling well, the others over tired. On the whole, we felt yucky.
This general ickiness carried over to the train platform, where we stood in a daze, hoping for a painless commute. The train stopped with the door right in front of me, which I always take as a sign of an easy day (it doesn't always work that way, but I am always hopeful).
The doors slid open, and there was the guy who takes the tickets. He is a really nice guy that always has kind words in the morning, but today was different.
As the doors slid open, he announced to the people, "Only Smiling people are allowed in this car! Smiles only, in this car!"
This proclamation immediately affected everyone waiting for the train, the laughter rolling through the crowd. It was so silly, but we all felt suddenly lighter.
Once on the train and settled in, he came around for our tickets and asked everyone to show him their smile. One guy rolled his eyes and the ticket guy said "Didn't you hear my announcement? Only smiles on this car. Don't make me kick you out!" Which, of course, had us smiling... even the rolling eyes guy.
Our ticket guy is like this every morning. He smiles, he jokes, he remembers people (which is amazing considering he must handle thousands of passengers each day - and train commuters, as a group, are a pain in the ass). If you are having a bad day, or feeling under the weather, you may find a comforting hand on your shoulder after showing him your ticket. I have heard him ask after a passenger's son, who had come to work with his father a while back. Our guy only saw the kid once, but he remembered.
These little acts of kindness go such a long way toward making an uncomfortable, hectic, early commute bearable. I wish everyone could experience our guy at least once (but please, not all at the same time!).
So, to the guy on the train that takes the tickets... thank you. You rock.
Usually, the folks at my Jitney stop (the little bus that takes us to the train) are the loud bunch. We meet, we chat, we laugh, we get on the Jitney and laugh again at all the eye rolls and "oh, it's THAT stop" looks. (For those that know me, this should not be a surprise). We don't mind. We have fun.
This morning we were all a bit subdued: a few of us were not feeling well, the others over tired. On the whole, we felt yucky.
This general ickiness carried over to the train platform, where we stood in a daze, hoping for a painless commute. The train stopped with the door right in front of me, which I always take as a sign of an easy day (it doesn't always work that way, but I am always hopeful).
The doors slid open, and there was the guy who takes the tickets. He is a really nice guy that always has kind words in the morning, but today was different.
As the doors slid open, he announced to the people, "Only Smiling people are allowed in this car! Smiles only, in this car!"
This proclamation immediately affected everyone waiting for the train, the laughter rolling through the crowd. It was so silly, but we all felt suddenly lighter.
Once on the train and settled in, he came around for our tickets and asked everyone to show him their smile. One guy rolled his eyes and the ticket guy said "Didn't you hear my announcement? Only smiles on this car. Don't make me kick you out!" Which, of course, had us smiling... even the rolling eyes guy.
Our ticket guy is like this every morning. He smiles, he jokes, he remembers people (which is amazing considering he must handle thousands of passengers each day - and train commuters, as a group, are a pain in the ass). If you are having a bad day, or feeling under the weather, you may find a comforting hand on your shoulder after showing him your ticket. I have heard him ask after a passenger's son, who had come to work with his father a while back. Our guy only saw the kid once, but he remembered.
These little acts of kindness go such a long way toward making an uncomfortable, hectic, early commute bearable. I wish everyone could experience our guy at least once (but please, not all at the same time!).
So, to the guy on the train that takes the tickets... thank you. You rock.
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Dinner Time
To the guy on the train chowing down on the aromatic fried chicken during the 6:00pm rush hour train... did you bring enough for everyone?
Seriously, I don't know how you made it off this train with all your digits in tact.
This train is full of people who, having worked a long damned day, and having not eaten anything in several hours (most likely), are rushing home to have their dinner. These people are tired. These people are hungry. And now these people have to listen to you chomp and smack your deliciously smelling fried chicken.
Many of these people could not take their eyes off of you, licking their lips as you licked your fingers. Your terrible table manners aside, people could simply not stop watching you.
The digestive rumblings echoed throughout the car, predatory eyes seeking out the source of that smell. The woman sitting next to you actually had to plug her nose, not, I believe, because it smelled bad, but because she was trying desperately to stop herself from leaning over and taking a bite - if she got some finger, she wouldn't have noticed.
I was two rows away and had to pump the volume on my iPod up as high as I could stand it, as though the sheer volume could cut out the smell.
