To the guy on the train that was seriously fat phobic... kiss my ass.
So... I have this aspect to my personality that allows other people to feel that they can say anything to me. Usually I don't mind this aspect at all - I have really interesting conversations with people whose names I will never know about a whole host of things. I've heard about their marriage problems, their sexual fantasies, their shopping woes, and more. A great majority of the time I am perfectly willing to chat and listen to them as people fascinate me and they seem to need to tell someone, so it might as well be me.
About eight percent of the time I'm just in a hurry and don't really have the time to listen, which makes me feel bad, but I just need to scootch.
About five percent of the time, though, this aspect allows people to say some really horrible stuff to me. It's upsetting.
On occasions where I exist in a group and I have neither been the fattest or the thinnest, the prettiest or the homeliest, the most put together or the most a mess, people have chosen me to say horrible things to.
Also, I'm not a skinny girl. I'm learning to embrace the term BBW but for reasons both personal and insecure I'm still having some trouble with it.
Basically... I'm fat.
Both of these facts about me combined last night to create a very uncomfortable ride home.
Running to Penn with some sprightly music playing in my earbuds, I managed to make the early train, which is rare, and usually by the time I slide into the car it's fairly packed. Most of the time I must stand for the ride home when I make the early train as I'm just late enough to miss out on a good spot.
Last night, however, I managed to find a seat. Yay!
Now, I know I'm not a little girl, I'm very aware of this in public (how can I not be?), and I try to contain myself and my belongings without spilling over onto any neighbors. As I slid into the seat last night, though, the guy sitting by the window reacted as though I had cooties.
I hoped that it was only because he was hoping no one would sit by him and that it wasn't personal.
I was wrong.
He grabbed his bag tighter and slid as close to the window as he could
with a mumbled, "Ugh," of disgust. He acted as though what I have is
catching. That just by being in my general vicinity his weight was
bound to increase. Oh goody.
Still enjoying my music I hear another mumble, something along the lines of, "... disgusting ..."
OK.
As my song finished, in that breath of air before the next one kicked in, I heard, "How does a person let themselves get so fat? Bleechh," also mumbled.
It occurred to me in this moment that he has probably been talking non-stop since I sat down, and but for the music in my ears I would have heard the entire monologue.
Just then the conductor came by looking for tickets. I flashed him my phone which displays my ticket and said, "Thank you," which got a grunt and an eye roll from my friend.
He couldn't seem to get his ticket to show on his phone, though, and as the conductor stood there waiting patiently, my friend angrily said, "You know... I have a ticket so you're just gonna to have to wait. It won't come up."
"You should pull up the ticket before you get on the train so we don't have this problem. I'll be back soon to see the ticket," the conductor replied in complete monotone, totally used to this trick.
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever," my friend said as the conductor sidled away. A moment later came a low, "Asshole."
So, basically, this guy is a peach.
It was at this point that I pulled out my phone and sent a text to my boyfriend:
Would it be crazily rude of me to kick this mean guy in the shins or should I just glare at him and think mean thoughts in my head?
"It's just gross," came another mumble.
No kicking came the quick reply, which made me giggle.
My friend then quietly questioned the Universe, "Why do all the fat people always sit by me?"
I looked right at him for the first time and said in a complete deadpan, "We had a meeting."
I scared the shit out of him - he hadn't realized that I could hear him, what with my earbuds being in and all. He looked flabbergasted.
Good.
He continued to sputter for a moment then curled closer to the window, still seemingly afraid of my fat cooties. He wouldn't want to catch the fat, after all.
I relayed this little exchange to my boyfriend who declared me the winner, which also made me giggle.
We spent the rest of the ride in silence, thankfully, no more muttered invectives from my friend.
As I got up to exit the train I looked at him for the second time and said, "Have a good night."
He looked scandalized - I couldn't tell if it was because he got caught or because a fat girl dared talk to him. Either way I wasn't sorry.
His comments stuck with me for most of the night. They made me sad more than anything. Sad that people still have such a harsh reaction to weight.
I've been learning to accept myself for the past several years and so far I've been doing well. I even like myself now. I could stay at this weight for the rest of my life and be perfectly content.
Then it occurred to me that my weight is on a lot of people's minds and that also made me sad.
When I lose a little weight, friends comment that I look good! "You look so much better! You had gotten big there!"
