Do you want cheese and crackers with that?

This morning there was some train drama. One train ahead of ours malfunctioned and this meant that ours was going to be packed by all of the stragglers from the offloaded train ahead of us. It meant a slight delay, but that was not really a big deal. You have to be patient when you take public transportation. When you take the train, you must do so with the understanding that any number of events that have absolutely nothing to do with you can result in being late for work. You also have to accept the smells, sights, loud headphones, excessively personal or boring cell phone conversations as well as the occasional personal space invasion.

Our train was a little crowded, but humming along until we reached Dupont Circle. This is three stations from my stop, where I transfer to the train that takes me directly to work. This is close to the point where I start closing my book and organizing my crap so I’m ready to hop up and exit in a quick and orderly fashion. It was at this stop when the doors closed and the train operator announced that the people in the third car would have to try to shut one of the doors. After years of riding metro I can tell you that that’s usually not a good sign. The doors fail if people try to hold them open or mess with them in any way. I appreciate the operator giving it the ol’ college try (and incorporating teamwork into the process), but in the end, we ended up getting off of the train and crowding up the platform.

In addition to this, people were still coming down the escalator from the upstairs entrance. It was like water flowing in a toilet that’s already plugged up and filled to the brim. Another train came by, tooting, and of course, it was empty. I don’t know why metro does this. Empty trains with LED signs saying “No passengers” have come through after a malfunction more times than I care to remember. You stand there knowing that everyone beside you is thinking, “WTF metro? What gives?”

Finally another train came, and then another. People were still spilling down the steps from upstairs. One guy in front of me—a tall wall of a man saw these people and cried “Stop coming down! There’s no room!” There was room. It wasn’t comfortable, but there was enough space to pack it in a little more. He continued his pleas to no avail.

When he brought it up to the metro employee trying to control the flow, she snapped. “What can I do, sir, I’m just one person!” Yes, she said sir, but it was not said in the respectful manner, but with a tone of contempt--Go fuck yourself, SIR.

“Tell them to stop coming down!” he whined.

The fourth train pulled in and people swarmed the entrances. I wasn’t going to make this one unless I moved. Sir-Whines-A-Lot was standing off to the side, complaining that the people coming down the stairs could bypass those of us waiting since the bottom of the stairs lined up almost perfectly with the train doors.

So I moved.

The first car was packed, but the people inside were far more jovial and welcoming than Whine Man. I wedged myself in, prayed for the doors to close and just like that, we were gone.

Didn't Ask

Generally people don’t talk on the train. If you see someone wearing headphones, take that as a blatant sign that they intend to be left alone. If I’m wearing headphones, and you talk to me, I will take one out to listen and respond, but I am not there for conversation. I’m there to get home, or get to work, depending on the direction of the train.

You can tell when someone wants to engage in conversation--they make an extra effort to make eye contact until you look up and you're trapped. They smile. You smile. Then it's too late to pretend it never happened. You have to interact now.

“What’s that book about?” said a smirking guy who happened to read the title of the book I was holding (“Naked," by David Sedaris--that was fun to explain.) Sometimes you get a smile, or a “Good morning” and that’s it. Or else the train operator will make a humorous announcement and for a moment, we all laugh, but seconds later we’re back to our papers, or iPods, or Blackberrys. Don’t lament the realization that people can ride in the same train and not have a meaningful bonding experience. Please. I have ridden with the same people for years and I don't speak to any of them or ask where they work or what their lunch sacks contain. They see me too, and no,they don't ask me anything either. Well most of the time they don't.

A few weeks after returning from maternity leave, I was waiting on the train platform and a guy approached me to ask how the baby was doing. That warmed my cold, cold heart just a fraction of a degree. We introduced ourselves and maintained a quasi friendship, but I assume he’s moved to a different route because I haven’t seen him in months. Maybe years. It was nice while it lasted, but I’m not striking up new conversations to fill the void. Tragic, I know but don't cry for me; I’ll be okay. Really.

Yesterday’s seatmate was a talker. I started writing a letter to my friend in my notebook, and he asks if I'm writing my memoirs or a manifesto. I pulled out my earbud and told him I'm writing a letter, and like the smart ass I am, I added "You know, people still write those."