One guy got up and stood by the door, like he had gotten in trouble and had to wear the dunce cap, just to escape the aroma.
And all the while, you, guy, you were loving every single bite. Loudly.
I wonder how many people got off that train and ran straight to a KFC or a Popeye's for a quick fix? How many people were texting home to say "scrap dinner, we're going out for chicken!"
On the one hand, I would say "thank you!" as your yummy smelling chicken possibly inspired many moments spontaneity tonight.
On the other hand, it was a really, really long train ride.
So, to the guy on the train chowing down on the aromatic fried chicken during the 6:00pm rush hour train... next time, bring enough for everyone!
Seriously, I don't know how you made it off this train with all your digits in tact.
This train is full of people who, having worked a long damned day, and having not eaten anything in several hours (most likely), are rushing home to have their dinner. These people are tired. These people are hungry. And now these people have to listen to you chomp and smack your deliciously smelling fried chicken.
Many of these people could not take their eyes off of you, licking their lips as you licked your fingers. Your terrible table manners aside, people could simply not stop watching you.
The digestive rumblings echoed throughout the car, predatory eyes seeking out the source of that smell. The woman sitting next to you actually had to plug her nose, not, I believe, because it smelled bad, but because she was trying desperately to stop herself from leaning over and taking a bite - if she got some finger, she wouldn't have noticed.
I was two rows away and had to pump the volume on my iPod up as high as I could stand it, as though the sheer volume could cut out the smell.
One guy got up and stood by the door, like he had gotten in trouble and had to wear the dunce cap, just to escape the aroma.
And all the while, you, guy, you were loving every single bite. Loudly.
I wonder how many people got off that train and ran straight to a KFC or a Popeye's for a quick fix? How many people were texting home to say "scrap dinner, we're going out for chicken!"
On the one hand, I would say "thank you!" as your yummy smelling chicken possibly inspired many moments spontaneity tonight.
On the other hand, it was a really, really long train ride.
So, to the guy on the train chowing down on the aromatic fried chicken during the 6:00pm rush hour train... next time, bring enough for everyone!
Monday, March 24, 2014
Body Spray
To the guy on the train that thought it would be a good idea to douse himself in Axe Body Spray while on the train... you suck.
For one thing, that stuff smells like sweaty feet.
For another thing, spraying more of it on yourself doesn't make it smell better, it just makes you smell more.
I mean, did you not notice that the rows around you emptied of people, even though there were no empty seats on the train?
Did you not hear the gasping, coughing, hacking response to your attempt at hygiene?
Did you not realize that everyone left on the car was wiping the tears out of their eyes all the way into Manhattan? Did you think you just happened onto the sad car?
I feel that it is my duty as a fellow passenger (and a woman) to warn you that the commercials for Axe may be a bit misleading. Women do not run to you and attempt to undress you the moment you spray yourself, unless we are trying to dunk you into a vat of soapy water to get that smell out. You do not appear "cool" or "awesome" when you spray that stuff on, you make everyone hate you and want to be very far away. Especially on a train.
The sneezing alone should have alerted you that something was amiss. Our car sounded like a musical commercial for allergy medications: the coughs, wheezes and sneezes the notes of the theme song, keeping rhythm with the train as it sped along. It was bad. My nose felt like it had been assaulted with a tiny can of industrial drying agent.
Don't do that again. Ever. Whether you are on a train, or at home, or out in a sunny field. Just don't.
So, to the guy on the train that thought it would be a good idea to douse himself in Axe Body Spray while on the train, next time, how about a shower instead. Please.
For one thing, that stuff smells like sweaty feet.
For another thing, spraying more of it on yourself doesn't make it smell better, it just makes you smell more.
I mean, did you not notice that the rows around you emptied of people, even though there were no empty seats on the train?
Did you not hear the gasping, coughing, hacking response to your attempt at hygiene?
Did you not realize that everyone left on the car was wiping the tears out of their eyes all the way into Manhattan? Did you think you just happened onto the sad car?
I feel that it is my duty as a fellow passenger (and a woman) to warn you that the commercials for Axe may be a bit misleading. Women do not run to you and attempt to undress you the moment you spray yourself, unless we are trying to dunk you into a vat of soapy water to get that smell out. You do not appear "cool" or "awesome" when you spray that stuff on, you make everyone hate you and want to be very far away. Especially on a train.
