Danger Signs

There are two loud, gum-smacking, opinionated broads, on the sunny side of middle age, and sitting center car. I fear violence will soon be ensuing. This species of commuter is an anomaly, a glitch in the Matrix if you will. These carefree thrill-seekers know but willfully choose to disregard the rules of the rail. They talk too loudly, they express their dubious insight and trade sage wisdoms back and forth, loosely based on what one can only assume is their vast knowledge of the world, its many cultures and all current events. As to keeping the decibels down to a dull roar, well, these risk-takers....they just don't care. They repeatedly ignore warning signs like the all-too-familiar disapproving cough, they dismiss the exceptionally-loud paper rustle, and the many dirty looks. They choose not to recognize the angry hum of a mob starting to form. These bold, reckless commuters are not only a danger to themselves, but also to others should things get ugly.  An innocent bystander could be injured by an eye-dart and a particularly vicious glare has been known to cause multiple contusions and even blood loss. I think we are fast approaching Defcon 3...we are too close for missiles, we're switching to guns, Goose...

Got Milk?

We have a momma's boy with us today. Well, I believe this poor slob is really a browbeaten, hen-pecked husband, but I can't be absolutely sure.  I just quietly observed him carrying on a conversation with someone who spoke so loudly on the other end that one would think the cell phone was on loudspeaker. Well, to make a long story short....there was a whole lotta talk about milk. Yep, you heard me. This guy has been firmly instructed....no, rather charged with the sacred duty of obtaining a gallon of milk on his way home. It is possible that he has failed at this noble venture before, hence the emphatic, loud and repeated exaltations on the other end of the phone to achieve success. I'm not sure why this woman was so loud, as clearly we could have rioted and injured her husband in punishment for her big mouth and the breaking of the auditory peace. Perhaps she believes if the rest of the car knows he is supposed to get milk on the way home, we might give him a final reminder before we all disembark the train?

Holy Moley

I'm not sure what classification this one goes in....perhaps just as a scientific curiousity or maybe a sideshow. Anyhow, I chose wisely today and I'm on an end-cap of a 3-seater with *ahem* extremely big-boned woman on the window. She's fully decked out in Pepto-Bismol pink and the one wrist that is exposed shows several too-small gold bracelets struggling to remain clasped while being separated by individual rolls of fat. After we hit the tunnel she fell asleep in such record time one would suspect narcolepsy. It is then that, as her head shifted towards me, I observed her opposite cheek sported an Uncle Buck-sized facial mole, adorned with 4 long hairs. Yes, it was so big I could count them even out of the corner of my eye because, you know, its not polite to stare. As she took it down for her first REM cycle, her mouth flopped open and the intake of each breath caused the 4 mole hairs to be gently bent inwards. Each exhale made them flip the other way, waving madly but in a tight, almost choreographed formation....sort of like the follicular equivalent of the Electric Slide. Actually, I just realized I am staring now....ah well, manners can't take precedence over the serious journalistic reporting I'm doing here anyway.  The public has to know these things...

Assault with a Dreadly Weapon

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. 

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

Space Invaders

Yeah, you read me right but I'm not talking about the vintage 80's video game. I'm talking about the living (mouth)breathing type of Space Invader. On a train car, that manifests itself in several ways. One common type of Space Invader is the inevitable Leaner. These creatures typically get on at Farmingdale just when you think you escaped a middle-seatmate and squeeze in the middle of your triple. Even though they seem to have some leeway on the starboard side, they lean on you anyway.  You are forced to wage a silent and unacknowledged battle for elbow room. By switching your travel mug to your center arm and taking frequent sips of coffee, the constant friction of your jacket sleeve can deplete their life force and cause them to retreat back to their allotted space. Another well-known type of space invader is the Lap-Bagger. These are the people who rest their laptop bags on their laps upon being seated and promptly fall into an immediate coma. Only then do you realize that the diameter of their bag exceeds their lap size and they have hangage over each side. These creatures also tend to leave their shoulder straps dangling to fwap maddeningly against your kneecap. Gentle nudging of the hangage of their bag, closely timed with the swaying of the train so you aren't caught, is the way to combat this creature. Of course you may earn the ire of the passenger on the other side who now has even more excess hangage, but you can feel proud at your bold move in striking first, and be sure that guy is probably blogging about you and the fact that you ruined his day anyway.