[astigmatic much?] pith.org content, daily-like
most recently
archive

Wednesday December 26, 2001, 16:13

I sort of have to make this quick, today, the day after Christmas, when traditionally I have been home for one of the following reasons: I just quit my job and was planning on moving to a new city, I was at home on vacation from school because I wasn't off doing something fun and because my parents liked to have me home for the holidays. This year, instead, I am at work, and I have to finish my project soon because I have to go and do more work at another work because, really, all I have in my life right now is work. I say that a lot.

The fat woman of indeterminate age (perhaps somewhere in her late teens or perhaps in her late twenties or somewhere in between) surrounded by presents and family and a young boy of indeterminate age (but to a lesser degree, perhaps ten or perhaps fifteen) that was either her brother or son, but probably brother, sat in the four-seater near the doors of the train that was heading back to the city on Christmas day. She sat, slumped back into the corner, talking with a relative of indeterminate relation (perhaps her mother, depending on what we decided her age and relation to the small boy to be) and playing with the antenna to her mobile phone. She extended the antenna and carefully guided the end of it into her right ear. She slowly rotated it and carefully removed it (the antenna) and, after a brief examination, wiped the wax that was now coating the end of said antenna onto the lining of her jacket.

The process was repeated for the left ear.

Next to me, a man in a dark overcoat and a large briefcase carefully took out a spiral-bound notebook, tore a page from the notebook, and began to write. Very deliberately and very carefully (yet with particularly poor handwriting) he put a bible verse to paper (with appropriate citations). He then carefully folded the paper in half, tore along the fold and began removing the little stray bit of paper that remained when he had pulled the paper from the spiral bindings. These stray bits of paper he put into his coat pocket (though he hesitated in deciding whether to place them in the outer or inner pocket). Meanwhile, a woman stood over him.

"Sir. Sir. Could you move your bag so I can sit down? Sir."

He ignored her and continued to write and tear.

The woman left and found another seat. Finally satisfied (though unrelated to the previous events), he folded up his paper, placed it in his pocket and returned the notebook to his bag. He straightened his scarf and checked his watch. He stared out the window at the passing towns. He straightened his scarf again. He checked his watch again.1 He stared straight head. He was a tall man with a slightly receding hairline and glasses. Rosy cheeks. His eyes were dead as he cupped his hands over them and looked out the windows again. And straightened his scarf, again.

The train approached the station and he stood, retrieving half a sheet of paper that had fallen to the floor, and straightened his scarf. The train came to a stop, the doors opened, and the man walked out.

I quickly leapt across the aisle and took his seat. I wanted to look out the window too.



1. It was at this point that I started to consider all possible scenarios in which my neighbor, with his glasses and his bible passages and his scarf and his large bag, would stand up, reach inside of his overcoat, and proceed to shoot a train full of happy Christmas present carrying passengers and subsequently sat, alert and staring at him, until he got up and off the train. It was not until he had left, with his bag (which, at that point, I was sure contained a bomb or something equally unfriendly), that I finally relaxed and slept for the rest of the ride home.

[ permanent link ]

[ email love | your love | consumer love ]

------------------

search the past

remember the past

1999
    aug 04 05 06 08 09 11 12 15 17 22 26 30
    sep 01 03 07 12 20 28
    oct 04 14 18 22
    nov 02 07 12 19 25 26 27
    dec 12 15 18 28 31

2000
    jan 02 06 11 12 18 29
    feb 03 10 14 17 21 23 28 29
    mar 05 06 20 22 25 26
    apr 02 05 06 08 09 10 12 13 17 20 21 24 25 28 29
    may 03 05 08 11 12 15 17 17b 18 18b 21 23 25 29 30 31
    jun 01 01b 03 06 07 08 10 13 14 16 18 21 23 25 30
    jul 03 06 09 10 13 16 26
    aug 02 03 04 08 10 17 21 25 29
    sep 06 07 12 13 18 24
    oct 06 11 12 19 30 31
    nov 08 11 22 26 30
    dec 01 10 14 21 30

2001
    jan 01 09 14 16 30
    feb 11 15 20 22
    mar 06 08 09 21 25 30
    apr 01 04 05 09 13 18 23 24 25 28
    may 04 09 11 14 16 17 21 25 31
    jun 02 08 20 21 28 29
    jul 07 13 17 28
    aug 14 24 26
    sep 09 12 23 24
    oct 10 26 28 31
    nov 11 17 18 28 30
    dec 02 08 15 18 26

2002
    jan 03 07 08 18 20 23
    feb 04 05 17 19 22
    mar 06 10 13 15 17
    apr 13 16 19 26
    may 03 13 16 21
    jun 08 15 21
    jul 03 05 10 18 24
    aug 03 18
    sep 11 20
    oct 03 05
    nov 10
    dec 30

2003
    jan 19
    feb 04 14 27
    mar 10 23 31
    apr 11 15
    may 26
    jun 16 29
    aug 17
    sep 15
    oct 08
    nov 30
    dec 11 24 28

2004
    jan 06 23 30
    feb 01 21
    mar 04 09
    apr 15
    may 02 10
    jul 03
    aug 02 16 30
    oct 04 17
    nov 28
    dec 28

2005
    jan 03 24
    mar 24
    may 28
    aug 01 10
    sep 03
    oct 12 28
    dec 25

2006
    jan 01 07 16
    feb 02 13 28
    mar 12 13
    apr 17

other things to look at

back home