Public Exasperation

A friend of mine once said that "Public transportation is an egalitarian experience. I love it." From the vantage point of a social people loving person I'd jump in that boat. Especially from a "people watching" perspective, it would be a challenge to find another venue that offers so many "possibilities” in so confined a space.

My personal preference for public transport is the subway system. Growing up on the West Coast doesn't provide the same public transportation experience that you get in Chicago, New York City or Washington DC. In San Francisco we have the Bay Area Rapid Transit system (BART) and in Los Angeles we have "Light Rail." Not the same animal.

For one, your likelihood of death is more remote! There just aren't that many people using the systems as there are here on the East Coast. Humans per square inch in this part of the country is another blog article altogether. Still, in the subway system people watching should be termed "people feeling." Copping a feel is an occupational hazard.

I've had my share of male on male subway "connections." I don't have much to say other than "awkward!" Guys tend to be stoic about such things. They just pretend that their hip is not sandwiched between your cheeks. The look on their face (usually) says "please tell me you're not at all bi-curious...please?"

While I'm not gay or homophobic, there is something startling about sudden man to man proximity. Or at least with many of us. Obviously, I have little trouble with the close proximity of the opposite sex. I am, however,  mindful of the discomfort some women feel...that's some women.

One of the peculiarities of the Washington DC subway is that people either like collecting at the train doorways or are "herded" that way once the center fills up. Then it's just pack'em, rack'em and stack'em as people squeeze you in the center from four sides. A uniquely "personal" experience.

Adjusting limbs in this sardine sandwich is a skill acquired over the course of years riding/stuffing/packing the subway trains. One day, adjusting away from an intensely odorific manifestation, I turned, raising my arm and then bringing it down in front of me, and stood face to face with a gifted woman.

Most people have this "subway skill" of detachment. It's the thousand mile stare but in close proximity to your nose.  But not this woman. She beamed a smile right at me. Of course, I smiled back. But it was the kind of smile that said there was something very wrong.

The downward progress of my hand had been arrested in mid-course. Part of this was due to my thumb snagging on my belt. The other cause was the woman’s “gift.” One tremendous breast had been thrust into the crook of my descending arm and the other somewhere between my left arm and chest. I would have sighed but for the proximity of our heads.

I was completely disarmed. Bravado being a coping mechanism it offered no recourse for me. She was pretty, seemed completely at ease. As for me, my right hand was cramping and was locked firmly between her breasts and against my chest.  I just stood stock-still…not much of a problem as any kind of mobility had to wait for a station stop. Oh. My. God.  I swear we must have traveled a hundred miles before the next station.

Sometimes the only answer to these quandaries is a good laugh. I’m a healthy guy. As guys go many of us dream about the “subway fantasy.” When confronted with situations like these, certain biological functions will…manifest…no matter how uncomfortable.  Still, it’s anything but a fantasy, more like public exasperation.

When the train finally arrived at the station and the crowds started to thin, she looked up to me before exiting, grinned and said “My. Warm…wasn’t it?” There was the odor of perfume and she was gone(thank god). I think I missed my connection because I just had to laugh…