Other friends tell me, with the best of intentions, that they were talking with yet more friends about how much better I look now. Apparently it's a popular topic.
Some friends and family tell me that they don't care about what I weigh, they love me anyway (in spite of, is what I think they mean), that they just want ME to be happy.
Well... sure. But here's the thing: thin doesn't equal happy, it only equals thin. Fat doesn't equal unhappy, it only equals fat. These states of being don't come with any emotion attached until someone else puts one there. Other people add shame, guilt, disgust. Without the comments and looks from others the fat or thin would just be, just exist, sans emotion. Funny, that.
It's ironic that the bigger I am the less visible I seem to be in the world, but that has nothing to do with happy either. People will see what they want to see. If they choose to look more deeply, they'll see the best parts of me. If not, I have no problem remaining invisible to them.
This isn't the first time someone has said these things to me, and it won't be the last, which is the saddest part of all.
My friend from the train and others like him will never see me, never see the happy girl I am. The cool girl. He'll only look and notice the fat.
Their loss.
So... to the guy on the train that was seriously fat phobic... you need to get over it. I wish for you the ability to look and see, not just notice. I hope you never make another person feel as small as you made me feel last night. I hope you learned something, I know I sure did.
In the meantime, though, you can kiss my entire ass.
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
Friday, August 14, 2015
Olfactory Issues
To the guys on the train sitting on either side of me ... you need to get your shit together.
Last night the foot traffic, lights, and fellow New Yorkers were all on my side allowing me to get to Penn Station in time to catch the early train, which I usually miss by about a minute. This train is often more packed than my normal train, but a seat is findable with very little effort.
I slid into the car and noticed an empty place in the center of a three-seat. I said the obligatory, "Excuse me," to the guy on the end while pointing to the middle seat - the standard commuter sign language. He harumphed a bit, but got up to let me in.
The first thing I noticed as I settled in was the thick cloud of pot smoke pulsing from the guy next to the window, now sitting on my left. It was excessive and I could tell that I was in for a contact high just from sitting next to him. I could practically see it emanating off his skin, bringing the image of Pigpen from Charlie Brown to mind, only instead of dirt it was pot smoke.
I turned my face away from the pot fog only to be assaulted by an odor coming from the other side of me. I tried to mask my reflexive gag with a yawn but I'm not sure I was successful. I didn't want to make him feel bad, but the guy on my right was in dire need of a shower. Or deodorant. Or both.
So there I was, stuck between Pot Guy and Stinky and trying to figure out a way to ride home in peace without upsetting either of them. I mean, Pot Guy probably knew that he carried with him the fog of his activities, but he was way too stoned to care. And I don't know what Stinky's story is - perhaps he has a condition, or is in a situation that doesn't allow him to bathe on the regular - but I didn't want to make him feel "less than" just because his aroma was nauseating.
But I also had to do something to protect myself from these olfactory assaults.
Thinking quickly I decided that I should dive into my book and assume a pose not unlike "The Thinker" only with one finger resting under my nose. This, I decided, would alleviate some of the burden my poor nose was now under.
It worked to a point, but it was the best I could come up with.
Had this been my only issue with my fellow seat dwellers it would have been a fairly simple ride from there.
But, no. This is me we're talking about after all.
To set the scene a little more I should tell you that I was wearing a cute denim skirt that I love. The hem lands just above my knee and there are slits in the sides measuring about three inches. When I sit the hem hits me at about mid-thigh. Sitting in this three-seat we were not squished or pressed against each other, but our legs did touch gently. We were about as comfortable as three people can be in a three-seat on New Jersey Transit.
As I was sitting there mimicking the dude above, I suddenly felt a tickle on my leg. I thought the hem of my skirt was moving and causing the sensation so I reached down and moved it a bit, quickly resuming my pose. The smells were combining and making me ill.
Then it happened again, only this time I could feel Stinky's pinky finger slowly sliding up and under my skirt.
I looked at him and said, "Don't do that." He had the nerve to look confused. My statement also caused Pot Guy to make a strange gurgling sound.
We all resumed our poses, Pot Guy curled up against the window, me "Thinking," and Stinky looking confused.
I dove right back into my book.
Several minutes go by and I suddenly feel a hand on my knee. My bare knee, mind you, because of said skirt. He must have been very stealthy, or my book was just that good, because not only was his hand on my knee but his thumb was making little circling movements as though we were lovers, and may have been resting there for a while.
