Leaving Manhattan is supposed to be an altogether peaceful adventure, parting ways for a few days with the noise and craziness to seek out vast horizons and lush trees (well, as vast and lush as Albany can muster).
So I sat down on the most inefficient, poorly run, overpriced and never-on-time piece of transportation in the country - Amtrak - to leave above mentioned city for the weekend. And already seated, I watched as those who boarded played the game on the sold out train of eyeballing everyone to deem who looked the least offensive to sit next to.
Of course the man who sat next to me was quite possibly the most ridiculous person I’ve ever encountered to date (and I’ve encountered some pretty ridiculous people in my time). He was Dwight Schrute meets Robert Goulet. He was middle-aged with dyed jet black hair. He was lumbering, awkward, cumbersome, and asked me "can I sit here?" while already hefting his bag into the overhead compartment. He sat down with the full force of a fighter jet, causing me to wonder (as I read a book pressed against the window trying not to make eye contact) if he'd ever sat in such a small confined space before in his entire life.
(What is it about people on journeys going somewhere or coming back from someplace else, that compels them to talk? I'm not here to entertain you, or tell you my life story, or answer ridiculous questions. All I want to do is sit and not talk. I think not talking is totally underrated. Sometimes it’s nice, isn’t it, to just be able to sit and not say anything for awhile and just let the world and the people around you marinate).
I thought I was out of the woods until I realized that Dwight Schrute Goulet didn't bring anything with him for the two and a half hour train ride to entertain him but the video he took on his cell phone that he'd filmed that day of Times Square (of course). "Here we are in the famous Times Square..." the speaker-phone blasted his best flight attendant narration. How do these people find me?
It was really only a matter of time before his attention would turn to me with:
"I'm in programming, what do you do?"
I closed my eyes and sighed deeply. Here we go.
I tried to answer as briefly as possible as not to incite any excitement or false hope that this sort of line of questioning was going to continue for the remainder of the trip. He took notice, I think, but him being him he decided to ask questions with his own answers in order to propel things forward.
"Where are you from, are you from Albany?"
"Yeah."
"Where? Glens Falls?"
"Yup." (a lie)
"Where do you live now, the city?"
"Uh huh."
"Where in the city are you, downtown?"
"Yup." (lie)
"Where did you go to school, SUNY Albany?"
"Sure." (lie)
After a while I warmed up to the questions and admittedly liked pretending to be someone else for a while. And there's nothing wrong with telling little lies to strange people you're never doing to see again, is there? They're people who don't really care about the truth anyway. They're just looking for a quick fix, the need to not feel alone, the longing for conversation, for the comfort of...words.
By the end of the trip I was a waitress-cum-television producer from Glens Falls who was engaged to a guy that works in investment banking who I met on a blind date through the internet. (how fun!)
"That's how everyone meets these days, just meet and fall in love, isn't it?"
"Basically."
Sometimes it’s easier to just tell people what they want to hear.
No comments:
Post a Comment