Sunday, February 25, 2007

Riding in a train

If you consistently ride in a train, you’re almost guaranteed to at one point be forced to sit next to somebody. Which is annoying, especially if your companion’s body weight and/or body smell significantly exceeds your own. But what can be even worse is riding in a train across from somebody, where the seats face each other.

I had that same unfortunate occurrence occur to me this morning. I sat across from a member of the opposite sex for the half hour ride up to the city, to get to my useless job. The most annoying part of the trip was the fact that she was roughly my age, and I only caught a glimpse of her on my way in the seat. And she had blonde hair. And looked potentially attractive. But I couldn’t tell from the glimpse! I need a full on face shot!

So what did I do? Well, I pulled out a book. And read. I jockeyed for time. I looked out the window on occasion, and tried to get another look at her, but with her right across from me, she would notice any looking. But I had to find out! Was this woman hot or not?

As an aside, there’s really no reason to check out women in the train. You’re not going to talk to them anyways. Because they’d think you were some sort of ex-convict weirdo. In the movies attractive looking people meet each other in exploding planes, on the bottom of the ocean, and in crowded Islamic torture chambers. But you don’t do that in real life. In real life, if somebody talks to you on the train, they’re trying to kill you. It’s not George Clooney. I promise.

And even if the woman weren’t scared to death of me, I wouldn’t talk to her anyways, mainly because I’m scared to death of her. No really. To death. Like, I would die, but luckily I keep my iPod in my shirt pocket, and with it’s buzzing manages to act as a sort of pacemaker to keep the good old heart moving.

So I didn’t get to look at her until the end of the ride, at which point I got a good look without attracting attention (glancing out the window, and then a pan shot in to the center aisle—works every time), and yes, she was attractive. Very nice looking girl. And what did I do? I let her out of the seat first. Yup. She was probably thinking I was the best gentleman this side of London. Maybe I’ll see her in a few weeks, and I’ll let her out first again. And she’ll see the look on my face, that I’m trying to form some sort of words to talk to her, and she’ll pull out the mace. Not that sissy stuff you squirt in people’s eyes, but a big medieval slammer.

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