Young Love…or should I say Young Turmoil

By Guest Blogger Michelle Vroom

http://lifeasavroom.blogspot.com/

I knew something was wrong the moment I stepped on the train. There was screaming. And you’re not supposed to hear screaming at 7:30 in the morning. You’re supposed to hear silence. The sound of people attempting to wake up and start their day. Some aren’t even awake yet. But you’re definitely not supposed to hear screaming.

At first I couldn’t tell where the screaming was coming from. The girl who was emitting those horrible noises was crouched low in her seat so you could barely see the top of her head. Therefore it took me awhile to locate the source. Once I did, I realized we were all in for a wild ride.

The girl was barely 20 and was dressed in ripped clothing. Her hair was covering her eyes and she had a nasty sneer on her face. The guy sitting next to her, taking the brunt of the abuse (and in my opinion, was asking for it with some of the comments he was making) was also very young, but a little bit more pulled together.

I was sitting in the seat in front of these two yahoos and it quickly became apparent that they were having some sort of a lover’s quarrel. It went something like this (only envision screaming):

“You don’t care about me AT ALL!” – the girl

“What are you talking about? Lower your voice!” – boy

“Here I am, having to go into the hospital for SURGERY and you’re not even being supportive!” – crazy chick

“How am I not being supportive?”

“How dare you say those things to me, you f***ing ***hole!” – foul-mouthed girl

Silence on the boy’s end. Smart move, dude.

“We are OVER. Do you hear me?” – girl

“Fine. Like I care.” – guy (not such a smart move)

Girl starts crying. Lot’s of crying. Then the back of my seat starts moving and I realize she’s hitting him. Oh lord…first the yelling, now physical abuse? I looked around quickly to see if there were any young children in the vicinity and there weren’t. Whew.

“When this train stops at Suburban, I’m leaving you. Don’t even try to follow me. I’ll go to SURGERY by myself.” – hysterical girl

“Stop that. You’re not going to walk all the way there by yourself. Besides, I’ll just follow you anyway.”

“No you won’t. Do you hear me? No you f***ing WON’T.”

At this point, the train was creeping along as slowly as possible. All I wanted to do was get away from these nut jobs, but I was at the mercy of SEPTA. Then, as we were about to head to Suburban, the train doors wouldn’t close. All that ringing, the lovestruck teenagers’ yelling…it was too much for a Tuesday morning. I almost slapped both of them and said, “Knock that off. Knock that off RIGHT NOW.” But to be honest, the girl seemed a bit unhinged and I wasn’t sure what she was capable of. In this situation, it’s best to be quiet. Even the train conductors were following this rule – not a single one came around to check tickets during the entire ride.

Eventually we made it. I have no idea if they actually went to her surgery together or not. Frankly, I don’t care. There are so many other things wrong with this picture. SEPTA is difficult enough to ride on a daily basis. But to ride it with two screaming teenagers? Never again. If I ever walk onto the train and hear screaming, I’m getting right back off and calling a cab. It’s just not worth it, people. Not worth it at all.

Crack Can't Get You Out of a Scabby Situation

I got on the El at 69^th Street Station and sat down in a window seat.  I couldn’t help but stare when a young guy sat down facing me with a massive head of curly hair, a fitted Rihanna t-shirt, very tight shorts and giant purple rhinestone earring— just interesting to look at. Because I was inspecting this guy, it took me off guard when a man’s voice to my right asked, “Excuse me, but is it ok if I sit next to you?”  I was confused because no one in the history of the El has ever asked anyone if it was ok for them to sit down in an empty seat.

I looked up, and to my surprise, saw one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen. There even seemed to be a beam of light shining through the window on him. I think I might have smiled and definitely blabbered something like, “Yes, sure, yeah you can sit down. Go ahead. Yeah, sure.”

I scooted over and jammed myself against the window for some reason to give him more room, which was not necessary because I was only taking up my seat in the first place.  For some reason I found this really hilarious and started laughing. 

The handsome man then took out his laptop, placed it on top of the satchel on his lap, and started typing.  The only problem was that he thrust his elbows out, taking over half my seat with his arm. Then he started rubbing his left elbow against my arm as he was typing away—I’m still unsure if this was intentional.  Unfortunately, he had a giant scab on his elbow, which I could feel as he rubbed up against my right arm.  I was horrified and moved my arm over.  He then moved his elbow over.  I moved my arm up and over, and he followed with his elbow. I had nowhere else to go! I started laughing again because I thought, why does this stuff happen to me?

All of a sudden, the woman sitting behind us picked up her phone and said loudly, “My kids better have gotten that crack.  They ain’t coming home without that crack. That’s all I gotta say about that.” At this point, I was too alarmed to look back to check out this woman behind me.

