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.
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Grumpy
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.
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.
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.
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