I normally take the orange and red lines to get home. The last few nights I've taken the green line in order to get to Whuffle's parents' house after work. Last night I saw two sights that I found hilarious.
The Lesbians and the FundieI boarded a C line train and found myself standing next to two young college aged women. To say they were being friendly with one another would be an extreme understatement. Since a detailed description would require an "Explicit content" warning I'll just say that it looked more like a scene from a late night movie on Skinemax than what you would expect on the train.
The young and enthusiastic lesbians were not, however, the main attraction.
The main attraction was a young African American woman of about the same age as the lascivious couple. Her hair was pulled into a tight, sever bun. Instead of the grunge inspired attire of the lesbians she wore a conservative dark blue woman's suit. She wore a "Heritage Pride" pin on her coat. Her posture seemed to imply her spine had been replaced with a very straight titanium rod. She looked for all the world like the young version of a church matron, one of those women who could cut a teenager to ribbons with a single look. I'll call her Mable for the sake of reducing pronoun abuse.
I was fortunate to be looking her way the moment she saw the couple. At first she was shocked, a look of disgust and surprise washing over her face. Her nose wrinkled into a comical mask, as if someone has presented a cartoon character with a pound of rotten meat. It was clear that these young woman had offended Mable to the depths of her moral center.
Next her jaw dropped and she cast her eyes about the train, as if seeking an ally in this morally horrific situation. I discretely followed her gaze and saw no signs that anyone else had noticed the couple. Either the couple was largely unnoticed, or everyone was doing a good job of hiding their reactions.
Mable worked her mouth for a few seconds as if she were about to speak, but thought better of it and clamped her jaw shut. She shook her head and gave the couple a look that I suspect she learned from a stalwart and formidable grandmother with bifocals and a tendency towards harsh judgment.
The lesbians remained oblivious to the world around them, including Mable.
Mable began shaking her head, tut-tutting. She would occasionally clear her throat with an "Ahem" that seemed to say "You WILL give me your attention NOW you reprobate."
I was barely restraining my laughter, letting out a few repressed giggles despite my best efforts. The show continued, with Mable going through several comical and entertaining reactions. Withering looks dominated, but I detected a hint of despair creeping in. The couple did not acknowledge Mable. If anything, they intensified the their enthusiasm.
Sadly, I did not get to see the end of the drama, as I needed to change trains. I disembarked and the tableau was lost to my view. I went on, speculating as to why, if Mable was so offended, she didn't simply move to another car or just turn around.
The PickpocketI got off the train at Copley, as I needed an E or D train to get where I was going, and the C train I'd been on wasn't going to get me there. While boarding a D line train at Copley I witnessed an attempted pickpocketing.
I boarded the train at the front, where there's a few steps that take you up into the train. I was standing near the door next to a man with a briefcase. A young man in a sweat shirt and jeans pushed past the two of us and made a clumsy and obvious attempt to pick the coat pocket of the man next to me.
The intended victim was tall and solidly build. Visualize the protagonist in "American Psycho" and you get a rough idea of what he looked like. He grabbed the hand that had invaded his coat pocket and pulled it out. The pickpocket was trying to get out the door, pulling with all his might in a comical, cartoonish manner. I saw the victim look down at the pickpocket's hand, which was open and empty. The man then looked out the door and simply let go.
The pick pocket had been pulling with all his might when he was released and as a result he tumbled from the train. The sound he made as he fell resembled a squeak more than a scream. He landed in a crumpled heap on the subway tiles. The doors closed and the train pulled away within seconds of the would-be pickpocket landing.
The victim just looked out the door for a second, taking in what had happened. He blinked for a second and then began to laugh softly to himself.
