He’s an aberration in a sea of same faces.
Inside a jungle beard, a mouth moves – baby snake in grass. His feral eyes mushed in bags so wrinkly I wonder if I can guess his age by counting them, like growth rings of a tree.
Snake-mouth hisses into his phone: “I’ll be back there at 9. He can deal with me then. Listen, I can’t talk. Phone says my data’s almost up. There’s ‘sposed to be Wi-Fi in this train but the somsabitches around me are using it all I guess.”
He stink-eyes the whole train car, as if we’re all live-streaming “Doctor Zhivago” out of spite.
In mass casualty triage, we were taught rapid assessment – quickly tag victims based on condition – Green for ambulatory, Black for dead. I’d gauge most train passengers at 6 a.m. are somewhere between ambulatory and non-ambulatory; some can respond to verbal commands, others have trouble lifting their heads. Warming up my brain too is a little like trying to boil on the simmer setting.
In that way, this cranky guy was refreshing. Utah is courtesy-conscious, which I like, but there are days I wished I was in Chicago where I could yell “Fuck!” at the end of a train platform without anyone caring. A couple folks might glance, shrug it off as “Guy having a bad day” and look back at their phones.
Here, loud talking, much less loud cursing, is frowned upon. If you forget your inside voice, the recorded “Train Lady” even reminds you – the sweet disembodied voice I picture like a Sunday morning version of Melissa McCarthy, gently chiding: “Be considerate of others. This is a shared space. Keep conversations and audio low. Headphones are required.”
The angry man doesn’t hang up, as promised, and his volume continues to climb. Not a single one of my fellow Wi-Fi sapping somsabitches tells him to stuff his stupid snake mouth. Why? Because it ain’t Chicago. Utahns are do-goody, but non-confrontational. Being mindful here isn’t about presence, it’s about minding your business.
Don’t rock the boat in the sea of same faces.
Draketaketwo 