The Train

I ride the train nearly every day. Two hours a day, five or six times a week, I am immersed in a dirty metal tube with a cross section of humanity.

That adds up to about five hundred hours a year, on the train.

If you know me at all, I am sure you can recognize the relish I have for such an opportunity to be in such proximity with so many people, for such a protracted period of time.

Sharing each others breath. Hearing the minutiae of one another's lives.
What a glorious experience.


My transit times vary, but after a couple of years you start to notice the reoccurring characters.

Here are some of my favorites:

God Guy – Identified by his Jesus hat, t-shirts with religious themes and compulsive reading of books on faith. Somewhere, there is a place that sells all of that Jesus stuff and I have never been to it. I bet he is a nice guy (or child molester), he always looks scared to death.

God Gal – Less easily identified than God Guy, she bears a shocking resemblance to my late Uncle Doug. The Doug thing is probably why I first noticed her, as she is a very, uh, handsome woman. Balances her time on the train reading the bible and books about dealing with unruly teenage boys. Pray for her.

The Crazy Crier – She is crazy and she cries. Usually flopping onto the train at the last minute, muttering crazy talk. Should somebody be in her preferred seat, she will begin crying “I can’t sit there” while staring at the seats occupant. Guys will usually move, women are about 50/50 – some will let her stand and cry.

The Hesher – This guy isn’t a metal-head guy at all, but he has that straggley long blond hair and a Neanderthal forehead. He really should be in a band called CrypticDethWallop and draw skulls on Trapper Keepers.

Tech Chumps – A general classification, upon boarding the train they immediately pull out the Blackberry/laptop/netbook and fervently begin to do absolutely nothing. They read e-mails three or four times, hoping for new ones. They sneak into Minesweeper or Tetris, but lean so you can’t see that they aren’t about to launch the next Google. Get yourselves a Kindle, ‘cause I know you aren’t getting any work done.

Laurel and Hardy – There are two guys and two chicks, and my title applies to either pair. Fat One and Skinny One, they are able to talk about the most mind-numbingly banal bullshit, every day, for the entire train ride. The next day, the conversation picks up with any new trivial details relating to the previous days chit-chat and goes nowhere from there.

PDA Couple – More of a classification than any one couple, these folks are so in love they have to cuddle, snuggle, whisper, wipe each others tears with sweatshirt sleeves, kiss, grope, grind and so on – while on the train. They are, typically, the two least attractive people on any given train car.

The Girls of the WC – The Walnut Creek girls are like a travelling Lindsey Lohan look-a-like contest. Usually spotted in pairs, or larger groups. Giant sunglasses and skinny jeans seem to be required. Typically seen returning home from a big day of restocking their Hollister hoody assortments, Forever21 fashions and so on.

The OG’s – Another pair or group combination, this time of guys, with multi-color Dunks, goofy sweatshirts, sideways hats, saggy jeans with too much embroidered shit on the pockets as the uniform. They usually talk with each other about how awesome they are, loudly. Then they call anybody who will pickup their Sidekick, to talk about all of the awesome stuff they are doing, loudly. Yo, it is a pretty safe guess that you are not that awesome, you are on public transit. Tone it down.

The Bear – Not a regular, but a favorite, I first encountered the Bear one day when he was sitting behind me. I thought the seat behind me was empty, but no it was a hibernation location for the Bear. He announced his awakening with long series of cough/growl/hacking noises. He rose with some grunting noises, farts and started to scratching, scratching a lot, back on the side of the car, claws on exposed belly scratching. Following that, he settled into chowing on some foraged sandwich. Lips smacking, open mouth devouring of food. I love the Bear, because he will clear half a car in about fifteen minutes.


I assume that I am The Douchebag, one of The Suits or fall into some asshole classification on some other website.
I am fine with that.


I am quite capable of judging and being judged.