It’s good for me to get out and see different faces and places and challenge my feeble small talk ability. And I’ve enjoyed these activities while on a train or bus or plane —reading a book without interruption, listening to music, or gazing out the window at the passing scenery for a few hours. And then when I stand, I am in a different place.
I hope you don’t mind, but I also listen to your conversations and observe the way you eat, or make faces as you play a game or watch something on your phone. We are, after all, on public transportation, and I am curious. I imagine anything truly private would be kept that way.
You might tell me that if I don’t like what I’m hearing, I shouldn’t listen. Or if I don’t like what I’m smelling, I shouldn’t breathe. But sometimes breathing and listening are unavoidable.
To the short, loud man in the brown tee-shirt who talked on the phone for at least one hour, and long enough without pause to make me wonder if there was actually someone on the other end, you know who you are. The asylum wants you back. I truly didn’t want to listen. I didn’t want to know about the pimple on your back that prevented you from sitting. (Was it really on your back?) I didn’t want to know what you were going to do with the backscratcher when you got home, or how satisfying it would feel when that mofo exploded. Eew.
And Mister Eat-a-lot-of-Garbage, while seated next to me on a sold-out flight. You too wore a brown tee-shirt as you tried your hand at the NYTimes puzzles. Your farts were inhumanly stinky, farts worse than my eleven-year-old dog could squeeze out. SBDs that reached a level of absurdity or perfection depending on whether you smelt it or dealt it. And I can only ask why? I never did anything to you. You should probably consult a physician and get that looked in to. Or at least eat something other than plain m & m’s and sour cream potato chips. Here’s a three-letter word for stink—YOU.
To the two giggling and grinning children playing peek-a-boo over the plane seats, I say thank you for making me smile. To the women talking books in the seat behind me on the bus, I wish we were friends. And to my husband, also a public transportation rider, I say thank you for holding my hand during the turbulence. Sorry if I squeezed it too hard.
Safe Travels,
Jackie
My pick for this post- Resident Alien. It’s quirky, funny and imaginative. I hope you enjoy it too! The first two seasons can be streamed on Netflix. Seasons three and four are on Syfy.