Where's my seat?

Tuesday, March 14, 2006 - 8:13 a.m.

There was a mad door shuffle by my fellow station-mates before getting on the train. I guess you really want the right car because if you get the wrong car, it can ruin your day. I not throwing stones here, I do it too thinking I might get a seat in one car over another. This morning, I assumed we would all get a seat (which we did) and was not in as much of a panic as the others.

Sitting in front of me were two men. The man by the aisle had great, hip spiky thick hair. Everything about his hairstyle was perfect except for the fact he had bad dandruff. I guess it all evens out - I have thin, ok hair but no dandruff.

The other man was reading a book in a language I was not familiar. The text was in the Latin or Roman alphabet like English (as opposed to Cyrillic or Greek). I tried to look for any clue but I could not pick out one familiar word.

One woman got on at Addison in a garish coat with a pattern that mainly was rust colored. She looked around the train with her big hair, let out a exasperating breath and rolled her eyes. Sorry there was not a seat. Sorry you wore your ridiculous heels and have to stand. And NO, I am not giving you my seat. (To be fair, if she was older or pregnant I would happily give my seat to her but she was virile enough to stand all the way downtown).

The point every day I hate about the train is in the morning once you get off the train. When you are climbing the stairs with every other person going to work. Everyone is a little sour and half awake. This is when I truly feel like a cog in some loop system just churning out emails and memos. This morning, everyone seemed particularly not happy to be going to work.