A few stops later, the woman got up and off the train, and the handsome man sitting next to me said, “Excuse me, but did you just hear that woman talking about her kids getting crack for her?”  I looked him in the eyes, replied with a simple “yes,” and then totally lost it laughing aloud like a mad woman because, well, only me.

Boys will be…Pterodactyls

I left the office about 5:30 and began walking to my train stop.  As I neared the bus lane behind the elementary school, which I always use as a shortcut to the train, I saw three teenage boys leaning against the fence—all probably about 15 years old.  I could see them whispering and looking my way. 

One of the boys suddenly ran out into the middle of the road and stood looking at me.  All of a sudden he put is arms up like clawed wings, contorted his face and let loose a loud pterodactyl-like screech.  He repeated the screech several times as I walked by, now flapping his arms, and waiting for my reaction. 

I turned back around toward him and said, “Kid, you’re going to have to do a lot better than that if you’re trying to weird me out.”

Too bad I wasn’t wearing stilettos.

During my commute home last night, a guy got on the train at 30^th Street. He was probably about 40 or so, wearing a dark green t-shirt, and smelled like wet newspapers, old cigarettes and sweat.

When he sat down, he took up his seat and half of mine (the seat in which I was already sitting).  He was a bit bulkier, so I always like to accommodate if I can, but trying my hardest to melt into the train wall was not helping me escape the smell.  Also, it didn’t help that he kept reaching into his pocket, thus simultaneously elbowing me and rubbing his sweaty arm against mine. 

We arrived at the stop before mine, and I said, “Excuse me sir, can I please get by?”  No reaction.  I say a little more loudly, “Excuse me, can I get out, mine is the next stop.”  No reaction. 

Then the thought crossed my mind—I’m such as ass, maybe he’s deaf!  So I start waving my hands in front of his face to hopefully get his attention. Still nothing.  I then thought to myself—I’m such an ass, maybe he’s deaf and blind!  

Nope, neither. I quickly realized that he was looking down, writing a text message and completely ignoring me.  Others started to notice that I was trapped, so the man standing next to our seats said loudly, “Sir, can you please let her out? She has to get off the train!”  Nothing.

In one last attempt, I yelled “Sir I need to get off the train! Please get up!” He looked up for a brief moment, said “Oh,” but didn’t bother to get up.  He continued typing and slid his legs to the side so that I had to climb over him.  I was not about to miss my stop, so I climbed over him like a sherpa.   

Too bad I wasn’t wearing stilettos.

Some Bunny

The businesswoman standing behind me in the Amtrak line is eating a giant, full-size carrot like a rabbit.

Baby, You Are Sexy

I wound up taking a late-morning train due to a doctor’s appointment, so when I got on, there were plenty of open seats.  I sat down near the door.  Across the aisle, a woman had parked her massive stroller in the wheelchair accessible area and was standing above her son who looked to be about 2 years old.  Sitting right in front of the stroller was a very thin woman with long pink braids and tattooed arms.  The woman leaned forward and started playing with the boy, complimenting the mother on how well-behaved and happy her child was.  It was clear that the two women did not know each other.

The tattooed woman said that her stop was approaching.  She leaned her head a bit more into the stroller and said, “You are one sexy baby.”  I looked up from my book thinking that maybe she was now talking on her cell phone, or perhaps to a friend or boyfriend who had stepped unnoticed onto the train.  Nope.  She was talking to the toddler in the stroller.  She repeated, now addressing the mother, “Seriously, your baby is sexy.  Just sexy.” The mother didn’t say a word—she just looked at the woman and then at me.

“You stay sexy, baby.”  And she got off the train.

The Red Pee

Yesterday evening I ascended the stairs toward my train platform. Quite humid with cloudy skies, but in general I was very happy to be getting some fresh air and a bit of sunshine.

As I reached the top, I looked down and noticed a man—red hair, bright red jacket, slightly burly, a bit disheveled, probably mid-30s—standing on the ground in between the platform and the tracks.  Unusual for someone to be standing where you might actually get hit by a train if it were to arrive.  After a few seconds, my eyes focused, and I realized what he was doing. He had his dong (yes I said “dong” –I find it far more hilarious and far less offensive that other phallic nomenclatures) out in plain sight and was peeing on the side of the platform.  He stared at me, and I stared back at him.  Excuse the quip, but it was like staring at a train wreck—no one else was around, and I couldn’t look away. 

He made no facial expression nor movement to cover himself—or to finish up for that matter.  As my train approached, the conductor began blowing the horn.  I found this unusual, as they very rarely blow the horn on my route. I realized that she was actually blowing the horn at the man, trying to startle him and get him to zip his pants.  She stopped the train at my platform and stared out her window at the man, continuing to blow the train’s horn.  The man—mid-stream—shuffled around the other side of the platform, partially out-of-sight; well, except for his bright red jacket.

While disgusted and disturbed, I couldn’t help but also be impressed as his time spent urinating was reminiscent of Jimmy Dugan in A League of Their Own.