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The 5:27 home after a long day of work.

I board late, as usual, and search for the best option among a shrinking pool of aisle seats.

I conduct a little Spatial Profiling and grab a seat next to a Typical Commuter: White male, 40, black hair, pinstriped gray trousers. He’s got a Blackberry in one hand, a giant Foster’s oil can in the other, and a David McCullough book about the Brooklyn Bridge on his thigh. The book will remain on his thigh, unread, for the duration of my ride.

My seatmate is listening to his iPod. Within moments of settling in, so am I. His is on a bit loud; I can hear it over my own. So I turn up the volume a bit.

We ease off the platform, and his iPod is really freakin’ loud. I switch for something louder and buzzier, some Franz Ferdinand, to drown out the Fremix.

Suddenly, his iPod gets even louder when a new song comes on. I can almost make out the tune despite having functioning earbuds wedged in my ears; it’s a familiar melody that calls to mind acid washed jeans, mullets and the cheapest beer you could find.

The guy finally acknowledges the aural pollution and goes to turn his music down. As he hits his touch screen, it lights up the name of the artist and track: “Oh, Sherry”, by former Journey-man Steve Perry.

Good Lord, how can someone actually be listening to “Oh Sherrie”–that synthy pop treacle that ruled the 1984 music charts the way Idi Amin ruled Uganda–by choice? I can see if you’re stuck in Gitmo, and the former Administration is cranking it into your cell in an effort to coerce you into giving up vital terrorist intell. But this man was not imprisoned in Gitmo, he was a practitioner of free will. [Editor’s Note: I vaguely remember WBAB doing its own version of one of those July 4 weekend Top 500 countdowns that always saw “Stairway to Heaven” win. I believe “Oh Sherry” won the WBAB countdown. WBAB didn’t do it for long, for obvious reasons.]

No amount of amber nectar from a Foster’s oil can could make “Oh Sherrie” palatable.