Train wracking
As I’m waiting for my train, I fold up the pages of my magazine and look to the side to the other people waiting on the platform. There, standing a few feet away from me is a face I recognize. It’s like looking at a desexualized version of me: whiter, flabbier, with flatter hair, and thinner lips.
Where have I seen him before? He’s not a member of my family. A long-time friend or acquaintance? No, not that. Think, Steven, think. I'm wracking my brain. Oh, now I remember: He’s a former co-worker. That’s who he is.
Why the fuck I never see people I like is beyond my advanced comprehension of irony and situational humour.
When I enter the train, I find a window seat and within a few seconds, he takes the seat beside me. Great. I begin to simmer. For the next while, I have to pretend not to know him while holding back every temptation to grab my bag and whack his head several times to the point of rendering him unconscious.
As the train begins its journey eastward, I pick up my phone and return a call that was made a few hours before. He also picks up his phone and talks with the same wispy David Beckham-like voice that drove me insane while he was within listening distance. I feel like dragging my nails down a chalkboard.
If only I could remember his name. But, I can’t. There must be some memory block against the travesties of former co-workers. It’s driving me crazy. Through my head, I’m going through a list of names: Nathan, Tristan, Cameron… Bill. That’s right, it’s Bill.
Bill, the fucker who dirtied everything he touched and left me to deal with the cleanup. Bill, the fucker who behind his simple exterior was more manipulative and scrupulous than I ever imagined. Bill, the fucker who swiped my job from under me. Bill, the fucker.
After he gets off the train, I slouch down in my seat and look out the window, staring into nothingness.
It’s times like these where I wish I never had to take the train. In order to go home, you have to relive your past, no matter how much you want to move forward.
Note: Why do I never run into people I like?
Where have I seen him before? He’s not a member of my family. A long-time friend or acquaintance? No, not that. Think, Steven, think. I'm wracking my brain. Oh, now I remember: He’s a former co-worker. That’s who he is.
Why the fuck I never see people I like is beyond my advanced comprehension of irony and situational humour.
When I enter the train, I find a window seat and within a few seconds, he takes the seat beside me. Great. I begin to simmer. For the next while, I have to pretend not to know him while holding back every temptation to grab my bag and whack his head several times to the point of rendering him unconscious.
As the train begins its journey eastward, I pick up my phone and return a call that was made a few hours before. He also picks up his phone and talks with the same wispy David Beckham-like voice that drove me insane while he was within listening distance. I feel like dragging my nails down a chalkboard.
If only I could remember his name. But, I can’t. There must be some memory block against the travesties of former co-workers. It’s driving me crazy. Through my head, I’m going through a list of names: Nathan, Tristan, Cameron… Bill. That’s right, it’s Bill.
Bill, the fucker who dirtied everything he touched and left me to deal with the cleanup. Bill, the fucker who behind his simple exterior was more manipulative and scrupulous than I ever imagined. Bill, the fucker who swiped my job from under me. Bill, the fucker.
After he gets off the train, I slouch down in my seat and look out the window, staring into nothingness.
It’s times like these where I wish I never had to take the train. In order to go home, you have to relive your past, no matter how much you want to move forward.
Note: Why do I never run into people I like?
Authored by S at 12:00 am
8 Comments:
Because you don't like anybody? lol. Just kidding.
Damn....tornwordo stole my line. But I am not kidding.
And btw, ALL Bill's are very nice people so it must be you. And a David Beckham-like voice can be sexy....well, I guess only on David Beckham, but still.
But, I DO like people and I AM a nice person... ok, even I couldn't write that down without smirking.
Here, here now.....let me make you feel all better. And I know you like me....but I'm so far away. Damn.
Hmm. I have somewhat similar things happen to me all the time, too. I have a reocgnizable face and people I wish could forget me do not. I have been known to duck behind pay phones, light poles, and trash cans in an attempt to avoid notice.
i often have fantasies of running into an old coworker or boss i hated, and making sure they knew that i saw them and that i was purposely ignoring them.
hi, i'm seven.
ah who am i kidding. i'd probably smile and say hello. god i hate being nice.
You'll fit right in. In NEW YORK!
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