Ahhhh, the train. I love my train commute into the city. Even though it's just 20 minutes, I don't have to deal with moron drivers or road-rage-inducing traffic. I can read, play a game on my iPhone, catch up on Twitter and Facebook, or stare out the window and daydream about traveling to exotic countries on photography expeditions with National Geographic. If only I got into the Peace Corps... Ok, back to reality!
The QuietRide is a relatively new concept--the first train car during morning and evening rush hour is designated "quiet"--no talking above a whisper, no chatty cellphone conversations, just silence. It's the car for the very uptight, the deep thinkers and those on the cusp of mental breakdowns. But that's just my opinion. I happen to like the quiet car when I'm by myself because people in general annoy the crap out of me. If they don't talk, than less likely I'll be annoyed. And that's never a good thing before coffee.
Every so often someone gets on the Quiet Car without realizing it's the QUIETRIDE--the dead silence, of course, doesn't give it away, plus the posters are hard to find--and that someone starts yakking on their cellphone or having a conversation mere decibels over a whisper. Oh my.
Today, it was my neighbor. Turned around in his seat talking to me and Jeff. Trying to catch up on life and the kids and work. The fact that I was whispering didn't clue him in. And he couldn't see the 3 people nearby squirming in their seats, turning around obnoxiously and glaring in hopes that he would just figure it out. I would have told him but he didn't stop talking long enough for me to cut in. So Jeff and I simply ignored them. Mostly because it was funny to watch them squirm; and we were curious to see what they would do. They were Uptight.
The woman on the cusp of a mental breakdown, however, nearly fell over her seat trying to get our attention. She asked the man in front of her, this is the quiet car, right? She searched desperately up and down the aisle for the conductor. She vigorously turned around again and again, hoping we'd look at her wondering why she was hopping around so much. Finally, she caught my eye and mouthed to me that it was the quiet car, or something like that. I'm not up on lip reading. I just smiled and nodded. All while my neighbor chatted away.
All hell broke lose when my neighbor spotted a colleague sitting across the aisle. Hey! very-smart-guy-who-heads-up-the-honors-department-at-a local-university. These are my neighbors, Jeff and Steph! People love to make our names rhyme. The colleague jumped over, endured a round of introductions, and lady on the cusp of a mental breakdown reached her breaking point.
She whispered--of course--to my neighbor that it was the quiet car, lest she be accused of doing exactly what she's complaining about. After she turned back around we had a childish, stifled giggle over the whole thing. And we rode the rest of the way into work, without another a peep.
We had good seats and a great view.
A rare blimp made an appearance. I think I watched the blimp blow around in the wind more than the game.
And, of course, crack.
