Closing in on two months of commuting into
And I’m not kidding about the four minutes thing either. The platform between tracks A & B in Secaucus lists the following trains at 7:30 in the morning:
That’s six trains from 7:33 to 7:57. You do the math.
This is less weird, but I still can’t understand why the inbound morning commute should have such a somber, almost crypt-like cast to it. And yet it does. There are days when the hum-screech-rattle soundtrack of the train is only interrupted by the occasional snippet of that gratingly cheery badada bing bong bing sound of someone’s Blackberry receiving a text message.
It’s not like I don’t understand that everyone is sleepy, grumpy, or another of the seven dwarves while they’re on their way to work. It’s just that the difference is so profound on the way home. A lot of the time, there are recognizable characters from the morning, somehow reanimated, awakened from their zombie-like stupor so they can chat away on their cell phones and laugh with the guy in the ill-fitting polo shirt who gets off at the Radburn station in
Me? I spent most of May playing travel Scrabble with my friend Christine on the Northeast Corridor train from
This is all a circuitous way of mentioning the bit of oddness that occurred this morning, when the crowd emerging from the pits of Penn Station onto
But hey, free banana.
I'm thinking about saving the peel for the aisle of the 7:02 AM train out of Ho-Ho-Kus tomorrow morning, just to throw a little hint of anarchy into everyone's morning.
I suspect you are looking at an awful lot of people who simply hate their jobs.
That, or they are not morning people, which could be the case, because I really like my job a lot, but nonetheless am in a sort of stupor for the first two hours in the morning.
I attribute this to not getting to see CHiPs before work, but hey, I could be wrong.
In a similar story to yours, Mrs. VFR and I decided to not put a television in our living room.
There is one downstairs available for viewing at any time complete with cable, but not upstairs.
We find that we are, in essence, too lazy to walk downstairs to watch TV. Out of sight, out of mind.
(Now that Lost is finished for the season, anyway).
But we, gasp, go for walks, read the newspaper, eat dinner together in a non-zombie state.
And WE are the weird ones.
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