Then (though I didn’t ask) he showed me his book and informed me that he was reading up on how to save money on mortgages. I faked a smile and said that was good to do. Then I popped the earbuds back into place and continued penning my manifesto.

The ride was uneventful until we approached the end of the line, when I put away my notebook and pulled out my iPhone. I was just getting into the 15 game when my seatmate says, "Are you still in school?"

Huh?

I don’t know why he asked. I would like to think it’s because I possess the youthful glow of an undergrad but let's not kid ourselves. I said, "No. I'm done." (I realize that was a very final answer. The truth is, I don’t know if I’m done—maybe I’ll go back at some point, but when you know the guy next to you is a yackity mofo, you state the facts and hope they shut up.)

He didn’t shut up. Just as I lifted the earbud to my ear (which was the unspoken cue for him to end the conversation), seatmate says,

"So what do you do?"

"I'm a government contractor" (Yes, I know, this is as vague as it gets, but remember, “just the facts.” Then hope they shut up.)

"I'm a consultant" (Note: also vague. In fact, more vague than my response. Also note: I didn’t ask.)

Then he pulls out the business card. It’s a glossy thing, and kind of homemade looking--the card stock was flimsy and the print was crooked. At this point, I figured out that this was yet another Amway-Quixtar-like pyramid scheme (okay, okay, multi-level marketing "business").

I stuff my earbuds back into my bag because I know what follows a business card is a pitch, especially if the card is advertising a borderline pyramid scheme. I’m not at the point where I can totally ignore the person next to me when directly addressed, but I imagine attaining that skill is very freeing. Maybe one day I'll know that freedom. For now, I will pretend to listen, and I’ll nod periodically so you believe I’m listening.

The pitch went something like:
“I work for an energy company--utilities are being deregulated and now people can choose their utility company and …Dallas…opportunity…free trips…points…we’re different because…and not everyone does that…”

Me: *nodding*

"...so there are a lot of opportunities out there, so if you or your husband..."

Me: (thinking) Whew, this isn’t a pick up; he mentioned my husband.

“The website is right there on the business card.” (points to the web address in case I couldn’t recognize it on my own)

Me: "Okay, I'll look into it."

Me: (thinking) Not.

Everyone in sales, pay close attention, I’m coming to the part where my seatmate failed as a salesperson. Ever notice how some people ask how you’re doing and after you provide your generic one sentence answer, they launch into a soliloquy? They didn't REALLY care how you were doing, they only asked get it out of the way so they can talk about themselves without seeming rude for not asking about you. People want to talk about themselves. The trick to sales is simple--you do just the opposite of what most people do. You get people to talk about themselves, and you listen. And act interested. Learn the names of the people they care about, listen to them tell you what they want to do when they grow up. People like talking about themselves and they like doing that with people who appear to care. Once you’re in good, you’re just an interviewer collecting the story and once you’re in really good, you become family. They forget it’s about business and boom, you're in like Flynn (who is that guy, anyway?). Beyond the school question, did this guy do any of that? Nope. He talked about himself.

Here's what I learned without even having to ask:

Seatmate was enlisted in the Air Force and then got commissioned through ROTC

He has a dual bachelor's degree

He has a triple master's degree (in aerospace engineering and two more things listed after I stopped listening)

In the middle of his monologue, seatmate turned to greet a random Asian man on the train. How he knew the right language or that the man would understand, I don’t know. But the man answered and the two chuckled. Then seatmate turned back and said:

“I’m also learning Chinese.”

Me: “Oh.”

Me (thinking) Am I supposed to applaud?

Other stuff I was told by seatmate without asking:

He owns a million dollar business

He has teenaged sons

At some point I mentioned that I had been in the Army. This was the guy’s chance to redeem himself as a salesperson and ask about ME. He didn’t. Which is actually okay; I was just testing him and he didn’t disappoint. I suppose he exhausted any more opportunities to tell me about himself because he finally fell silent.

Then he started talking to the Air Force sergeant to the left of me. The unsuspecting guy was reading something and all of a sudden he’s interrupted with:

“Hey Sarge…”

(I don't know ANY non-commissioned officer outside of Beetle Bailey that wants to be addressed as "Sarge," and the fact that the man asking had served added insult to injury—he should have known better. Who does that?)

