By Beauty Damned

A Case of the Mondays

I got mad at Robert before I left the house this morning because I was in a hurry to catch my train and he was in the bathroom reading the novel that I have been reading. I asked for it back so I could read it on the train and he ignored me because he thought he was being cute, not realizing my urgency to exit the house. But I am PMSing and NOTHING is cute when you're PMSing. You just want people to do what you ask and make it snappy. So I ended up snatching the book away from him and running out of the house because I was worried I was going to miss my train. I had to run in high heels and I could hear the train coming and then I had to rush down the stairs and right as I got to the bottom, the train doors closed. I cursed myself because I didn't want to be late to work. Then (by the grace of some evil god) the train doors opened again and I leapt on in the nick of time, but my stupid heel caught on my stupid trousers and I tripped, face forward and landed sprawled on the floor of the train. It was one of the most humiliating moments of my life. I burst into a silent, convulsing, torrent of tears and couldn't stop crying because I was so mad and so embarrassed and so angry at the entire world for making people rush to work, for it being Monday, for cute boyfriends who play games, for pointy black heels and long trousers.

Maybe I don't have to tell you that I really hate it when I am crying or angry and someone tries to comfort me. (If it is my boyfriend, or my mommy or daddy or even one of my siblings or best friends, I might tolerate it and even derive a feeling of calm and security from it). But if you are a stranger on the train, especially if you are a man, just stay the fuck away. Don't ask me if I'm okay. Just let me recover. I know you are just trying to be nice. I know that what you are doing is thoughtful. But in my misery soaked mind, you are just an intruder who needs to mind your business. I also don't like to be bothered on the train in the morning. I don't like seeing people I know and feeling obligated to talk to them when I am still tired and I just want to read or close my eyes until I reach my destination. It may seem bitchy, but I am just not a morning person and would prefer not to be bothered.

So there is this guy who I see on the train all the time. He's this older Russian man who lives in my neighborhood. I always seem to see him when I'm in no mood to talk. But he's very soft spoken and has an innocent (perhaps deliberately harmless) demeanor so I would feel bad to tell him to bug off on any regular day. He's invited me before to take his morning walk with him down by the bay. I balked. No way am I getting up at some godawful hour of the morning to go on a walk with some little old man I met on the train. (Deep down I think he's got some notion about having a passionate extramarital mid/late-life affair with a young woman - who can blame him?) Anyway, this morning, after I'd fallen in the most humiliating fashion of my life and been helped up by some faceless stranger before sinking into a seat and putting my face in my hands to hide the hot tears of anger and embarassment from my fellow passengers, this little Russian man came over to see if I was okay and offer his comfort. I could not even look at him. I just asked him to please leave me alone. So he said okay, but continued to stand there. Less than two feet away. Looking at me. I swept my hand up towards him, shooing him away, exclaiming "please. Leave me alone!" So he sat down in the seat across from me and continued to witness my attempt to gain control of myself. I was furious that he couldn't just go back to the seat he'd been in before, in the aisle over, where he could not be privy to my tears. So I stood up and stalked off to the other end of the train where I was surrounded by people who had not witnessed my fall or subsequent meltdown. I regained my composure before the next stop and managed to complete my commute without further incident.

I was actually relieved to reach my office and get a cup of coffee and sit down at my computer and sink into the calm, familiar atmosphere. Hopefully, the rest of the day will be smooth. Of course, there's always the commute home to look forward to. One of the things I loved when I moved to NY was being able to go places and not run into people I know. After living in a place for three years it starts to shrink and before you know it, you're ducking from people you don't wish to run into and suffering encounters with those that you can't avoid. I should start leaving the house fifteen minutes earlier, and perhaps I could avoid both the humiliation of tripping over my pantleg in a mad dash onto the train as well as running into people that I'd rather not.

Twenty days left until vacation. Just twenty tiny little days.

Note: Eight hours ago this was the saddest, angriest story ever. Now, after just relaying the whole story to my best friend over the telephone, it seems like the funniest fucking thing that has ever happened to me. We both laughed so hard when I was telling her the story that the tears started streaming down my face again, but tears of mirth this time rather than fury. Somehow, the image of the quiet train car just before the doors opened again and my gangly body came catapulting into the train and onto the floor in the manner of a total lunatic has taken on the appearance of an SNL episode in my mind. If I think about it too hard, it is sad, but for all historical purposes, it is an outrageously comical story.