Not Many Tales From the Rails

I figure I’m about due for a good freakish train experience.

Seriously, it’s been some time since I’ve had a good eyewitness incident to blog about: a rider-conductor tiff, a rider-rider spat, snakes on a train, whatever it might be.

So sorry for the lame posts of late. I mean, yesterday morning, I overheard two ladies in their 50s–they were on board when I got on in Hawthorne and they looked like daytrippers–discussing an intervention one of them hosted for a troubled family member. Of course, when I heard that, the iPod was turned off, and then the nearest ear stripped of earbud. But I only caught the tail end of the tale–the intervention ended up working out OK, which isn’t a lot of fun. The daughter seems healed.

Two days ago, I saw the Buffalo Wing Man–the only person to get an Open Letter To: from TJ more than once. He spreads his awful Buffalo Wing dinner all over a four seater, dipping those wings in the dip, and–the worst part of it–leaving the whole greasy, bony mess for the help to clean up. Then he gets off in Hawthorne and yaps on his cell about his fantasy baseball squad.  Two days ago, it was peanut butter slathered all over a bagel, and a bright yellow Zaro’s bag full of refuse left behind. Jerk.

Then, last night, I broke from my very typical 5:27 or 5:46 routine to take the 7:22 after a few going-away drinks with a co-worker–now an ex-coworker. (Unlike the other half dozen going-away drinks things I’ve attended with a co-worker the past 12 months, this guy actually left on his own, for another job. Maybe it’s a sign.)

Man, was that 7:22 extraordinarily packed. You couldn’t even really get one of the good standing spots in the vestibules, which comfortably stand four. It reminded me of the dark days of commuting, before Metro-North figured out how to corral the Slippery Rail scourge.

I stood back by the conductor booth and 1 3/4-seater area, and had enough room to flip open the new Greater New York section of the Journal. Some tool got on at 125th, cellphone a-blazing. (Here’s a Word of the Week I could use some help with–people who enter the train yapping loudly on their phones.) The guy stood right across from me in the narrow passageway, meaning I could read the paper about six inches from my face. I gave him the look and he smartly moved back up against the door between cars.

So, if you’re still reading, for some reason, TJ obviously has not had much to blog about this week. I’m aiming for the 5:27, so if you plan on acting nutty on the train tonight, please be on that train.

This entry was posted in 1-3/4-Seater, Hawthorne, iPod, Slippery Rail. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Not Many Tales From the Rails

  1. Emily says:

    Haha I love it when people eat crazy shit on the train. Well, not really. I do remember seeing a person bring an entire KFC bucket of chicken and eat that. They even brought a little ziploc bag to put the bones in. Of course, which got left on the seat. I think next time you ought to take a picture of Wingman. 😛

  2. jerseyjim says:

    word of the week suggestions:

    Cell-u-Loud Heroes
    Cell-ine Dion
    Earshot-Pavarotti
    Mobile MySpace Page
    GI-Jerk (a stretch: buzz-cut, yellow tie, eurotrash shoes, and khakis – thinks he’s using a walkie-talkie…)

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