One of the coolest things (and perhaps the only thing) I learned in my required Communications courses was the Stranger On A Train communication theory. The idea is that two people will seek to lessen their discomfort through mutual disclosure during interpersonal communication. This is why two strangers on a train can sit and talk for hours as though they are the best of friends - the idea is that because you're strangers, you don't mind unveiling things about yourself, because the presumption is you'll never see one another again anyway. When forced to sit in close quarters with someone you don't know, you're more apt to disclose to lessen the awkwardness. Well, here's my Stranger On A Train experience, from two weeks ago when I was headed home to Philly. Enjoy.
There is no wireless internet on this train, so I’m typing this furiously into a word document til I get to an internet connection. I’ve had a couple of blog ideas, which of course I haven’t written down in the past few weeks because I can’t write and sleep. Once I master that ability, you all will be the first to know.
So I purposely don’t sit in the quiet car of trains because I’m glued to my cell phone. I also try to look overwhelmed when I sit in my chair, so I won’t look like someone you want to sit next to. I have mastered the art of sprawl – extending cell phone and computer wires, sloppily hanging scarves and jacket sleeves over chairs so as to look discombobulated. I don’t look up at anyone as they walk past me so as to avoid enticing he or she into my space.
There’s always one asshole who can’t read body language very well.
I’m sitting on the train, and there’s this couple looking lost, and decide to sit on the aisle seats of the two rows of the train. Clearly, I’m setting up my laptop. Clearly, the woman in the window seat of the other aisle is already typing away. Obviously, you see that my screen is open and set up like I’m going to do work. If you want to sleep, and therefore avoid the path of a working writer, sit some fucking where else.
So I search for some musical inspiration, and listen to a couple rounds of Bean’s new album. I start BBMing with a friend who calls me to talk about it. We’re on the phone talking about it for about 15 minutes and 58 seconds, with me talking in a low-registered voice. I see Father Time sitting next to me refer to his wife like I’m disturbing him. Y’all know me; that encouraged me to keep fucking talking.
Don’t ever gesture to me.
My friend has to get off the phone at this very moment. I hang up to commence in my work. This dude says, “Thank you,” like I was deferring to his gesture and doing him a favor.
I look over with the People’s Eyebrow: “Excuse me?” I said.
“Thank you,” he repeated as he closed his eyes.
This motherfucker is bold.
I find a song that I know has a lot of bass, and turn up my speakers so that it’s blaring through my headphones. I let the earbuds drape over my fingers and begin searching for absolutely nothing on my Blackberry in the meantime.
Maybe two minutes past.
“Should I get my classical music and turn that up?”
I look up sweetly, and act like I didn’t hear him. “I’m sorry?”
He gets (more) annoyed. “How would you like it if I got my classical music and started blasting it through my headphones?”
“You’d be welcome to do that, sir, seeing as this is not the quiet car.”
He sucks his teeth. His wife leans over, shakes her head, and calls me a nigger with her peering eyes. Thankfully, I caught the “Is there a problem?” before it left my lips.
I started to say, “Is this an issue of my musical selection? Because I also have John Coltrane’s ‘In A Sentimental Mood,’ available.” Instead I turned to him, and offered, “Sir, this is not the quiet car. I was sitting here first. If you don’t want to sit here, there’s an entire train of seats with options for you.”
He shut the fuck up for the rest of the ride. I had the volume all the way up to emphasize my point.
And yes, I was being asshole. On purpose. Expect that in response to a passive-aggressive “thank you,” like I owe you something – passive aggression is the quickest way for me to lose respect for you, disengage, and not care what you have to say.
I figured I will probably be deaf when I get off this train.
The interesting thing to me was the “classical music” quip. All types of race/class implications there. As he said it, he looked at my screen to see what music I was playing. Once he was it was a rapper, he became enraged. Too many conversations with Sister Toldja almost had me start barking about how he will not impart his white-male-middle-class-privilege my ability to do what I want/need to do.
Needless to say, when they got off the train in Baltimore, they didn’t say goodbye. My fingers rushed the keyboard to turn down the music soon as they were far enough away.
“Is there someone sitting here?” says an older white man who boards the train in reference to the vacancy next to me.
“No, not at all,” I said warmly, and perhaps a little too loudly, given that my ears were still ringing.
He nods with a warm face, pops in his earbuds, closes his eyes, and falls asleep.
