Its only 8:35AM on this fine Thursday morning and I've already been assaulted by dreadlocks. Its kind of like a jellyfish attack, there's not much you can do but hope it ends soon so you can pursue medical attention. I have a rasta bobble head in the middle of my three-seater and while I can appreciate her need to sleep, I am getting ready to administer my third shoulder-bump of the morning, immediately followed by the tight-eyebrow glare AND conclude with the overly-loud-sigh-of-exasperation. That's my Mortal Kombat-esque finishing move, I gots me no more in the tool box of trainride weaponry after this.
If she still continues this behavior, I'll have to see about tag-teaming with the guy on the end seat who just got bobbled from the other direction. We just exchanged a very expressive mutual eye-roll, so at least I know I'm not the only soldier in this battle.
I'm sure Rumsfeld never imagined a theater of war could exist on a passenger train. Perhaps I should write an op-ed for the Pentagon on evasive maneuvers and tactical strategy. I'm sure West Point will be calling any minute now, so I'll be keeping the lines free.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Biblical Groundhog Day
Bible lady again for like the third time in a month, bright purple bag, blood red nails, little hat affixed slightly askew. I think we are becoming friends, you know, the kind that don't talk or know each other's names. She's a damn middle seat sitter, thus inviting just any old person to sit on the end cap. No strategy, no game play, she folds before the hand even starts. Maybe the middle seat has some special significance, perhaps its holy. The Church of the Middle Seat. Hallelujah! Praise the MTA!
Cakeburgler
On the train in a 3/2 seat combo facing a guy who has two huge bakery boxes on his right knee, just inches from my hands. He's telling the guy next to him that he's a bakery wholesaler and opened the box to show him the goods. He is now describing some sort of chocolate layered torte to this guy. I'm quietly trying to pretend like I'm not eavesdropping but the telltale puddle of drool on my knee is a dead giveaway
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