Standing on the 5:46 home the other day, I had the express pleasure of scoping out a bunch of faces from my unique vantage point. One guy had just plopped himself down on a folding seat. The folding seats always give their user the look of being beaten down, perhaps because they’re a little lower than the typical seats. This poor fellow looked like he’d had a horrible day. His hangdog face was twitching, his cheeks thrusting upward every five seconds or so as he tried to unwind, which seemed to make the problem even worse. With each thrust of his cheeks, the gentleman’s eyeglasses, perched near the end of his nose, rose and fell about a half inch.
I was able to grab a seat after things cleared out in White Plains, and boy, was I happy I did. I was facing, albeit three rows down from, a heavy-set woman of about 20 who’d boarded with a friend at 125th. The woman boarded with a giant frosted bun of some sort. Not the tasty and vaguely fresh ones, such as those for sale at Cinnabon, but some nasty one you’d buy for 75 cents at the bodega. Her hands were covered in the sticky stuff, and people were sure to get out of her way as she squeezed her considerable frame into a tight five-seater.
Once she’d polished off the frosted bun, the woman started on what looked like a batch of fake grape Starburst candies. She chewed the gummy candies with noticeable effort, mouth wide open, frankly resembling a cow making her way through the morning cud.
Periodically, the woman would jam an index finger in her mouth, and scoop out the stuck grape candy like a croupier raking chips across the felt table.
The woman across from her, packed knee to knee, looked on in horror, fearful some purple saliva would land on her person.
It was a bit difficult to get myself psyched for the Missus’s dinner after that experience.
[image: animationlibrary.com]