ottoman

so the bastard rolls into the station today and i guess something was going on because 3 or 4 trains buzzed past us. it's all good. i'm still here early. but then things that really got me to thinking was this. do long islanders feel that the train is their fucking living room? the bastard comes from a subway background. he sits down and puts his bag on his lap. i make sure that if someone needs the seat next to me, its clear.

OK QUICK SIDEBAR: i one time read this story in wired magazine about corporate air travel. i no longer have the issue in print but thanks to the wonders of the world wide webiverse i went to wired.com and found the article. for the long form go here to read "life sucks and then you fly. however if you want the bastard's shortened version. it goes like this. the article is about the hump that is corporate travel. the side bit is a few "tips and tricks" for corporate flight. you know, pretending to be asleep to avoid talking to the chatty guy on the shuttle. anyway, the quotable quote that made me think this morning was this:

"Get a window seat and build a fortress around yourself. I bring 40 CDs and 20 trade rags." - Danny Rimer, Hambrecht & Quist

i wish i had the corresponding illustration of the guy building the fort but alas, the internet only has so much. so we'll just have to rely on peter griffin to show us the way.

meanwhile back at the ranch: so i get on the train and there's this guys sitting in one of the cubes of facing seats. i find it interesting how the railroad has facing seats that resemble cubicles. anyway young grey haired guy looks up, annoyed that someone is in his cube and he's reading the times, and he doesn't know the fold, which is always a hallmark of bad commuting manners. then homes has his paper all upon his seat next to him and his busted ass briefcase and it made me think of the fort quote form this old wired article from 1999. so i take out the book and mind my business. when we pull into hollis, he has a near miss with me while doing the flap. i'll never understand how people can't seem to keep an ounces light section of paper aloft. it's not like you're reading a ten pound weight at eye level, shiteyes. anyway, we get to jamaice and seeing that no one else is getting on (odd), homes puts his feet up to do the crossword puzzle. what the hell? all of a sudden i'm wonderring why we live in a society that prevents me from pulling the steel out of my pocket and jabbing him in the leg saying, "put your foot down stupid, this isn't your living room. i am shocked at the weird sense of entitlement that these people have as if this train is theirs by divine right of kingship. maybe that's why these trian look like crap so often.

the irony of it is, as the bastard was getting off the train as we pulled into penn, and i made no hesitation of making the most irritating exit i could for home's benefit, the announcer comes on and reminds us to take our crap with us as we get off because we don't want the damn bomb squad getting all jack boot on us. but, then he thanks us for not keeping our feet on the seats. i had to laugh, then look, then laugh some more. here's to the LIRR, and to the end of irony.

—the bastard