Awww, spit
The train is coming to its final stop. The passengers awake from their slumber, rise from their seats, and form a line towards the exit. There is little eye contact. The experience is akin to travelling in an elevator: everyone looks straight ahead.
Since this was a long day for me, I have yawned for the past twenty minutes, or so. In fact, I can’t stop yawning. It’s like a perpetual motion machine.
When I feel a yawn coming on, I tilt my head down, put my hand in front of my mouth, open my mouth to the degree that it can swallow a dingo, get a case of lock-jaw, panic, slam my jaw back and up into position with the palm of my hand, stifle a yelp and a few tears, close my mouth and place my hand back down at my side.
The train is taking hours to come to a stop, when in reality it’s only a few minutes. The rocking motion is lulling me back to sleep and I feel another yawn coming on. Yes. Yes, it’s coming. No, wait. Wait. No, it’s not. No. False alarm.
Oh, God, no.
Fuck, here it comes.
Without having the time to put my hand in front of my mouth, I yawn. It isn’t a large one. I’ve had bigger.
But, before I close my mouth, something happens.
A fine mist sprays out of the corner of my mouth and onto the woman in front of me. Tiny droplets of my saliva are embedded in her hair and a few fall on the back of her jacket. It looks like hairspray, only in reality, it’s mouthspray.
I am mortified.
I open my eyes wide, exemplifying shock.
I look up to see if anyone saw my nouveau display of one-sided swapping spit. Two passengers facing me saw the whole thing. Their expressions are those of disgust.
To hide the fact that I am guilty as sin, I stare at the doors, praying they’ll open.
Please, God, I beg, don’t let her turn around. Just open the fucking doors as fast as you possibly can.
The train comes to a stop and it pauses. I start to sweat. I’m waiting for those heathens to tell the other passenger that I (accidentally) orally misted her.
But, that doesn’t happen.
The doors open and I nonchalantly make a run for my car.
Oh, shit, here comes another yawn…
Since this was a long day for me, I have yawned for the past twenty minutes, or so. In fact, I can’t stop yawning. It’s like a perpetual motion machine.
When I feel a yawn coming on, I tilt my head down, put my hand in front of my mouth, open my mouth to the degree that it can swallow a dingo, get a case of lock-jaw, panic, slam my jaw back and up into position with the palm of my hand, stifle a yelp and a few tears, close my mouth and place my hand back down at my side.
The train is taking hours to come to a stop, when in reality it’s only a few minutes. The rocking motion is lulling me back to sleep and I feel another yawn coming on. Yes. Yes, it’s coming. No, wait. Wait. No, it’s not. No. False alarm.
Oh, God, no.
Fuck, here it comes.
Without having the time to put my hand in front of my mouth, I yawn. It isn’t a large one. I’ve had bigger.
But, before I close my mouth, something happens.
A fine mist sprays out of the corner of my mouth and onto the woman in front of me. Tiny droplets of my saliva are embedded in her hair and a few fall on the back of her jacket. It looks like hairspray, only in reality, it’s mouthspray.
I am mortified.
I open my eyes wide, exemplifying shock.
I look up to see if anyone saw my nouveau display of one-sided swapping spit. Two passengers facing me saw the whole thing. Their expressions are those of disgust.
To hide the fact that I am guilty as sin, I stare at the doors, praying they’ll open.
Please, God, I beg, don’t let her turn around. Just open the fucking doors as fast as you possibly can.
The train comes to a stop and it pauses. I start to sweat. I’m waiting for those heathens to tell the other passenger that I (accidentally) orally misted her.
But, that doesn’t happen.
The doors open and I nonchalantly make a run for my car.
Oh, shit, here comes another yawn…
Authored by S at 12:00 am
2 Comments:
Yeah, I HATE that yawn spray. It's always followed by a quick look to see if anyone saw it. I didn't know that ever happened to anyone else. I'm glad to know I'm not alone.
Six: Thankfully, it didn't happen on a convicted felon named Bubba.
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