Misadventures on the Metro

chapter 31
I’d be lying to say it was unexpected. I mean, it was and it wasn’t.

When I was a Metro rookie, it was totally expected. Those were the days of heart palpitations at each station stop, desperate pole clinging and an evil internal voice whispering cautions like, “LOOK! See that normal-looking man over there? HE COULD BE A TERRORIST! Your life is in GRAVE DANGER.”

I slowly discovered that riding the exact. same. train. every. single. morning. eliminated the oh-NO!-what-station-is-this panic. And rather than fear stripper-pole balancing, I gained a new appreciation for the art. And I learned the stance (aka the dance) to prevent awkward spills (resulting in awkward flashes).

Then I became apathetic.

Mr. Average Joe with a curiously large black bag? I bet he’s—--RED SHOES! Whoa, check out that girl’s red shoes. Cute; I wonder if she got them on sale at Nordstrom.

“Next station Ros”—--do I have to make dinner tonight? Good thing I have a great recipe for cereal…

After the apathy came RAGE. The residual grumpiness emanating from 99.9 percent of my fellow Metro passengers started to ooze into my soul. All of a sudden, I was sighing loudly at people with the audacity to SPEAK while using public transportation.

This brings me to last Wednesday, where I found myself apathetically balancing on the stripper pole, involuntarily sighing at my neighbors and booked on a one-person cruise to iPodville, all the while juggling thoughts of cereal and shoes. I was nearing the end of my journey when it happened.

I almost pinched myself – really? It happened?

Too shocked to respond, I froze with a perplexed look on my face until I reached my stop and exited the train.

Finally, after six months of fear and two years of forgetting to fear, my toes were crushed under the stilettos of a wobbly fellow passenger.

The worst part (besides the searing pain)? I kid you not – the same thing happened on my way home, only this time the culprit was a 300-lb. man.

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