Riding Trains With Strangers

Saturday, December 4, 2010
10:25 PM  This is my life.

Let me tell you about the train ride home yesterday.  So, it's Friday evening.  I get out of work around six and elbow my way through the mobs of people surrounding Rockefeller Plaza.  It's an interesting mix of awestruck tourists trying to get to the tree and angry New Yorkers trying to get home from work.  I don't think I've heard the words "Jesus Christ" uttered so many times in such a short span of time.

So, I get to Penn Station and I'm standing by the giant Departure board, waiting for my gate to be announced.  While impatiently shifting my bags I get irrationally angry as I watch a girl my age coming up the escalator holding a bag of popcorn.  Instead of using her other free hand to eat the popcorn, she dips her tongue into the bag and happily munches away.  This evokes an anger in me I can't fully describe, but I feel a little better imagining myself punching the bag out of her hands.  Why so angry?  It's not nice or even  logical, but maybe it's because I'm breathless and achy and stressed and there she is, floating up the escalator, tonguing her popcorn.

Anyway, the gate gets listed and I elbow my way through the line and get on the train.  I had forgotten my iPod at home the weekend before, so I was especially psyched to nab a seat in the "Quiet Car."  I was looking forward to peace and quiet, especially since I didn't have music to distract me or to drown out noise.

Alas, just as the train is about to leave, I notice a middle-aged man hovering near my seat.  Actually, that's not true.  I smelled stale smoke, and then I realized a middle-aged man was hovering near my seat.  "Can I sit here?" he smiled, through yellow teeth.  "Sure," I shrugged, turning back to my book.

Even looking back now, I can't figure out what possessed this man to talk to me.  In fact, I'm not sure what possesses any man to talk to me when I don't want to be talked to, because I think I make my body language pretty clear.  I had my head buried in a book and I had my body shifted away from him (and the stench of smoke) and toward the window.  Oh, and did I mention the book I was reading was "Chastened"?  Like, if the fact that I'm sitting alone on a train reading a book doesn't scream "Hey Men! Don't talk to me!" the fact that the book I'm reading says "CHASTENED" in big black letters across the front should be enough to send any sane man running.  But alas, I have always had a knack for attracting the crazies...

Announcer:  (static)  ...Ladies and Gentleman, this is the 6:43 train 148 regional train to Springfield, Massachusetts...

Creeper:  (takes a deep breath, holds it for a moment)  Say, do you know if this train is going to Springfield?

T: (looks up from her book)  I think so.

T turns back to her book.

2 minutes later...

Creeper:  So, are you from Manhattan?

T:  (half looks up)  No, I'm not.

The Creeper pauses, takes a deep breath and holds it again.  T braces herself.

Creeper:  Well, I'm from Springfield.

T nods, not looking up from her book.

1 minute later...

Creeper:  I wonder why people from Connecticut don't have accents.  Like in Massachusetts, where I'm from people say, "I'm going to pahk the cah," but people in Connecticut don't sound like that.

T:  (looks at the Creeper, mostly to be sure this is actually happening)  Yeah, I don't know.

8 minutes later...

The Creeper stands up.

Creeper:  Would you mind watching my bag for me?

T:  Sure.

15 minutes later the Creeper returns, Bloody Mary in hand.  He sits down and slurps loudly.

Creeper:  You know, I gotta tell ya, these drinks are pretty good.

T: (no longer bothering to look up) That's good.

Creeper: Would you like one?

T:  Nope, I'm all set.

The Creeper slurps loudly.

15 minutes later the Creeper stands up and leaves again.  He returns five minutes later with another Bloody Mary.  He sits down heavily.

Creeper:  Did you know they call this the 'Quiet Car'?  I'm going to call it the 'Party Car.'

T:  (raises an eyebrow)  Are you allowed to do that?

T braces herself.  In her impulse to go to sarcasm she has accidentally asked the Creeper a question.  Fortunately he is too busy gulping his Bloody Mary to answer.

5 minutes later...

Creeper:  I bet you're in school will all that reading you're doing.

T:  I do like reading.

NOTE: T dodges the question about college on purpose.  Talking about college or anything related to college is dangerous.  Much like marijuana is considered a gateway drug to the use of other more dangerous drugs, talking about college can lead to a plethora of more dangerous topics of conversation.  Questions like where you went, what you majored in, and how you liked it can go on forever, quickly leaving you helpless and wondering at what point in the conversation you lost control.

10 minutes later...

Creeper:  May I ask how many more years of school you have?

T: (exasperated)  I've graduated.

Creeper:  Oh wow!  I bet you were a business major.

T:  (turning a page in her book)  Nope.

Creeper:  Sorry?

T: (she looks at him and enunciates)  I wasn't a business major.

1 minute later...

Creeper:  Well, I was a psychology major.  I chose it because I'm so mentally screwed up, I thought it would help me figure some stuff out.  But then I realized my professors were even more screwed up than I was!

T: That's good you learned something.

T is seriously considering pretending to fall asleep at this point, except she's sort of afraid he'll sit there and watch her.  Then something miraculous happens...

Creeper:  I just got a promotion at work and they want me t-

The woman sitting in front of T and the Creeper turns around.

Woman: (to the Creeper) Excuse me, would you mind keeping it down?

Creeper:  I'm so sorry.

T smirks into her book.

Not five minutes later, the Creeper stands up, gathers his things, bids T farewell and moves into a different car.

To his credit, he did so quietly.

Love,
Tara