I’ve been to Disney, know the urgency involved in getting a double stroller through thickets of people, whose path mirrors that of a distracted goat herd, to the next ride before a line you know will, can build…
Your best effort markets a practiced enthusiasm to a stroller that you rightly suspect, sees right through it : ‘Daddy seems so rushed, uptight and not really enjoying this wonderful place..’
I have also boarded a jetliner after three final calls. Our shouldered carry on bags bumping the heads of impatient seated flyers as we struggle down the aisle to find space in bins, we know to be full…
The feeling is both remote in frequency and location yet distinctively similar and humbly reminds me, how I might be a poor traveler.
Tonight, I have boarded the train early and having found my usual seat vicinity, witness in the third person, the above just described.
A young couple, he looks 27 and she no more then 16 finds the empty front seats of the car … the notated ones with the extra leg room.
Others file in behind them and he is rushed, a bit agitated but resolved in his choice of seats.
At first, I thought them to be brother and sister given the young age but the way she starts directing orders and protesting that these seats are labeled and not suitable, quickly suggests that they just might be a married couple.
He says: ‘who cares, so what?‘ She wears glasses, a ponytail and holds a notebook:
‘no, ok whatever…just get the bags up there…no, over there and be gentle with my lobster bag . . .’
I smirk, louder than intended and she immediately looks my way holding the stare, in an awkward suspended way. Now, I have not been in trouble in a library in a very long time, but that feeling quickly came back too.
He huffs the bags up, throws an exasperated shiver with his hands and drops heavily into his seat. . .momentarily frustrates with the recline button and finally lets out an audible sigh.
‘Hun, sugar honey, really? … you know that I want to sit by the window and besides, you need to be on the aisle in case I need my lobster bag.’
To which I laugh aloud, turning to stare out my window and see not in return, the glare.
Sent from 🚂 📞 . . .
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