Commuting Suicide
Killing myself slowly, day after day
Volume IX: "On Holidays"
It's been a while. The delay can be attributed to my video iPod, which has made commuting much more tolerable. And when I'm entertained, I'm not as cognizant of my surroundings. My absurdity radar, usually superlative, has been spotty at best.
But this week I vowed to focus. To examine. To find captivating material outside my 2.5 inch screen.
So here's what happened: A man scoffed at me for reclining my seat. I scoffed back. That was that. People seemed to be observing the NO CELL PHONE policy. My seatmates generally kept to themselves.
We're not exactly swimming in Lake Interesting here.
OK, this isn't working. Let's hop in the time machine. We'll head back to the days before my iPod played moving pictures. Mid-December, 2005.
Holiday Party season is brutal on the commuting class. Our office held ours at the Heartland Brewery in Times Square. Good times. When the clock struck 10, I stumbled over to Port Authority and hopped on my bus. The combination of cheap red wine and exhaust fumes knocked me right out.
When I woke up, the scenery was unfamiliar. Equal parts panicked and confused, I rang the bell and hopped off. Equal parts drunk and careless, I failed to bring my cell phone.
My bearings eventually restored, I trekked the 1.7 miles home. Through the snow. No sidewalks. A Back-In-My-Day story to tell the kids. The passed-out-on-the-bus/lost-my-phone details will likely be phased out over time.
And “Heartland Brewery” will be replaced by “soul-enriching charity work.”
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mmmm, charity work.