On the train for my morning commute. God, I’m really glad that I don’t have to chase the train every morning. Really, even putting on pants every day is something of an imposition. Someday, this blissful period of my life will come to an end, and I may have to <shudder> wear a tie and get in at 7:30 to keep the minions in line … but for the moment life is pretty good.
As I was getting on the train, I overheard that most horrifying of all sounds for the morning commuter (okay, loud tubercular coughing is also pretty bad) the sing song of a parent who has lost their mind. “oh-KAY little TIM-mi. It’s Tahm to get up Up UP on the biiiiiiiig choo choo! Do you Seeeeeee the biiiiiiig Choo choo Tim-mi?” and so on. It’s hard to describe my desperation as I tried to decide whether they would take their insipid monolog (the kid is totally silent, it’s the parents who sound like prating idiots) forward or backwards on the train. DAMN! They followed. Now, one last choice, upper or lower seats: DAMN! Followed again. I snagged that most precious of commodities, the single seat (no chance of an uncomfortable encounter with SETS (Someone Else’s Thigh Sweat). The monolog is sitting two rows in front of me.
The pathetic part is that from time to time the parents will make eye contact top of the kid, and in voices just as loud and penetrating as their singsong, curse and swear in harsh Boston style.
Oh yeah, and the train is stopped so the bomb dogs can walk through. Woot. Nice Dog-GIE! Did you Seah tha Dog-GIE Tihm-MI? Nahs dog-GI!
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