Mine goes to 11…..

The following is just an observation, if it offends you…..that’s your problem.

When growing up you learn how to talk when you are in different places.  You don’t scream at the library, you don’t talk loud at a wake and you don’t call your grandmother a bastard when she beats you in UNO. And yes, those are all from experience.  So as a people watcher well versed in the appropriate public speech volume, I am greatly amused when riding the train.

What I have found in the past short weeks is that the volume changes with every ethnicity.  This is just a generalization, I’m not stereotyping or labeling….just observing. So at the lowest decibel level we find the Caucasians….generally.  Usually there is that one obnoxious woman who can’t wait to tell someone on the other end of a cell phone (and everyone on the train) about her foot problems and her vacation.  But mostly we whisper to each other like we are sharing secrets.  Next comes African Americans and young Asians (30 and under), the older parts come later.  They talk in normal levels with some highs and some lows, kind of like a tide.  Next, we find Hispanics.  They talk louder as if trying to get some point across yet in a very familiar tone, usually on the phone.  Finally we reach the older Asians.  They don’t give a hoot about how loud they talk or who is around them, they speak to the person next to me at the level you usually use at a rock concert.

I can promise you there is no scientific basis behind my observations.  Nada. None.  It’s more fun that way.  My results will never be seen by the any eyes other than those of the  loyal readers of this blog.  But you ride the train for a little bit and tell me I’m wrong.

P.S. The title, if you don’t know refers to this.

Train walking=NOT sexy

 

First and foremost do not get train walking confused with street walking, while they may appear to be very similar in technique, the goals are sllllightly different.  I don’t hide that I like to people watch so let me tell you…the subway=great entertainment.  During the morning commute you can’t really see a lot since you are crammed into a train car like clowns in a Beetle in the circus.  But when you hit the train just right when there is room to move around, let the show begin!

 There are many versions of train riders: leaners, too-macho-to-hold-on, sleepers, door addicts, etc.  Personally, the most entertaining are the ladies in the spike high heels that try to keep their “sexy walk” in tact while walking in a moving train.  They are the ones that for some random reason feel the need to get up and strut to the door before the train stops.  First of all…your name ain’t Gisele. Second, a Boston Orange line car is NOT a catwalk. And third, you look stupid.  (Was that last one a little to blunt?) 

So here I am, people watching on the ride home the other day, when Giselesome girl in 4 inch stilettos and a mini dress decides she wants to be the first off of the train.  She stands up (looking all diva) and then tries to “sexy walk” to the door.  FAIL.  Even though she committed to her part and tried her best, AT MOST, she looked like a drunk, pregnant penguin walking during an earthquake.  Big side steps and letting out an “oops” every now and then when she pierced someones foot with her heel, it wasn’t pretty.  But it was highly entertaining!

The shoes were hot, purple patent leather, rock on.  So I’m not saying trade her footwear for a nice velcro easy spirit, but just keep your but in the seat until the train stops.  If you are then able to  accomplish the sexy walk …you will be getting looks for the right reasons.

TO RECAP:

does NOT equal

 

I am an Asian man’s pillow

Yes, you read the title correctly.  For some reason when I am on public transportation, Asian men subconsciously think my shoulder is a pillow. I first noticed this a while ago on a flight back from the west coast.  While I was trying to sleep in my sliver of a seat next to the window, I felt a nudge.  You may be thinking…what was the nudge?  Because I was too.  When my pseudo sleep haze cleared I realized it was the older Asian gentleman to my left who would fall asleep, bump into me and then rebound to his own personal space.  Not once, not twice, but continuously for at least 3 hours.  A few times he didn’t do the rebound thing and ended up invading my bubble and leaning on my shoulder.  As if being on a plane for 6 hours with recycled air that includes millions of dead skin cells and bacteria wasn’t enough, I was now threatened by a stranger’s drool.  Ick much?

