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.
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