the ocean

Training Day

Normally I take a cab home from work. The firm pays for it, it's quick, and I can talk to my friends on the phone while someone else drives. There are drawbacks, of course. If I can't reach anyone on the phone and I have a talkative cab driver, there's the terrifying specter of having to chuckle demonstratively at various inanities or, worse yet, avoid advising someone about his immigration problems. If I can't reach anyone on the phone and I don't have a talkative cab driver, meanwhile, there's still the possibility of Christian radio or, worse yet, talk radio. (The Delilah I don't really mind that much.) And recently, there's motion sickness. Apparently my inner ear is not ready for me to manage my Tiny Tower while hurtling around a corner at 40 miles per hour.

But anyway, this week I've decided to take the train home from work and it turns out to be sort of great! It's not especially crowded by the time I can leave the office and, since I've been hitting the station right as a train gets there, it's actually been faster than taking a cab home. I can read without feeling like I need to throw up (unless the New Yorker's running yet another Malcom Gladwell piece, but that's not the train's fault) and put in my headphones without fear that someone will think I'm rude or start shouting at me about the directions. Plus it kind of makes me feel like a real person again. Yes, in the spirit of the Republican primaries, I've decided there are "real" people and fake people, and now I'm one of the real ones. Just Joe Sixpack living the American Dream.

I'm guessing this won't last, but it's a noble experiment. Unlike that one I did with kerosene and firecrackers in the sixth grade.