Those who read my blog — I think I may be up to three now! — know that I bear witness during my daily work commute to some of the strangest crap that humans say and do. I was convinced that my experience was unique to the Washington, D.C.-area modes of transportation I use (commuter bus, commuter train and metro), but I was wrong about that. Oh so terribly wrong.
Last week, I visited the Connecticut office of my new employer. The trip required an Amtrak train to Stamford and then a switch to the Metro North Railroad to take the local commuter train.
I’m pleased to report that crazy does not relegate itself to the D.C. area, because this is what I witnessed and heard:
- a woman at the little store in the Amtrak station, haranguing the poor ESOL clerk over the fact that “this issue of People is like TWO weeks old. Don’t you know that Jen’s engaged to Justin and there is a picture of her new ring. I MUST SEE THAT RING”.
- a man on the train in the seat in front of me who explained very loudly to his travelling buddy exactly how many medications he currently takes, for his five different medical conditions and his doctor’s advice moving forward, as he wolfed down a breakfast burrito with extra cheese and bacon. He accomplished all this before the train even left the station.
- the not very clever — or very stealth — creep in the seat behind me who kept making a strange sound as he coughed. Until I realized that every time he coughed, it started smelling like farts. Hey, Einstein – the sound of your cough may cover the sound of you farting. But nothing covers the smell.
- the overly perfumed woman in the 5″ heels who made her way through the quiet car in a very less than quiet fashion, as she attempted to seduce one of the business men on the train into buying her a drink. No takers, doll baby? Gonna have to pay for that Miller Lite yourself, I guess. Cu-lass-ee.
- the guy who looked at the container of homemade cookies that I was taking to my new co-workers and then said to me “I would give you money for one of those cookies. I’ll bet it’s homemade – my wife is no good in the kitchen. Does your husband really appreciate that you bake? I would definitely show my wife some serious appreciation if she was baking homemade cookies, if you know what I mean”.
- me, rolling my eyes — in very much the same way as when I ride the D.C.-area transportation systems
So, fair warning here. In the future, if I see bad behavior during my commute to Connecticut, I’m gonna snap your photo and upload it to facebook, like this poor schmuck who fell asleep (passed out?) on the Metro North Railroad with his underwear hanging out: