Writing in Transit: The Anger

I received some bad news from a friend right before I got on the subway this past Thursday night: they had gotten laid off at their job, a company that hadn’t made any mention of impending layoffs until, well, they said pack your things and here’s your severance package.

I was angry, I was upset, I was frustrated that someone with talent and promise could be cut down so suddenly. No notice, no warning, no “just a heads up, you may want to start looking for jobs elsewhere”. I was figuratively seething, but I’m almost positive that if I looked in a mirror, you could see the steam coming out of my ears.

Almost blind with anger, I walked a few extra blocks to catch the express instead of the local. Walking it off didn’t really help, so I sat down on the subway and just stared into space. I was torn between feeling thankful it wasn’t me, and then feeling bad that it had to be anyone at all.

The young couple across from me was having a grand old time playing a game together on one of their phones. It was cute, something D and I would probably do, but I found it so grating. How on Earth could they be so nonchalant? How were they so blase about this terrible news? Of course they didn’t know, of course they had no way of knowing, but that didn’t make a difference: I wanted everyone to be upset along with me.

I’m sure I glared. They didn’t look up, and I was thankful for that: I’m not that kind of person. I don’t let my emotions show easily (in public, anyway), and I’m not one to force my emotions on others. But for some reason, that night, I just wanted everyone to be sad along with me, and watching others being actively cheerful was frustrating.

And then I thought about how layoffs happen every single goshdarn day, and I’ve been lucky not to know anyone personally that’s had to go through one. And then I thought about how often people get on the subway upset, or annoyed, or angry, and I never notice. How I sit there, smiling at a good book or laughing at a comment from a friend, and these strangers are going through their own unfriendly emotions.

So by the time my train had made its way to the Manhattan Bridge, I had reconciled (in my head) with the couple across from me. Because maybe they’d both had horrible days earlier in the week and they were glad to have a light-hearted train ride. And because they weren’t deserving of my wrath anyway.

Writing in Transit: The Sanitizer

Their guide is either brash or has a tight schedule: braving the Lexington line at 8AM with a dozen teenage tourists is nothing short of reckless.

“We’re getting off the next stop!” he says over and over. “Hold onto something!”

They chat excitedly. I wonder if this is their first day here. I wonder where they’re staying, getting on the train in Downtown Brooklyn.

It’s a short trip to Bowling Green; they manage to make it off the train safely, fanny packs and all.

As we pull away, I notice several take out hand sanitizer to pass around. Smart kids.

Writing in Transit is a recurring series of 100-word stories based on my experiences on the subway. Posted on Fridays, they’re exactly 100 words. I double checked.

Writing in Transit: The Tube

“What’s that show about, Mom?”

“Oh, it’s about…a teacher that does bad things.”

Two minutes later, same question. “It’s about families that fight each other and there are dragons.”

Grown-ups talk about television a lot when their children are sitting in between them, with ponchos and umbrellas and backpacks full of textbooks and short attention spans.

“What’s that one about, Dad?”

“Well, there are people that advertise things, like cars and headphones.”

Breaking Bad, Game of Thrones, Mad Men. If you need an elevator pitch for something, ask a parent to describe it to their kids. Hello there, succinct sentences.

Writing in Transit is a recurring series of 100-word stories based on my experiences on the subway bus. Posted on Fridays, they’re exactly 100 words. I double checked.

Writing in Transit: The Bargain

Her: So, if I make you watch Pride & Prejudice, how much Star Trek do I have to watch?

Him: Well, that’s a tough one…I mean, it’s not like Star Trek and Pride & Prejudice should just be an hour to hour ratio. I feel like you need to watch at least three or four episodes to really get it.

In lieu of a drabble, here is a quote from a particularly adorable couple on the train last night. This conversation went on a bit longer, but they didn’t come to a definitive agreement.

Writing in Transit: The Twins

It’s hard to miss the cover with its warm, gold tones and oversized crown. Trade paperback sized, the writing is small, but the tome is still unwieldy.

I smile. I’m reading the same book, but it’s on my Kindle, because Lord knows I don’t have much room in my bag, and leftover pizza takes up the most real estate.

We’re reading the same book, what are the odds?

Suddenly, I have to know what chapter he’s on.

With furtive glances upon my exit, I catch a glimpse of the page number. I’m only four pages ahead.

What are the odds?

Writing in Transit is a recurring series of 100-word stories based on my experiences on the subway. Posted on Fridays, they’re exactly 100 words. I double checked.