I took the train to Chicago over the weekend. It made me feel like such an eco-friendly commuter. I felt like I was part of the "in" crowd, you know? Had my cozy nook on the train, my iPod blaring, you know. I was cooooool.
Or no? Not really?
Whatever. I didn't ask you.
So, back to the train ride. I've been known to be a little, uh, antisocial? Is that the word I'm looking for? Or bitch. Maybe that's it. Hmm. Anyhow, strangers frighten me. A lot. I don't like to talk to them. I don't like to make eye contact with them. Don't like to sit next to them, pee next to them, take their order, or share awkward conversation.
My parents raised me well. Don't talk to strangers! Or look at them! Or acknowledge their existence! It's worked well for me.
Except on the train.
Because that is FULL of strangers. And obscure ones, at that. And the man who opted for the seat directly across from me, and directly in my personal bubble, was drunk. Or, at least, I got drunk from the smell of booze that was emanating from his (dirty!) pores.
Naturally, the first thing I did was send a text message to my friend, to tell him A) Guy Across From Me Is Staring, and B) Duh-RUNK! Help! He smells!
He, of course, laughed at me. Told me to ask him for a drink. Because I could have, you know. Dude had a can of beer the size of my head in his lap. Clearly open intoxicant laws do not apply to choo-choo trains.
I'm pretty positive the man was devising all the ways he could chop me into innumerable pieces and hide me in his fridge. Or he was just bored as hell, and had nowhere else to look but DIRECTLY at my face.
Hi! You are scary! Neat!
And so I just wrapped my legs around each other tightly, covered my lap with a fleece, gazed out the window and pretended I was in Lollipop Land. It totally worked, FYI.
Eventually he evacuated the train, only to be replaced by more strangers, but I felt secure with my defense strategy. Mostly, curl up in a ball and don't look. You can't see me, if I can't see you!
Needless to say, I arrived both there and back with little to no incident. Although that's more than I can say for Chicago, which, apparently, had 32 shootings over the weekend. Seriously.
I knew there was a reason I preferred the country. Minus, you know, the deer. Shudder.