Debate

Here is awesome: Guy gets on an outbound train asking people to sign a petition regarding the water bureau of Portland city. The trick is you had to live in-city to be on the petition.

Do you not see the problem here? All of these people, not some, are going home outside city proper. Nobody can sign it.

Back to the awesome: even though it wasn't something any of us could vote on, ten or so people launched into a discussion about the topic and we debated it from both sides for a bit. 

Nothing too passionate since none of us had a stake, but it was vigorous. Team captains were a rich old lady and an old street guy with a very dirty jacket. The guy actually was way more solid and convincing. Full marks!

Maybe that is what we need in government: forget your stake and argue logically.

Eyes and Bags

When I say. "Eyes and bags," I am not referring to those purple-gray purses slung under my baby blues this morning. I mean real eyeballs and backpacks.

The backpacks thing is silly. They don't get seats: simple. On your lap, on the ground, or slung around your back whilst you stand. Watching that old lady completely ream you for like two minutes while you cowered in shame almost made my morning. 

Which brings me to eyes. A girl got on wearing one of my favorite outfits: jeans tucked into boots. She has a pleasing form, and a fairly nice butt. Now, being morning I have no tact, manners or couth, so yeah, I was staring at it.

What I didn't know is the entire time I was looking at her profile rump, she was staring eyes locked on my eyes. When I looked up, her facial expression only made one change: her eyebrows lifted.

Busted! I know, I have a phone I can look at instead! :-)

Captive

Panhandler gets on the train, starts traveling the aisle asking for spare change. I don't appreciate the inability to walk away. So now he stands there afterwards at the front of the train looking back down the rows making eye contact with everyone who did not give him money. 

A little unnerving and hardly fair. I really don't have spare change, or any change, on me. Moreover who these days riding public transit has money, "they don't intend to use."

After this week, all this is mine.

Pariah

I've said this too many times. I could write a separate blog about this. 

Age trumps gender when it comes to seating on the train, sugar.

The only reason I have to say this again is because of your need to verbally make note of, "no gentleman willing to offer their seat."

First off: I am not a gentleman.

Secondly: You are fully capable of standing there with your paltry 19 years of life, yoga pants, and bookbag.

Lastly: Shut your mouth, girl. You flap open your lips with dribble like that you deserve replies like mine.

For the record, "Guess not, princess," was the nicest way for me to put that.

Smoosh

If I were a tiny, brined fish commuting outside of my normal can-home, and chose to ride the train today, I may complain about the lack of elbow room.

I might also lament being back in my can at the end of this list of errands, whatever those might be for a tiny fish in a city. There would be intense longing for the spaciousness contained in the 3.75 ounce mansion which I share with my dozen or so brothers and sisters.

I need a shower now.

And I don't know for certain, but me, the two girls in front of me, and the guy behind me may be plurally married. 

At least that's the impression got from his pelvis rubbing on mine unintentionally and with apologies.

Costume

Today's train is full of happy fun Halloween costumes. It's a great festive day for people to shed the doldrums of their typical day be a fictional, sometimes scary, character.

A tour, you say? Well let's see what we have here.

Well here we have a medical student reading her notes from class (such a great prop). She is clutching "coffee" and has dark circles under her eyes. Likely eye shadow.

Over yonder is a construction worker, probably late to a Village People morning party, he is showing real commitment to his costume with his lunch pail, white hardhat, and gray-black damaged hands with shattered fingernails. Ouch bro.

There are others, but I am not alone in being the "just heading to work" guy. Sitting in front of me is a young devil. Her red dress a bit wrinkled, pitchfork lying forgotten next to her. She looks sad and tired. I bet she is new and on her way to claim her first soul.

The first is always the hardest.

App

The train this morning is a sleep car of protest with dozens of faces pressed hard enough against windows to snooze, but not so deep in REM that they miss their stop.

That is, of course, except for these two older ladies who are clucking loudly into each others' faces. I say that because with my headphones I cannot discern their words. They just sounds like roused birds gurgle-gobbling at each other.

The strange thing is that I am not sure they agree or disagree with each other. They aren't listening, just taking turns bawking. Bawking. Ba-caawwww.

Funeral

Every person on the upper deck off this train is wearing a black coat. While they might be leather, wool, or have some northwest sounding name on the breast, but they are distinctly black.

All, of course, but one: a small grey haired old lady with a neon yellow windbreaker covered in little blue lightning bolts. She is sitting at the very front and we are all following her at the same speed, though she seems faster.

If any one of us had a scythe this would be really ominous.

Media Black Sheep

This is my phone. This little digital boxy thing that lights up my face as I type, and pumps talk radio into my ears, too. Internet! News! Streaming media! 

I am, however alone in this endeavor this morning. 

Around me people are reading magazines, books, a newspaper, a crossword fun book, and one aging lady with grayish-yellow hair and a pink jacket  is playing an old beep-boop Yahtzee LCD game. She is my only technology compatriot.

Gotta cut this short, though, as we are going into a tunnel and I am the only one whose stimulation will get cut off. Maybe tomorrow I'll bring the book I am reading.

Target

So a tall slender gentleman just boarded the train carrying a five-foot longbow with a quiver of arrows slung across his back. 

He is probably 25 or 26, black, and has an old timey moustache twirled up into curls. 

His tan pantaloons are embroidered with green birds and little brown stars.

The door slid open, he stepped on, and we pulled away. Nobody else seems to be curious about this since they looked up, took note, and went back to their books and knitting.

I am dying to know what quest he is on.

Godliness

I am all for hygiene, but perhaps people could choose to dispose of their cotton swabs perhaps in a trash can?

It's Friday, and I am looking forward to getting home and away from the norm. Will spend most of Saturday being chased around a park by zombies, though many seem to already be on this train. 

Don't think they want brains though...

Communication

Sometimes on the train I look around and try to figure out how this collection of people would react together as part of a survival group. You know, the ragtag band of folks that get thrown together during a disaster or zombie invasion. I see a nursing student, a chef, and a lot of business people. So we could eat & bind wounds at least.

Of course you also have to look at women who you might need to re-people the world with. Of course... You also need to look for the panickers, the psychos, and the dead weight. 

I can see the problem guy, the manipulator, and the inconsolable cryer.

I want to think I would step forward as a leader. Not because I need control, but really want to say cool phrases like, "get everyone to to rear car while we set up the barricade!"

Strategery

An extra few blocks lands me on a train before it hits downtown proper. I typically get myself a seat. This is nice for me. 

I've not written in a while, but spent much time on the train reading or sleeping. I do miss the daily observation, so here I go again.

Today I am enjoying listening to two Romanian women arguing furiously over either shoes, dinner or a baby. I am uncertain because all I have gained is her impassioned pointing at her shoes and stomach. I'm going to go with dinner... Because it is possibly the least creepy of the three.

Space Pt2.

Look, if you are so big you need both seats: stand. You need the exercise.

This one-buttcheek-per-seat stuff is out of control.

Space

I don't recall this many enormous people in hover-rounds taking up all four seats in the  "disabled" area before I had a cane and a legit need to sit down.

We are talking insane mudslide huge here.