Guy on the N train (Archive from April 1, 2006)

I refuse to write the words "hangovers are bad" again in this blog. Except for that one time, just now, when I wrote it. They are bad but I'm not going to say it anymore. Even I am growing tired of my own nonsense. If they are so bad, why do I keep putting myself in the position to get them?

I would like to use this post as a means of apologizing to a man I saw on the subway this morning. I am housesitting for my friend in Harlem and I had to get on the subway early this morning and come back to Astoria because my cousin's baby shower is today (I bought her some California Baby bubble bath for the wishing well. It's so cute! It's to make cranky babies happy. That's what it says on the label.) and my family is driving from here upstate so I had to come meet them. Run on sentence, yes. But it's going somewhere.

So on the N train this morning, I finished the book I was reading. (An American Heroine in the French Resistance -- awesome book!) Which meant that I was forced to sit and stare at the various advertisements posted around the train, contemplate my life and do what I do often -- talk to myself and sing along with the songs on my MP3 player. (In this particular case it was "Get Right" by Jennifer Lopez. I'm not proud of that.) Yes, I am that crazy person you see walking down the street whose face belies her inner monologue. I answer myself. I make faces reacting to what I have just said to myself. I then laugh at the jokes I have told myself. This is why I normally try to read a book on the subway. Because otherwise I look crazy and someday someone is going to mistake me for one of those twitchy people you see on the train who talk to God and ask for money and then I am gonna be in trouble.

So anyhoo, at some point during this exchange with myself I realize that someone is smiling at me. This guy sitting across the train from me had the fortitude to smile at a stranger on the subway in New York. And what did said stranger do? I made a face like I just saw someone defecating in public and looked away. Now why did I do that? He was smiling at me for Christ's sake. And he was cute. And harmless-looking. What the fuck is the matter with me?

I think the natural inclination for most New Yorkers is to believe that no one will approach us without wanting something from us. So when this guy smiled at me, I immediately plunged into thoughts like, "What does he want? Is he smiling at me? Why is he smiling at me? There are far cuter people on this train so why did he pick me? He is probably smiling at me because he thinks I'm a lunatic." While these thoughts were occurring to me the one thought that DID NOT cross my mind was that it may have hurt the poor guy's feelings. I mean he smiled at a girl and not only did she not smile back but she looked repulsed. Maybe it didn't bother him and he got on with his day. But still, it bothers me. What was I? Raised by wolves?

So if you are the guy who was on the N train to Astoria approximately 40 minutes ago (it's now 11:11 am) my sincere apologies for being so fucked up that I view every human contact as sinister and suspicious. And you have a very nice smile.