I Bit It

As I entered the train station at 2^nd & Market, I could hear my train approaching.  I knew I could just make it if I made a run for it.  I ran down the flight of stairs and sprinted toward the turnstiles, ticket in-hand. Then, I saw the glisten of the freshly mopped, blue tile floor about two seconds too late.  Thanks to the insufficient traction on my commuting flats, I was suddenly on my butt speedily sliding toward the giant silver turnstiles. My knee and shin bones quickly met the hard metal with a loud thud.  

At first, I thought I broke my leg—or knee.  A woman coming through the turnstile in the opposite direction next to me stood there, looked down at me for about five seconds, and then kept walking without saying a word.  Thank you for your concern, no, I’m fine!  At that point, I might have still been able to hobble onto the train but one, my leg was in a lot of pain and two, I was really embarrassed.  I had fleeting thoughts of people saying “that was the worst fall I’ve ever seen!” or just laughing at me until I cried. Plus, I’m like a toddler in that whenever I hurt myself, I can hold myself together until someone asks if I’m ok.  I decided to avoid humiliation and wait for the next train

I swiped my pass and limped over to the bench, trying to force back tears. I got on the next train and sat down in an open seat next to the control panel.  After a few minutes, I smelled something burning.  One of the train conductors walked over, opened up the panel and said into her walkie-talkie, “Uh oh, the inserters are all burnt out.  Get on the loud speaker and tell the passengers that I need to fix these before we get moving.” Icing. Gravy.

Somehow my train made it to 69^th street on time, and I was able to limp-run to my transfer. Right now, I’m sitting at my desk watching my leg swell. This is going to be an awesome day.

The Grooming Car

My boss (Anne) and I took Amtrak up to NYC for a client meeting on Tuesday.  Wanting to be able to do work during the hour and a half train ride, we sat in the Business Car.  Anne opens up her laptop and starts working on a project, and I take out some files for review, not paying much attention to the other travelers.

Anne leans over and  whispers in my ear "What is that girl doing?!"  I look across the aisle, and this young professional has a hair-straightener plugged into the outlet (where most business travelers plug in their laptops), and she's smoothing out her coif. 

At the same time, there is a youngish businessman sitting directly across the table from us. He's on what seems to be a very important phone call, until we hear him lower his voice and say,"I'd like to reschedule my facial appointment."

Anne types something on her laptop and tells me to lean over and read it:
"I think we inadvertently sat in the Grooming Car."

Girls Will Be...

I get on the El this morning, and my train is filled with hipster kids. Some look like they rolled out of a dumpster, some look like they rolled out of Boy George’s closet, so I can’t help but look around.  Two kids right in front of me are particularly intriguing.  The girl is dressed like a Polish immigrant—babushka on her head, scarf covering her face, wool military-style jacket and clogs—so until I hear her speak, I honestly think she’s a foreigner.  The boy she’s with is quite the portrait—he’s wearing a multi-colored patchwork hippie-meets-Bill Cosby jacket, a hot pink flannel shirt, skinny acid wash jeans, construction boots and is carrying a bag covered in peace signs and crossbones. He’s got a John Conner haircut (circa Terminator) and a pedophile mustache. In a very soft, feminine, high voice, he says to the girl, “Our train has been stalled for 10 min. I hope we don’t miss our bus.” 

I immediately realize that this boy is not a boy at all.  This boy is most certainly a girl—with a mustache.  If androgyny is hip, then I was totally hip when I was 13 years old and was continually mistaken for Taylor Hanson.

Little Middle Finger

A young girl of about 5 was sitting on her two grandmothers’ laps on the train this morning.  As I'm standing right next to their seats I hear the girl say, “This is the finger I was holding in my jacket for you,” as she holds up her middle finger with bright pink nail polish. 

Grandmother #1 tells her that she shouldn’t use that finger—that she should use her index finger to point. So the little girl points her index finger to the sky but then quickly switches back to her middle finger and says, “But I like this one better because it’s funny!”  At this point, both grandmothers are trying to swallow their laughter.

Then, the little girl says to Grandmother #2, “Grandma, I just passed gas on your lap!”

The man standing next to me turns around and says, “For a second there, I thought my grandson was riding on the train.  Sounds like something he’d say!”

Grandmother #1 replies, “I guess kids really do say the darndest things.”

Mix Tape

Yesterday’s commute was comprised of a few minor, yet amusing, little tidbits.  I hope one will give you at least a small chuckle.

1. Beam Me Up.  Something was definitely wrong with my train—it sounded like I was riding in a spaceship. I really loud, obnoxious movie-quality spaceship.  Coincidentally, the driver looked like Mr. Sulu, but I’m pretty certain that was the first time he’d ever driven a train spaceship because he was not obeying commands from the control center.  He was also driving the train so slowly that this old man in a walker passed us.  (Ok, I’m kidding about the old man in the walker, but it took a 20 minutes for a typically 7-minute train ride)

2. Gender Confusion. I get on my transfer, and this woman sitting there spills a red drink all over her light blue sweatpants and white bedazzled sweatshirt.  I grab a napkin out of my bag and say “Ma’am, here you go. This might help.” She turns around, takes off her hat, takes the napkin and starts wiping off.  At this point, I’m not certain if she’s a man or a woman.  So, I’m not sure if she didn’t say “thank you” because she’s rude, or because I’m an idiot.

3. Who Needs Pants?  Dude sitting in front of gets up and starts walking toward the door at his stop.  His pants fall plumb to his ankles.  Apparently he didn’t notice because he just kept walking until he looked down and said: “Shoot, my pants fell down.”  Luckily, he had on boxer shorts.

4. Keep it Straight. I exit the train and head down the corridor to buy my March Trailpass. A young guy carrying a nice leather satchel and wearing trendy clothing is standing against the wall.  When I walk by he says, “Miss, can I have some money?”  I decline and keep walking.  On my way back down the corridor, I hear:
Guy: “Can I have some money?”
Me: “You already asked me.” 
Guy: “What did you just say to me?!”
Me: “You already asked me.”
Guy: “Stupid bitch.”
Me: “If you’re going to ask for money, at least keep track of the people you’re asking.”
Guy: “You’re a stupid bitch.”
Me: “Good luck getting any money with that attitude, asshole.”