Am I brave? Yes.
Proof? I rode the Los Angeles metro train from south bay to downtown.
Here is my story:
Preface, I am meeting a friend who works downtown so that we can go together to her hometown (Chino) to get our hair done. She drove to work that day and since we live in the same area it makes no sense for me to drive also… Train time!
3:15 pm, March 26th 2009.
Uncomfortable, yes that describes this moment right now. He is seated in front of me, paint splattered faded jeans. Paint splattered everything. He announces his presence with an, “oh shiitt” as he dumps his jacket onto the seats across from me. I would try and describe his face but that’s mean I’d have to look up and I’m too scared. Ok, perfect opportunity, we’ve stopped and a few people get on so I dare to glance up, just for a second. My guess, late forties, no wait, definitely fifties. User of drugs? Yes. White mustache, black sunglasses. He mumbles a, “helooo, how are ya.” I politely smile and adjust my copy of the onion that I am trying to read. Oh shit, he’s staring… I can feel it, gross. I’m glad I opted for the sports bra under my tank top, less exposure. This isn’t a free show buddy! Oh great, now there’s another creeper… he sits next to mustache clown across from me. They’re both staring. I’m not trying to sound conceited… I don’t know why the hell they’re staring! I’m gross. I haven’t showered in two days!! Don’t get me wrong, I thought about it, but I’m going to get my hair done. yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I could have at least washed my body.. but whatever I’m riding the LA metro. Oh, oh, yes! He is leaving. He mumbles, “have a nice day.” For being creepy he sure is polite. Wow, just looked up towards my right and an Indian man in a vest nods and mouths hello… I look down, thinking he must not be talking to me, oh shit mother shit, he is up… walking over here, apparently waiting for the next stop? Staring, I can feel the eyes… it’s a long time till the next stop why is he just standing there, hovering! I’m starting to get the feeling that riding the train is like attending the circus. A lot of strange people in one place. Oh crap, I was wrong that guy who came over here waiting to leave wasn’t the Indian vest guy! The Indian vest guy is now wobbling towards me on his leg braces. Concentrate on my writing, I love writing. He’s sitting down in front of me. “You a model?” What!? Yeah for the landfill. I pretend not to hear him. lalalalalalalalala. I hate this effing train. He keeps trying to talk to me. I don’t even know what the hell he is saying. Why did I forget my i-pod? If I were a model would I be riding the damn train?? Idiot. Is it my stop yet? This sucks. “You like writing lots, huh, model.” Eeeewwww. Oh Noooo I was trying so hard to ignore the vest guy I missed my stop! Now I have to get back on the other train going the other way. I hate the metro, train, hell ride, whatever you want to call it. I’ve always considered myself a people person. I am doubting that now. In fact, I hate people. People creep the hell outta me.
Reflection: I made it safe to my destination. I don’t like the train. My hair looks like shit. I asked to keep the blonde and just add some lowlights, not to make me a brunette. Bad day.