The sneezing alone should have alerted you that something was amiss. Our car sounded like a musical commercial for allergy medications: the coughs, wheezes and sneezes the notes of the theme song, keeping rhythm with the train as it sped along. It was bad. My nose felt like it had been assaulted with a tiny can of industrial drying agent.
Don't do that again. Ever. Whether you are on a train, or at home, or out in a sunny field. Just don't.
So, to the guy on the train that thought it would be a good idea to douse himself in Axe Body Spray while on the train, next time, how about a shower instead. Please.
Thursday, March 20, 2014
Diverted
To the guy on the train that pitched a huge hissy fit when we discovered that we were being diverted to Hoboken... calm down, dude.
Yes, it sucks that we will not be going into Penn Station today. Yes, it sucks that being diverted to Hoboken adds at least 45 minutes to the commute. Yes, we know that you are upset about it - we are too. You just need to calm down.
Your screaming at the NJT workers will not make them change their minds and let us into Penn. It will not magically levitate the train over the Hudson and into the city for you. I'm sorry, but it won't.
The only thing your screaming and ranting will do is slow everyone else down as they stop to cart your ass off. Or piss everyone else off, so that by the time we all get to Hoboken and have to stand like cattle in the hallway to the path...
... we are all about to start screaming along with you, which will do nothing as well.
Just breathe.
Also, to the police officers that had to corral the crowd at the Hoboken Path station, I do not envy you today. You maintained a calmness that I do not think I could have managed in your situation.
And to the guy on the Path train reading the paper, you need to learn the Wall Street Journal fold, man. Opening the paper all the way on a crowded train is not cool.
It was a stressful morning filled with bumps, jostles, and people, but we all managed to get to work eventually.
So, to the guy on the train that pitched the huge hissy fit, I hope your day got better.
Yes, it sucks that we will not be going into Penn Station today. Yes, it sucks that being diverted to Hoboken adds at least 45 minutes to the commute. Yes, we know that you are upset about it - we are too. You just need to calm down.
Your screaming at the NJT workers will not make them change their minds and let us into Penn. It will not magically levitate the train over the Hudson and into the city for you. I'm sorry, but it won't.
The only thing your screaming and ranting will do is slow everyone else down as they stop to cart your ass off. Or piss everyone else off, so that by the time we all get to Hoboken and have to stand like cattle in the hallway to the path...
... we are all about to start screaming along with you, which will do nothing as well.
Just breathe.
Also, to the police officers that had to corral the crowd at the Hoboken Path station, I do not envy you today. You maintained a calmness that I do not think I could have managed in your situation.
And to the guy on the Path train reading the paper, you need to learn the Wall Street Journal fold, man. Opening the paper all the way on a crowded train is not cool.
It was a stressful morning filled with bumps, jostles, and people, but we all managed to get to work eventually.
So, to the guy on the train that pitched the huge hissy fit, I hope your day got better.
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Cancelled trains.
To the guy on the train that is in charge of things... it's time to get your s#*t together.
It was not exceptionally cold this morning, so I know the tracks were not frozen.
The sun was shining brightly, so I know that rain or snow was not the issue.
It is not autumn, so there were no leaves on the track to cause train slippage (yes, they really use this excuse).
You have used the "fire on the tracks" excuse far too often lately for that to be true.
So why, oh why, were the trains so screwy today? Why were several trains cancelled?
Why, on a train that usually has plenty of seats to go around, did we have to travel like this?
The excuses you use, guy in charge, vary depending on where you are standing. If we are in Penn Station, you say it is the fault of Amtrak. If we are traveling on New Jersey Transit tracks, you say it was a switch, or a track, or a mechanical issue. Enough already! Just fix it. We would like to commute in general comfort without our personal space being violated. It's not too much to ask.
And, to the guy on the train that gave up his seat for the elderly lady, I applaud you.
To the guy on the train that huffed and puffed because we were standing too close to your seat, tough nooggies.
And to the guy on the train that is in charge of things, get back on your meds and fix it!
It was not exceptionally cold this morning, so I know the tracks were not frozen.
The sun was shining brightly, so I know that rain or snow was not the issue.
It is not autumn, so there were no leaves on the track to cause train slippage (yes, they really use this excuse).
You have used the "fire on the tracks" excuse far too often lately for that to be true.
So why, oh why, were the trains so screwy today? Why were several trains cancelled?
