Tight Spaces
Weird things happen when you’re in tight spaces.
Subways are a prime example. It’s like all rules go out the window when there are no real windows to jump out of. And believe me, you’ll try.
That jabbing elbow in your back? “Wasn’t me. Must have been…” [silently fingers toward frumpy woman to her right]. That sour smell with impressive hang time? “Ohhhhhhh, must have been…” [silently fingers toward sleeping construction worker to her left]. Subways are cesspools of anarchy. People are running rampant, retaliating against authority and listening to Selena Gomez without shame. There’s no self government and no proper air flow. It’s mass chaos!
People in suburbia don’t understand. They live the privileged life, with full-sized shopping carts, little-to-no pedestrian foot traffic, and personal bubbles galore. So, I’m here to enlighten all of you Walmart-going folk about the truths of public transit. It’s packed, it smells, and it’s home to thousands of mole people. While we all repress the image of sewer dwellers under the L, let’s talk about all the *other* uncomfortable things that happen in tight spaces. Like…
When you become a referee between Josh and Heather as they debate who was a bigger tool bag in the Macy’s “Return” line. And tie goes to… Heather.
But hatred quickly turns into love. And you’re caught in the cross fire…
When a dude - who’s Love Language is clearly Physical Touch - goes to caress his lady friend and brushes your leg in the process (because you’re cornered between the two lovebirds). What’s better: you have nowhere to look and redirect your awkward energy because you’re sitting next to a blackened window.
Speaking of awkward…
When you have to pretend you don’t understand Spanish. Yeah, I could’ve lived without knowing that José thinks I have a nice, athletic body.
When you have to play dead so a crazy hobo doesn’t try to get your number.
When you hear things that are clearly meant for a therapist.
And that’s only scratching the surface. I’m sure we can all recall a good brawl that was prolonged by “train traffic ahead of us” or a breakdance routine gone wrong. Let’s just say, a lot of shifty things happen when people are breathing in each other’s exhales. It’s like…
When someone's Venti coffee breath is everyone's Venti coffee breath.
When you creep on your neighbor’s WSJ, because you want to be informed but you don’t want to be a decent human being and buy a paper for yourself.
When you’ve studied every seam of someone’s shoes because you would rather lose your left arm than look anywhere near his/her eyes.
When you pretend to thoughtfully read a subway ad for the 1000th time because you refuse to talk to the person next to you.
When you put in your headphones, but don’t listen to music, because you refuse to talk to the person next to you.
When you rummage through your bag, looking for nothing, because you REFUSE to talk to the person next to you.
When holding back a smile takes the strength and control of an Olympic athlete. After all, you can’t get too friendly with these people. They’ll take you for all your worth - namely your prime, door-side seat.
Tight spaces are uncomfortable. I think I made that point pretty clear. But I haven’t shown you the softer side of claustrophobia. Pay attention or you may miss it…
Fate.
It’s your only hope when someone’s Summer armpit is eating your shoulder. Not to get all New-York-movie on you, buuuuuuuuutt you could meet your future person on the subway. Impossible? No, sir. I know people who are now married with children [can we all just process that for a minute?] who met in a train car. Fact.
So next time you gag as that old lady eats an egg salad sandwich sloppily all over her lap, remember you could be that old lady. You could be the pride and joy, with egg mayo cemented to the corners of your crusted mouth, of a man who’s “more of a tuna guy” himself. Big dreams, right? Yes, subways suck. And people get a little nutty when they’re parked “bumper to bumper” for extended periods of time, but public transit isn’t *all bad.* Just most parts of it. Good, unexpected things can happen on the subway too.
Am I being too optimistic? Sure. But it’s the optimism that keeps me sane on the G train when I see grown men crying like babies and babies smoking cigarettes like grown men. Note: only half of that statement is true. The positive and unexpected encounters are worth it though. They make all those unidentifiable liquids on the ground seem non-existent. They make that overwhelming smell of Chinese food smell like a puff of fresh, Icelandic air. The positive encounters make all those weird moments worth it. Every. Last. One. Take it from me, I met my current boyfriend on the A line.
Psych. But I wouldn’t be opposed to meeting someone on the 2/3 or 4/5 Downtown. And it could happen. Remember: train car, couple, kids? The proof is in the puddin'.