This pretend interest in “Sarge” turned out to be more opportunity for seatmate to brag. He started grilling this dude on his specialty and plans for life after retirement (strangely enough he didn’t produce a business card and sales pitch, though). Then seatmate took the opportunity to tell the sarge how he had ten of the ribbons that sarge was currently wearing. Then he asked sarge if he knew any languages. “No,” Sarge replied. Seatmate looked mildly disappointed. I half-expected him to brag about his skills in Chinese, but he didn’t go there. The conversation ended (thankfully) when seatmate explained to Sarge that he retired from the Air Force as a (wait for it) field grade officer.

Mind you, “Sarge” didn’t ask. No one asked. We just wanted to get off the train and go home.

Pond Water People

(please note that this story contains a misspelled profanity of the F variety.)

My commute is mostly a ride on the metro with one transfer between trains. In the mornings it’s red line to yellow line, and in the evenings it’s the reverse (duh). The morning transfer involves a trip down to the lower platform, via the escalator. Due to the timing of the trains, you usually have a wait, but sometimes, if you’re fast enough, you can get off of the red train and get down to the yellow before the doors close.

This is assuming you don't have a crowd of people moving like pond water in front of you. Even then, moving quickly is not a guarantee you'll make the train. You might reach the platform in time, but you're too slow to bridge the distance between the bottom step and the open doors. Missing a train by seconds leaves you just enough time for you to hit the brakes before you smack into the closed doors. At that point, it's not even about catching the train, it's about salvaging your pride, which is harder if the people inside of the train witnessed the whole thing.

If you're close enough to the front car, sometimes you can look over and see the train operator with his or her head poked out of the window. If it’s a merciful person, he or she might open the doors, or wait for everyone running down the steps before shutting them. If it’s a sadist, the operator will make eye contact and smirk at you for a second, and then, just as you think the doors will open, the train operator retracts his or her head back into the train and leaves you to watch what could’ve been your ride as it disappears down the dark tunnel.

One of the things I gained from going to West Point was the ability to walk quickly. “Move with a purpose” was the running motto for most of the first year you spent in the place. It gets so ingrained that after awhile, you no longer know how to move at a relaxed pace. Living on the sixth floor transferred this skill to being able to descend a stairwell in eight tenths of a second. All of these skills are helpful if you have to hurry up to catch a train. And if there are pond water people in front of you, the art of moving with a purpose quickly turns into a curse.

This morning, guess what—I had the pond water people in front of me. From the down escalator, I had a perfect view of the yellow train with its open doors and empty seats. Sure, everyone was walking down the escalator steps, but this was a Friday crowd on the eve of a summertime weekend. No one was moving with a purpose, except me. I wanted to say something. “Move it or lose it” was trapped in my throat as I watched the doors close and found myself only midway down the escalator.

As the train pulled off, I exhaled. I was not going to be like that woman, I told myself.

What woman?

The one who was in a similar predicament on one of my more recent commutes. You see, that day I was the pond water person. Usually I will hurry down the steps, but the people ahead of me were slow. Besides, the train waiting at the platform was not a yellow line train, but a green line train, so I was content to move with the slow flow that morning.

Even with my back to her, I could feel the anger bursting to the surface. You know how it goes, the impatient breathing, the sensation that someone’s toes are grazing your heels—but what could I do? The escalator was packed and the people ahead weren’t going any faster. This was rush hour traffic without the cars.

Then, just as I approached the bottom of the steps, the warning chime sounded and the train doors closed.

“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCK!” shouted the woman.

Look, I know that feeling. I’ve said it many times in my head and out loud. But never in a crowded train station when the next train was due to arrive in two minutes. I even felt like that today, but you didn't hear a peep out of me. Not even a sanitized “Fudge” could be justified. I calmly accepted my fate, stepped onto the platform and waited for the next train.

And what did I do after the woman's outburst?

I ducked my head down after she said it, partly because I was hiding a disbelieving smile and partly because I figured the blows would be coming next. With a smirk, I took my place on the platform and watched her train disappear down the dark tunnel.