Meeting New People

As I rode home on the train last night, counting how many times the woman next to me said “like” (56 times in under 10 minutes), slightly inebriated from having one too many glasses of wine at dinner, I remembered an encounter I had on the train a few months ago.

So the story goes: One night, I was on the train headed back home to you know where. This guy got on at the next station and sat one seat away from me, which I truly appreciated. I have to say, I hate it when people unnecessarily invade my personal space. For instance, when I’m in a public restroom and a woman enters the stall right next to mine even though every other stall is empty!

Sorry. I digress, so this guy sat and slowly began to sink. He sank so far down, in fact, that half of his back was occupying the space that was meant for his... err.. posterior (still keeping it PG people).

After about a minute, he turned to me and asked if it was a long ride to Coney Island. Being the helpful New Yorker that I am, I informed him that it was indeed a very long ride. He sighed and shook his head, “Do I look high or drunk to you?”

I wanted to give him an accurate answer, so I turned my entire upper body towards him and stared with wide-eyed conviction. After my thorough examination, I wrinkled my forehead (to look thoughtful) and said, “Honestly… yes.” I gave myself a mental pat on the back for doing my good deed for the day.

“That’s because I am,” he mused and broke into a slow, kind of creepy laugh. Ah, ha……ha……ha…..ha…..hum. What followed was a second by second replay the events that had led him to this high/drunken state. I listened attentively adding in wows and reallys. Once his story was finished, I nodded to signify that yes, that could happen to anyone, and then happily retuned to my daydreaming.

“Have you ever read that book?” My inebriated friend asked pointing to one of the advertisements in the train.

“Can’t say that I have,” I answered honestly. For another five minutes, my newly acquired friend detailed this author’s previous works of fiction in astounding detail (if any of it was true). Again, I queued up the fervent nodding, and added my reallys and interestings (as I think it's very important to do your fair share in a conversation).

“I’m sorry but this is my stop,” I said regrettably.

“Oh okay. You have a good night... man… I hope I don’t fall asleep.” He was practically on the floor at this point. I smiled a genuine smile and exited the train whishing I had taken the time to write down that author's name.