I don't need your sideways glance, middle-aged T lady
Dear Nancy, or Stacy, or Donna, or whatever your name is:
I get it. In fact, we all get it. You are the moral compass of this MBTA green line car, I assume because you are wearing a pants suit. We, and I speak for all other T riders, apologize for getting in your way when entering or exiting, moving through the car and causing you to adjust your hold on the rail. It is an ageless crime, that we lack the means to travel outside your stately T confines, and must therefore clutter your otherwise empty subway car, filling it with students, young professionals, hobos, and most incredulously elderly Chinese couples.
Your scorn is noted. And therefore, I request - no beg - an end to that rapacious assault you employ upon me when I invade the pleasant commute from Brighton to your windowless receptionists' desk/cubicle/mid-level manager's bathroom where his wife won't find out . The sideways glance and aggravated sigh are like knives into my heartless chest. No! Please don't roll your eyes! I'm sorry you have sit next to a "wage earner" in a double because the man with a cane took the single seat.
Remember, the "Life is good." sticker posted off kilter on your filing cabinet is but minutes away, and yet the scowl you gave me for accidentally nudging your purse while paging through the Metro makes life for me seem, well not "is good". Please forgive me, over-madeup 30-something. It's not like I made you stop going to your pilates classes, (your gut is sagging over your black straight-legs these days). Surely I can't be blamed that guys haven't been after you since frat parties 14 years ago. Listen to your girlfriends. Those co-eds weren't talking to you because they were drunk and you were easy. They liked you for your mind, and guys "just aren't like that anymore." Trust me, its not that you gained 20 pounds, work in a dead-end job, and go home each night to sex and the city re-runs (everyone says your most like Samantha) and a low-carb bacon cheeseburger.
We, the saxaphone case carrying Berklee students, young professionals wearing Sketcher sneaker-shoes, hipsters, and of course elderly Chinese couples will try our best to stay out of your way. We'll crowd around the door so you needn't move back during rush hour. I'll inform the tourists to keep their gabbing to a minimum, and personally I will try not to be grossed out when I accidently notice your spider vanes. Just please, don't give us "the look." It hurts so much coming from a middle-aged going on twenty year old like yourself. The last thing we want to do is interrupt the texting on your RaZR. And no, nobody is hitting on you.
I get it. In fact, we all get it. You are the moral compass of this MBTA green line car, I assume because you are wearing a pants suit. We, and I speak for all other T riders, apologize for getting in your way when entering or exiting, moving through the car and causing you to adjust your hold on the rail. It is an ageless crime, that we lack the means to travel outside your stately T confines, and must therefore clutter your otherwise empty subway car, filling it with students, young professionals, hobos, and most incredulously elderly Chinese couples.
Your scorn is noted. And therefore, I request - no beg - an end to that rapacious assault you employ upon me when I invade the pleasant commute from Brighton to your windowless receptionists' desk/cubicle/mid-level manager's bathroom where his wife won't find out . The sideways glance and aggravated sigh are like knives into my heartless chest. No! Please don't roll your eyes! I'm sorry you have sit next to a "wage earner" in a double because the man with a cane took the single seat.
Remember, the "Life is good." sticker posted off kilter on your filing cabinet is but minutes away, and yet the scowl you gave me for accidentally nudging your purse while paging through the Metro makes life for me seem, well not "is good". Please forgive me, over-madeup 30-something. It's not like I made you stop going to your pilates classes, (your gut is sagging over your black straight-legs these days). Surely I can't be blamed that guys haven't been after you since frat parties 14 years ago. Listen to your girlfriends. Those co-eds weren't talking to you because they were drunk and you were easy. They liked you for your mind, and guys "just aren't like that anymore." Trust me, its not that you gained 20 pounds, work in a dead-end job, and go home each night to sex and the city re-runs (everyone says your most like Samantha) and a low-carb bacon cheeseburger.
We, the saxaphone case carrying Berklee students, young professionals wearing Sketcher sneaker-shoes, hipsters, and of course elderly Chinese couples will try our best to stay out of your way. We'll crowd around the door so you needn't move back during rush hour. I'll inform the tourists to keep their gabbing to a minimum, and personally I will try not to be grossed out when I accidently notice your spider vanes. Just please, don't give us "the look." It hurts so much coming from a middle-aged going on twenty year old like yourself. The last thing we want to do is interrupt the texting on your RaZR. And no, nobody is hitting on you.
posted by J. DiColo | 7:32 AM
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