It's All Fun and Games Until Someone Gets Shot

If you've ever had a long commute (say, more than 30 minutes), then you understand the tornado of emotions that rips through you when you are delayed, especially when there is absolutely nothing you could have done to prevent said delay. Now imagine an entire train station filled with commuters whose trains are inexplicably delayed. Suffice it to say a fair amount of "accidental" elbowing occurs.

But sometimes it's worse. Much worse.

Take, for example, the other evening. Sarah and I high-tailed it out of work promptly at 5 p.m. in the hopes of at least one of us catching an earlier train. No dice. What we did catch was a train station full of people. Because the Great Train Delay had once again begun.

You see, every so often (and so as not to be misleading, I will tell you upfront that this is a much more common occurence than is acceptable for the exhorbitant fee we pay for the privelege of commuting on stinky, broke-down trains. But I digress.) a single delayed train causes a chain-reaction of delays that sends a ripple of anger and resentment throughout the north-of-Boston commuting community. And this was one of those nights.

As Sarah and I tried to make the best of a few more stolen moments together (but not in a dirty way), my dear co-blogger spied a jostling in her periphery that she feared would lead to fisticuffs. Concerned for our safety -- and, honestly, just plain nosy -- we both turned to observe the shenanigans. Two males appeared to be antagonizing a third male of the species. And that third male was NOT, repeat NOT, taking it well. In fact, he was shaking all over. I told Sarah he was probably some sort of robot bomb person and we should vacate the premises. She was of the opinion that he would shoot someone. With a handgun. And by handgun, I mean a gun made out of his hand and fingers. You don't mess with THOSE bullets.

And the fact that we very nearly perished inside the train station isn't even the worst part of the commute. And I'll leave it up to you, dear reader(s) to decide which of us drew the shorter end of the stick:

Sarah was stranded at the station for 26 minutes. That's four minutes too few to be eligible for a refund. And she still had to swing through Target and Chipotle (mmm... burritos...) on her way home. I can only hope it was mouth-watering visions of burritos that kept my dear co-blogger sane as the man behind and to the left of her sank ever deeper into the pit of madness, obsessively rubbing his hands together a la Lady MacBeth or Mr. Burns while his unruly facial hair took on a life of its own. Our intrepid commuter rightly feared for her safety last night!

Meanwhile, I was crammed in one of the between-cars sections of the train. With about 10 other people. Standing for a 40-minute commute is not joyous. Additionally, that is sort of a joint between cars, so you tend to get swung around in there. There was a lot of stumbling and crashing into one another. I inadvertantly got a little friendly with the guy standing across from me. We may be married. Or about to be executed. I'm not sure.
~April