What goes through my mind any given Monday - Friday whilst bumbling along on SEPTA: Who the eff are you talkin’ to at 7:30 in the morning? It bet not be the person you just left; nor need it be the person you’re fidna see in less than 30 minutes.
I swear. Every rail car in the a.m. should be the quiet car--at the very least the first 2 should be. Dern.
And while I’m on the subject of public cell phone use, is there some kind of new stank-ass social experiment going on where select folk are encouraged to talk about their personal Gran’mama Clump relations ALOUD?!
On the geedee train?!
In the Tyler Perry mornting?!
A few weeks ago a bespectacled, rather snooty looking man and I were subjected to some chick armed with a wide-screen cellphone attached to a Bluetooth. She wielded that thing with the reckless abandon of a Taxi Cab Confessor; waved it like she just didn’t care.
It’s a whole other pointless rant why folk think it’s respectable to photo private parts and send them into the universe for unsuspecting, uninterested eyes like mine to see. The way I feel ‘bout it, Adam & Eve sinned enough already. We is clothed for very practical reasons and dernit, the word private still has meaning. At least it should.
But that was just the show part. I also got the tell which consisted of the following words (you associate as you see fit):
- Guuuuurrrllll (*Post-hot wing lip smack, lip smack*)
- So juicy
- Skrong (which in this context I took to mean a cross between skank and wrong)
- Did you get the text yet? Did you see it? Pass it on, gurl … rise and shine
Over the course of a good twenty minutes Mr. Bespectacled and I exchanged a series of very stern above-the-rim side-eyes. He snapped his NYT paper so hard so many times that it began to sound like a whip--which would’ve been a terrific accompanying sound effect were I not so grossed out.
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What do you think about when someone sits next to you and immediately opens a giant pack of Halls?
Me?
- I wonder about consumption
- Or about how stupid it feels to hold one’s breath when not underwater
- Mentally count the packets of Emergen-C I have left in my possession
- Calculate whether I can afford bail money if they cough or sneeze or exhale a li’l too heartily in my general direction
- Throw side-eyes at 6-second intervals
- Flash the hand sanitizer before applying it elbow-deep
- Wear extremely stern expression; fold arms
- Pray for one of us to soon arrive at destination
* * * * * * *
To the people who are apparently paying homage to Bach by snorting and sniffling a snot fugue--as a grown-ass person you ought to know about the following:
- Kleenex
- Sudafed
- Handkerchief
I spent two weeks straight wondering if someone on the train was on a truffle hunt. Every two-to-three seconds someone on my morning and evening train wouldn’t just sniff, they’d unleash this guttural, uvula-shaking, pre-loogie-hocking snort. It sounded like they had wide awake sleep apnea.
All I could think was:
Why are people so nasty? It’s extremely, increasingly disturbing when 1st world folk exhibit behavior that is beyond 3rd world nasty--I’m callin’ it 4th world stank.
Also, why sitchoass in the Quiet Car if’n you ain’t actually quiet?!
You should have seen the side-eyes people were throwing at the snorter. I don’t even know if these people knew they were side-eyeing, but eyes were practically vogueing: the quick up-down side-eye; the side-eye slit; the Bernie Mac bug-eyed side-eye ...
In addition to the side-eyes I also witnessed quite a few sharp and quick turn ‘n stares. This motion has the same staccato punch as the Bend ‘n Snap. I don’t do this move because its swift, jerky nature probably leads me one step closer to the chiropractor, but its effects are menacing. It’s a move I’ve only seen used in the Quiet Car. Someone’s phone dings or they take too long unwrapping a piece of peppermint and you see someone’s posture go vertical with the quickness, the head whips around and an eye of Mordor sears a whole in the offender’s very existence.
It’s at its very best when it’s followed by the school marm “Shhhhhhh!”
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Folk Who Eat on the Train:
NOTE: The Quiet Car should also be the “No Hot Food Car.” Smelling Popeye’s chicken during rush hour, to me, is just as offensive as the pack of punk-ass kids talking to their friends one stop away on speakerphone with their outside voices.
Do you have any idea how difficult it is to restrain oneself from going Cookie Monster crazy on the louse with the 2-piece and a biscuit?
Also, I don’t need to hear every morsel making its way to your esophagus. Nor do I need to hear every gulp and satiated “ah.” You ain’t hardly auditioning for no Sprite commercial.
I don’t miss having road rage at all, and I definitely don’t miss pumping gas. However, there are times when I’d give anything for the cocoon of my car. Some days I feel so conflicted--how big would my carbon footprint be if I broke it off in some offending commuter’s behind?