"Take your hand off me," I said, though quietly, while simultaneously trying to hold my breath. I was still attempting to be polite, you see. This caused Pot Guy to catch a case of the Pot Giggles.
It took all of my self-control not to burst out laughing right along with him, but I knew that Stinky would take it the wrong way if I did.
We all resumed our poses as the giggles trailed off.
My book beckoned yet again and I dove right in.
When Stinky started in with the pinky again I snapped my head at him and said, "Really?" immediately regretting that decision as the assault of scent hit me, which made Pot Guy nearly burst. His face turned beat red as he tried to stifle the laughter, curling deeper into as much of a fetal position that NJT seats would allow, all of which resulted in him snorting and popping as he tried to hold it all in.
Unable to stifle my own giggles this time I said to him under my breath, "Look, I know you're all kinds of stoned, but try to keep it together!"
His response was to press himself up against the window and say, "Hoooooooo (deep breath) hoooooooo (deep breath) hoooooooo!" in an oddly high voice as he tried to calm down.
I'm not sure whether it was the contact high or just the absurdity of the situation, but I caught his giggles. The two of us sitting there, trying to stifle our laughter and, at the same time, trying not to breathe must have been a sight. Several other passengers were catching the pot giggles as well.
Relief flooded through me as I noticed that my stop was fast approaching. Before I could ask Stinky to allow my exit, however, I felt a hand on my thigh yet again! Only this time it was on my inner thigh and moving north.
I had had it.
"Take your goddamned hand offmythigh!!!" I said quite loudly. He had the audacity to look shocked. Pot Guy was now screaming with laughter. Our fellow passengers were a combination of giggles and outrage (though I couldn't tell if their outrage was directed at me for being loud or at him for putting his hands on me).
"I'm getting off," I told Stinky, who begrudgingly stood up (I'm usually much more polite than that). He managed to place himself in a position next to the seat that, were I to slide out I would have had to press myself against him. I just looked at him blankly.
Finally the guy across the aisle noticed my predicament and made Stinky move.
As Stinky slid back into his seat I heard him mumble, "Well, don't wear a skirt if you don't want..."
As though the fact gave him tacit permission to put his hands on me. As though my wearing a skirt was a sign that I wanted to be touched by a total stranger. My first instinct was to let him have it, as loudly as possible, but the tide was moving toward the door and a scene was no longer an option. I just left.
By the time I reached the fresh air of New Jersey my head was pounding. I had been clenching my jaw the entire ride as a result of the bouquet of scents I was ensconced in. I felt dirty as well: I could feel the pot fog sticking to my skin, feel Stinky's hand print lingering. I usually love getting the early train as it allows me more time to freshen up before going out. Not this time.
I cancelled my plans and exchanged them for a long soak in a hot bath. It took a lot of heat to remove the memory of those scents and that touch.
In my youth I had a lot of incidents with men putting their hands on me without my permission, some of them a little scary. One would think that now that I am a plus-sized woman, a BBW if you will, that this would have stopped, but no. Certain men still try to put their hands on me in random places, still whisper come-ons tinged with threats in my ear, still think that they have the right to my person just because I exist. Usually they back off as soon as I say something. This guy just feigned confusion that I would have any objections to his hand on my skin.
It pissed me off.
Plus, he was really stinky.
So, to the guys on the train sitting on either side of me ... you suck. Pot Guy, while you kept the situation entertaining, you were too stoned to come to my aid when a man put his hands on me. You were too stoned to care that your seatmate was in any kind of distress. And Stinky... first, you need to bathe AND use deodorant. If you do have a condition you need to make an extra effort. Seriously. And don't ever put your hands on another woman without her permission, you prick. Especially after she tells you not to. Even if I had been sitting there naked it wouldn't give you permission to touch me.
Sitting between you both was an olfactory nightmare and a decidedly uncomfortable situation. Neither of you should be out in public, let alone stuffed into a metal tube with a thousand other people.
Both of you, you need to get your shit together.
Last night the foot traffic, lights, and fellow New Yorkers were all on my side allowing me to get to Penn Station in time to catch the early train, which I usually miss by about a minute. This train is often more packed than my normal train, but a seat is findable with very little effort.
I slid into the car and noticed an empty place in the center of a three-seat. I said the obligatory, "Excuse me," to the guy on the end while pointing to the middle seat - the standard commuter sign language. He harumphed a bit, but got up to let me in.
