'Bred Crumbs
This is now the past. Go to the new 'Bred Crumbs.
01.08.02
08:16 AM
3:30 p.m., MUNI Underground, inbound. Only about five people in the car, one of whom is a frumpy middle-aged mustachioed man across the aisle from me. Halfway to the Embarcadero, he speaks. Between the rumble of the train and his vague but thick accent, he is hard to understand. I hear, "This train seem quiet today, doesn't it?"
"I guess. I haven't ridden it this time on a weekday in a long time."
Hoping the small talk is over, I turn away. After a moment's thought, I decide he had said, "The city's quiet today." I don't know whether that's true, but I hope my incoherent response has deterred him from further conversation.
It hasn't.
"Are you on your way to work?"
"No, the dentist."
Pause. OK, we're done.
No. He speaks again. I have to ask him to repeat it twice, leaning across the aisle before I can finally comprehend him.
"Do you live here in the city?"
"Yes, but I work at home sometimes." This is a non sequitur, but I'm tiring of explaining my life to this oddball who seems so puzzled that someone else might be on mass transit in the middle of a Monday afternoon. I turn away, lean my head back, and close my eyes, hoping he understands that means I'm done conversing.
Again, no.
"Are you single?" At this point, I still hear only idle curiosity.
"Yes." Turn, lean, close.
"Do you have a boyfriend or girlfriend?" This too should have been a signal; he said them in that order.
Pleasant but facile smile back at him. "Yes, a boyfriend." Still, I don't see what's coming.
"Do you ever fool around?"
Were I truly quick-witted, I would have answered, Yes, but not with you.
Instead: "Nope. Sorry."
The second part may have been presumptuous, I think, but probably not; he seems crestfallen. Good-days are exchanged. When we reach the stop a few seconds after, I manage to keep my distance. I wonder if he just rides the trains midday like this a lot, cruising for unemployed single men. I wonder if he ever succeeds. I cease to think about it. A trip to the dentist doesn't seem so loathsome suddenly.
"I guess. I haven't ridden it this time on a weekday in a long time."
Hoping the small talk is over, I turn away. After a moment's thought, I decide he had said, "The city's quiet today." I don't know whether that's true, but I hope my incoherent response has deterred him from further conversation.
It hasn't.
"Are you on your way to work?"
"No, the dentist."
Pause. OK, we're done.
No. He speaks again. I have to ask him to repeat it twice, leaning across the aisle before I can finally comprehend him.
"Do you live here in the city?"
"Yes, but I work at home sometimes." This is a non sequitur, but I'm tiring of explaining my life to this oddball who seems so puzzled that someone else might be on mass transit in the middle of a Monday afternoon. I turn away, lean my head back, and close my eyes, hoping he understands that means I'm done conversing.
Again, no.
"Are you single?" At this point, I still hear only idle curiosity.
"Yes." Turn, lean, close.
"Do you have a boyfriend or girlfriend?" This too should have been a signal; he said them in that order.
Pleasant but facile smile back at him. "Yes, a boyfriend." Still, I don't see what's coming.
"Do you ever fool around?"
Were I truly quick-witted, I would have answered, Yes, but not with you.
Instead: "Nope. Sorry."
The second part may have been presumptuous, I think, but probably not; he seems crestfallen. Good-days are exchanged. When we reach the stop a few seconds after, I manage to keep my distance. I wonder if he just rides the trains midday like this a lot, cruising for unemployed single men. I wonder if he ever succeeds. I cease to think about it. A trip to the dentist doesn't seem so loathsome suddenly.
· · ·
Something even more painful to consider -- Robert James Waller is threatening a sequel to The Bridges of Madison County, one of the very worst books ever crapped.[Previously]
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Hidden Deadly Productions makes short films, including CrossWalk (2003) and The Point of Boxes (coming in 2006?).
Pictured: Rubble from the destruction of the Central Freeway, San Francisco, April 2003. Photos by the author.
Pictured: Views from San Francisco Bay, July 2003. Photos by the author.
Pictured: Videogames projected onto a wall from an Atari 2600, July 2003. Photos by the author.
Pictured: Ranch near Hollister, New Year's Day 2003. Photos by the author.
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