Then today I was on the train in to Boston, when a flashback hits.  No I wasn’t in Nam but I was nudged.  Yes that’s right, I was nudged.  And guess what type of human was next to me…an older Asian man.  Now since it is the subway there is some clearance for nudging due to the natural motion of the train, this was not that type of nudging.  This guy was unconscious with his chin in his chest, his head moving like a bobble doll.  And where do you think that head landed more than once?  If you guessed my shoulder…YOU’RE RIGHT!  Good for you…not so good for me.  Luckily every time we reached a station the momentum of the train would pull him towards his other neighbor and then when the train started Mr. Bobble Head sloooowly found his way back to me. 

And it’s not like I wear 80’s shoulder pads that would call out to a weary head.  I’m not afraid to admit, I have bony shoulders.  So I don’t understand why I am/have become a sleeping Asian man’s pillow.  But I guess I am good at it or else it wouldn’t keep happening…maybe I should start charging rent!

Fenway Bleachers: The People’s Seats

I have no idea where to begin describing the events of today during and after the Red Sox game.  I guess chronological is the best way to go.

Of course, since it was me, we missed the first pitch.  I have been to many a Red Sox game and I have never managed to get there for the first pitch.  My entrance usually occurs at the second at bat…and my streak continues. The bleachers are my usual seats for many reasons, the most important of which are: I can afford the seats and there is always drama.  So this entry doesn’t go into excess, here is some of what went on…

We saw a guy get thrown out for over zealous cheering

The more the guy next to me had to drink the less he cared about invading my personal space

When I ordered peanuts, the thrower over shot and hit the guy in front of me in his….well I got peanuts

Three guys that were straight out of the Big Bang Theory asked Danelle’s 20 y/o sister to go to the bar

The park should be arrested for what they charge for a beer ($7.25!!!!)

Every other person that came to our section were in the wrong section or the wrong row

All in all the game was good, the weather was great and the day was definitely a good time…until the train. The T, the main mode of public transportation to exit and enter the city, the sponge that sucks up all of our tax dollars, the metal hunks of junk that are packed like cattle cars during the slaughter….ah the T. It would have taken us an hour to get down the stairs to even see the train at Kenmore so we walked to Berkley.  We thought we were outsmarting everyone…boy did karma get us back 10 fold.  The station was clear, almost completely empty, we were smart.  Then the train arrived, and the next, and the next and the next.  The 5th train was the one we were finally able to fit aboard.  And by fit I mean take a deep breath and wedge yourself in between 300 other Red Sox fans and 9-5ers going home.  Then the waiting began.  Over the next 12 minutes, yes I counted.  The train turned off and on about 6 times, it was like a toddler playing with a light switch…really freakin’ annoying.  Then the announcement came…”everybody off.”

Yep, after 12 minutes of being in a sardine can with 300 of my closest friends and having a staring match with those waiting for the next train, we all had to get off and wait for the next car. Did I mention it was after a game and during rush hour.  So needless to say, we made friends.  When the next train came Erin, who couldn’t be 120 soaken wet, pushed her way on the train while our new friends cheered her name…”Ortiz” (since her last name is very Irish, I’m guessing they got that from her Papi shirt).  We made it on, but we weren’t told the driver liked to break randomly, take the corners at insane speeds and then slow down just to gun it.  We all felt like we were in a motion sickness experiment or on a surfboard in rapids.  The ride in a nutshell, Erin smacked some 10 y/o in the head about five times in the guise of saving him from falling, with our new friends we made fun of Canadians in hats that were made out of Muppet skins, when Danelle got a seat the fly of the guy standing directly in front of her was completely open, then “Kevin” sat down next to Erin and was so drunk that he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Yeah, it was a good time.

So like I said, the day was a good time.  The only thing I am not happy about is the influx of freakin’ freckles on my nose from the sun. Overall though, ya gotta love that Dirty Water!  I’m so glad Boston is my home!