The first thing I noticed as I settled in was the thick cloud of pot smoke pulsing from the guy next to the window, now sitting on my left. It was excessive and I could tell that I was in for a contact high just from sitting next to him. I could practically see it emanating off his skin, bringing the image of Pigpen from Charlie Brown to mind, only instead of dirt it was pot smoke.
I turned my face away from the pot fog only to be assaulted by an odor coming from the other side of me. I tried to mask my reflexive gag with a yawn but I'm not sure I was successful. I didn't want to make him feel bad, but the guy on my right was in dire need of a shower. Or deodorant. Or both.
So there I was, stuck between Pot Guy and Stinky and trying to figure out a way to ride home in peace without upsetting either of them. I mean, Pot Guy probably knew that he carried with him the fog of his activities, but he was way too stoned to care. And I don't know what Stinky's story is - perhaps he has a condition, or is in a situation that doesn't allow him to bathe on the regular - but I didn't want to make him feel "less than" just because his aroma was nauseating.
But I also had to do something to protect myself from these olfactory assaults.
Thinking quickly I decided that I should dive into my book and assume a pose not unlike "The Thinker" only with one finger resting under my nose. This, I decided, would alleviate some of the burden my poor nose was now under.
It worked to a point, but it was the best I could come up with.
Had this been my only issue with my fellow seat dwellers it would have been a fairly simple ride from there.
But, no. This is me we're talking about after all.
To set the scene a little more I should tell you that I was wearing a cute denim skirt that I love. The hem lands just above my knee and there are slits in the sides measuring about three inches. When I sit the hem hits me at about mid-thigh. Sitting in this three-seat we were not squished or pressed against each other, but our legs did touch gently. We were about as comfortable as three people can be in a three-seat on New Jersey Transit.
As I was sitting there mimicking the dude above, I suddenly felt a tickle on my leg. I thought the hem of my skirt was moving and causing the sensation so I reached down and moved it a bit, quickly resuming my pose. The smells were combining and making me ill.
Then it happened again, only this time I could feel Stinky's pinky finger slowly sliding up and under my skirt.
I looked at him and said, "Don't do that." He had the nerve to look confused. My statement also caused Pot Guy to make a strange gurgling sound.
We all resumed our poses, Pot Guy curled up against the window, me "Thinking," and Stinky looking confused.
I dove right back into my book.
Several minutes go by and I suddenly feel a hand on my knee. My bare knee, mind you, because of said skirt. He must have been very stealthy, or my book was just that good, because not only was his hand on my knee but his thumb was making little circling movements as though we were lovers, and may have been resting there for a while.
"Take your hand off me," I said, though quietly, while simultaneously trying to hold my breath. I was still attempting to be polite, you see. This caused Pot Guy to catch a case of the Pot Giggles.
It took all of my self-control not to burst out laughing right along with him, but I knew that Stinky would take it the wrong way if I did.
We all resumed our poses as the giggles trailed off.
My book beckoned yet again and I dove right in.
When Stinky started in with the pinky again I snapped my head at him and said, "Really?" immediately regretting that decision as the assault of scent hit me, which made Pot Guy nearly burst. His face turned beat red as he tried to stifle the laughter, curling deeper into as much of a fetal position that NJT seats would allow, all of which resulted in him snorting and popping as he tried to hold it all in.
Unable to stifle my own giggles this time I said to him under my breath, "Look, I know you're all kinds of stoned, but try to keep it together!"
His response was to press himself up against the window and say, "Hoooooooo (deep breath) hoooooooo (deep breath) hoooooooo!" in an oddly high voice as he tried to calm down.
I'm not sure whether it was the contact high or just the absurdity of the situation, but I caught his giggles. The two of us sitting there, trying to stifle our laughter and, at the same time, trying not to breathe must have been a sight. Several other passengers were catching the pot giggles as well.
Relief flooded through me as I noticed that my stop was fast approaching. Before I could ask Stinky to allow my exit, however, I felt a hand on my thigh yet again! Only this time it was on my inner thigh and moving north.
I had had it.
"Take your goddamned hand offmythigh!!!" I said quite loudly. He had the audacity to look shocked. Pot Guy was now screaming with laughter. Our fellow passengers were a combination of giggles and outrage (though I couldn't tell if their outrage was directed at me for being loud or at him for putting his hands on me).