Why, on a train that usually has plenty of seats to go around, did we have to travel like this?
The excuses you use, guy in charge, vary depending on where you are standing. If we are in Penn Station, you say it is the fault of Amtrak. If we are traveling on New Jersey Transit tracks, you say it was a switch, or a track, or a mechanical issue. Enough already! Just fix it. We would like to commute in general comfort without our personal space being violated. It's not too much to ask.
And, to the guy on the train that gave up his seat for the elderly lady, I applaud you.
To the guy on the train that huffed and puffed because we were standing too close to your seat, tough nooggies.
And to the guy on the train that is in charge of things, get back on your meds and fix it!
Monday, March 17, 2014
St. Patrick's Day
To the guy on the train that started celebrating a little early... it may have been better for you had you just stayed on the floor.
Watching your drunken meandering down the aisle while the train was in motion gave us a physical comedy routine that Chevy Chase would have envied. It looked like the floor of the train was a bouncy house and you were an intrepid seven year old.
The business man that you sat on could not have been nicer, though we could tell he was having a very hard time holding in his laughter. The woman who's lap was introduced to your face was a little less jovial, but she was at least wearing pants. Every one of us dove out of the way when it looked like the beer you had an hour ago was about to make an appearance. When, finally, you managed to find an empty seat and attempted to sit in it, it would have been better for you had you stayed on the floor.
For us, however, it was hysterical. Many people offered to help you, but your inebriated curses left no one willing. We were, however, completely willing to watch you make a fool of yourself trying to get your butt in that seat, and several people cheered when you were escorted off the train by a lovely police officer, who could not hold back his tears of laughter.
St. Patrick's Day is always an adventure in New York, especially on public transportation. This year was no exception.
So, to the guy on the train that was too drunk to stand, I hope the hangover is a good one.
Watching your drunken meandering down the aisle while the train was in motion gave us a physical comedy routine that Chevy Chase would have envied. It looked like the floor of the train was a bouncy house and you were an intrepid seven year old.
The business man that you sat on could not have been nicer, though we could tell he was having a very hard time holding in his laughter. The woman who's lap was introduced to your face was a little less jovial, but she was at least wearing pants. Every one of us dove out of the way when it looked like the beer you had an hour ago was about to make an appearance. When, finally, you managed to find an empty seat and attempted to sit in it, it would have been better for you had you stayed on the floor.
For us, however, it was hysterical. Many people offered to help you, but your inebriated curses left no one willing. We were, however, completely willing to watch you make a fool of yourself trying to get your butt in that seat, and several people cheered when you were escorted off the train by a lovely police officer, who could not hold back his tears of laughter.
St. Patrick's Day is always an adventure in New York, especially on public transportation. This year was no exception.
So, to the guy on the train that was too drunk to stand, I hope the hangover is a good one.
Thursday, March 13, 2014
Laughter in the morning.
For the entire 40 minute train ride, you played, laughed, bounced, whispered, laughed, tickled, flipped, hugged and laughed with your two young children.
Your fellow passengers, mostly business men and women dressed in suits, gearing up for the day, started out giving you furtive glances, annoyed that the soundtrack of their morning routine was to be you and your children. Annoyed that they just wanted to close their eyes, read their book, work on their report, listen to music, and were now distracted by the near constant peals of kiddie laughter coming from your seat.
Luckily, you didn't notice them. Or, if you did notice, you ignored them.
For as the train sped along, slowly a smile began to creep onto the faces of those around you. It started out small, but as the laughter kept going, the smiles grew. Soon, it was infectious. The entire car was filled to bursting with smiling, giggling, pleasant people. You and your children infected everyone around you with joy.
It is very difficult to ignore the laughter of a child, after all.
The affect lasted for a while, too. While exiting the train, people were generous and allowed others to go first (not normally the case during rush hour in the morning). I watched strangers commune over the laughter of your children. I saw men wave at your daughter as you held her in your arms. I heard women laughing while insisting the other go first, then bumping into each other and laughing again. It was simply amazing.
Unfortunately, it wore off at the bottom of the escalator, where the "me first" attitude and normal pushing recommenced.
But for a while, it was lovely. And I hope that you realized the affect that your little family had on us. I hope your day remains as pleasant as our ride became.
So I ask you, guy on the train... Could you bring your children to work again tomorrow?
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