Ok so. We're all packed on the train. It's still raining. You know how it is when the earth is super dirty and you start growing gills because you swim instead of walk. Well, it's been raining like that. This is like day 400 of grey, cloudy, rainy mess and people are over it. It's enough to be packed shoulder to face to butt to backpack with strangers, but wet strangers is even worse. We all want the train to hurry up and let us off!
But no. Why would it do that? After all, it is the New York City subway system. Life is supposed to be a challenge...an adventure, even, when you ride the train. I mean, think about it, if nothing ever happened, you'd be quite bored. Or is the word, content? Hmmm...there's a fine line. I digress.
The sigher. (Sigh)
So we're packed into our car on the train, dripping wet, and trying to maneuver our backpacks, pocketbooks, tote bags, and umbrellas so they are not poking or nudging, or dripping on anyone. Hahahahah. Try it...
And just as the doors closed, a short, middle aged lady pushed her way into the car. Now look, I honestly believe people would have shifted if there was somewhere to shift to, but there wasn't. Now, if you are going to push your way into an already crowded train car--as if there is not another one coming--please know that the riders already packed on like sardines, will feel no sympathy for you. You will get in where you fit in and hold on where and if you can. Well, she couldn't. It wasn't possible for her to reach a pole or beam at all. So she sighed...in my right ear. Believe me, if you knew me, you would know I would have moved far from her breath if I could. But as it was, I was being poked in the stomach by the water jug hooked onto the side of the backpack of the very large teenager standing in front of me, and stabbed in the left side by the tote bag swung on the shoulder of a tall woman who was squeezed into a tiny space between two rather large men. As the train jerked, crept, rocked, and bumped along, the lady sighed again. And again, and again, and again. And again. And again. And again. (Sigh. Sigh. Sigh. Sigh. Sigh. Sigh.) I didn't even know how to feel about it. I mean, standing up with no place to hold on, smushed, (Yes, smushed(link). I'm southern and sometimes we make up words. Get over it and enjoy the lovely picture preceding these words.), smushed up against a wet stranger whose rain soaked bags are poking you in your cleanly clothed tummy is something to sigh about. Sigh. Poor lady. But I could not wait to get away from her.
When the seat I was standing in front of became available, I sat down. I was grateful to have a seat so I could read my new Paulo Coelho book. I was happy to not have to hear all of that pathetic and forlorn, "woe is me" sighing. I sat and took out my book. Before I could open it and begin escaping into the world of Brazil, I heard, "Siiigghhhhh..." and looked up to see Sigh lady standing over me and shaking her head and smiling at me. Did she want my seat or did she want me to co-sign her anxiety? I quickly assessed her. You have to respect people who need the seat, you know? She was neither old, decrepit, pregnant, nor crippled so I smiled back and began to read.
Lesson: Sigh. It just be's like that sometimes. Or if you prefer, "That's the way the cookie crumbles."
A Girl Changing The World
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