"I'm getting off," I told Stinky, who begrudgingly stood up (I'm usually much more polite than that). He managed to place himself in a position next to the seat that, were I to slide out I would have had to press myself against him. I just looked at him blankly.
Finally the guy across the aisle noticed my predicament and made Stinky move.
As Stinky slid back into his seat I heard him mumble, "Well, don't wear a skirt if you don't want..."
As though the fact gave him tacit permission to put his hands on me. As though my wearing a skirt was a sign that I wanted to be touched by a total stranger. My first instinct was to let him have it, as loudly as possible, but the tide was moving toward the door and a scene was no longer an option. I just left.
By the time I reached the fresh air of New Jersey my head was pounding. I had been clenching my jaw the entire ride as a result of the bouquet of scents I was ensconced in. I felt dirty as well: I could feel the pot fog sticking to my skin, feel Stinky's hand print lingering. I usually love getting the early train as it allows me more time to freshen up before going out. Not this time.
I cancelled my plans and exchanged them for a long soak in a hot bath. It took a lot of heat to remove the memory of those scents and that touch.
In my youth I had a lot of incidents with men putting their hands on me without my permission, some of them a little scary. One would think that now that I am a plus-sized woman, a BBW if you will, that this would have stopped, but no. Certain men still try to put their hands on me in random places, still whisper come-ons tinged with threats in my ear, still think that they have the right to my person just because I exist. Usually they back off as soon as I say something. This guy just feigned confusion that I would have any objections to his hand on my skin.
It pissed me off.
Plus, he was really stinky.
So, to the guys on the train sitting on either side of me ... you suck. Pot Guy, while you kept the situation entertaining, you were too stoned to come to my aid when a man put his hands on me. You were too stoned to care that your seatmate was in any kind of distress. And Stinky... first, you need to bathe AND use deodorant. If you do have a condition you need to make an extra effort. Seriously. And don't ever put your hands on another woman without her permission, you prick. Especially after she tells you not to. Even if I had been sitting there naked it wouldn't give you permission to touch me.
Sitting between you both was an olfactory nightmare and a decidedly uncomfortable situation. Neither of you should be out in public, let alone stuffed into a metal tube with a thousand other people.
Both of you, you need to get your shit together.
Tuesday, July 21, 2015
Quotes
To the folks on the train that love Monty Python... you kinda rock.
So, last night was yet another night of crazy train delays on the part of New Jersey Transit. Apparently, when it gets hot the power to the train lines is affected and the trains can't run. You'd think that, having run trains in NY/NJ for the last 40+ years, Amtrak and NJT would be prepared for hot weather, but you would be wrong.
They are not prepared. For anything.
Last night, after waiting for almost an hour with all the other cranky New Yorkers, they announced the track for the express train, and subsequently cancelled the local. About ten minutes later (always efficient) they announced that the express would be making all local stops, so about 3 trains worth of people ran and scrambled and pushed and shoved their way onto the train. It was a hoot.
I ended up on a double-decker train standing on the stairs leading up along with 4 other people, while the stairs leading down were also packed (but those folks were awfully cranky). Everyone was hot as the air was minimal, and obviously in a bad mood, though some more than others.
After about 10 minutes of people trying to prove that they could fit into the already packed car and failing miserably, they closed the doors, leaving us hot and sweaty and cranky and close. Too close. They proceeded to leave us shut in the train for more than 20 minutes with no movement, no air, no idea what was going on. Yeah, it was a hoot, alright.
I ended up standing on the stairs with a friend from the jitney, and we were chatting amiably about books and other things, giggling and trying to keep it light. There was no sense indulging in the angst for that would have only made us, and everyone around us, more miserable. The chick below us on the lower stairs, however, was terribly annoyed that we were not as annoyed as she. While chugging her 20oz Budweiser, she stood on the lower steps cursing up a storm, predictably making certain people around her cranky, and just reveling in her pissiness.
With great effort we, as a group, tried to ignore her.
On the wall across from us was a large poster that quickly caught everyone's attention. It was a poster for Finlandia butter and there, staring every hungry one of us in the face, was a muffin with yummy butter on it. Really, yummy butter.
So, last night was yet another night of crazy train delays on the part of New Jersey Transit. Apparently, when it gets hot the power to the train lines is affected and the trains can't run. You'd think that, having run trains in NY/NJ for the last 40+ years, Amtrak and NJT would be prepared for hot weather, but you would be wrong.
They are not prepared. For anything.
Last night, after waiting for almost an hour with all the other cranky New Yorkers, they announced the track for the express train, and subsequently cancelled the local. About ten minutes later (always efficient) they announced that the express would be making all local stops, so about 3 trains worth of people ran and scrambled and pushed and shoved their way onto the train. It was a hoot.
I ended up on a double-decker train standing on the stairs leading up along with 4 other people, while the stairs leading down were also packed (but those folks were awfully cranky). Everyone was hot as the air was minimal, and obviously in a bad mood, though some more than others.
After about 10 minutes of people trying to prove that they could fit into the already packed car and failing miserably, they closed the doors, leaving us hot and sweaty and cranky and close. Too close. They proceeded to leave us shut in the train for more than 20 minutes with no movement, no air, no idea what was going on. Yeah, it was a hoot, alright.
I ended up standing on the stairs with a friend from the jitney, and we were chatting amiably about books and other things, giggling and trying to keep it light. There was no sense indulging in the angst for that would have only made us, and everyone around us, more miserable. The chick below us on the lower stairs, however, was terribly annoyed that we were not as annoyed as she. While chugging her 20oz Budweiser, she stood on the lower steps cursing up a storm, predictably making certain people around her cranky, and just reveling in her pissiness.
With great effort we, as a group, tried to ignore her.
On the wall across from us was a large poster that quickly caught everyone's attention. It was a poster for Finlandia butter and there, staring every hungry one of us in the face, was a muffin with yummy butter on it. Really, yummy butter.
The discussions about food began to inundate the crowd. We were all hungry and late for dinner, so these snippets of
conversation were not going over well with my very upset, beer guzzling
neighbor and those in similar states of cranky.
I was on my way to a friend's house for Taco Monday and the muffin was not helping things, so I decided to try and focus on something else, anything else.
The word Finland stuck in my head, staring at me from the poster.
Finland.
Finland.
There's a song there. I know that song. I suddenly sang, "Finland, Finland, Finland..." not too loud, but not under my breath either. (Sometimes these things just burst out of me and I can't help it).
"The country where I want to be..." wafted quietly across the train car from a man at the bottom of the steps. We just looked at each other and burst out laughing. There were some smiles from other people as well, but most just looked at us like we had three heads.
Suddenly, "It doesn't look like a killer rabbit to me..." came from the lower deck.
Then, "I fart in your general direction!" from the vestibule near us, complete with terrible French accent.
Now people were finally catching on and laughter was beginning to be contagious.
"This parrot is dead!"
"One more wafer..."
"Bring out your dead!"
"Albatross!! Albatross!!"
There were about 6 or 7 of us tossing Monty Python quotes about and laughing, just trying to remove ourselves from the situation at hand.
The cranky chick was practically apoplectic.
Finally, after a moment of silence, a guy near the door said, "I'd do a silly walk but I think these people would kill me."
That did it. Everyone burst out laughing, giggling, sighing, sharing the moment.
Everyone, that is, except the very cranky, beer guzzling chick on the lower steps. She was not happy that we weren't unhappy. Not happy at all. She was more upset by the fact that we were laughing than she was about being stuck in a metal tube with a thousand other people and no air.
After a string of cursing us and our intimate parts, the silly walk guy said, "Oh, lighten up. We're all in the same boat and we might as well make the best of it."
Just then the doors opened up due to a passenger emergency, because that's what happens when you stuff three trains worth of people into one train for 20 minutes with no air, passengers pass out and have emergencies. Our cranky neighbor led a charge to exit the train, invectives trailing behind her along with several other unhappy travelers who decided to try their luck elsewhere.
About two minutes after that the doors closed and we left the station, but now with slightly more room and a feeling of camaraderie.
As we made it to our respective destinations, we Monty Python fans said goodbye to one another, wished each other luck, and smiled.
What could have been the ride from hell turned into a crowd effort to maintain sanity by a group of nerds, and it was lovely.
So, to the folks on the train that love Monty Python... Thank you for joining in the moment, for making light of a difficult situation, for letting your nerd flags fly on a typical New Jersey Transit nightmare ride. It wasn't fun, per se, but it was entertaining and it definitely took our minds off of the fact that we were packed in like sardines.
Also, you kinda rock.
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