Do you ever wake up feeling inexplicably happy, sad, angry, or anxious? I do, quite frequently, and soon after recall a dream that infested my sleep the night before — indeed, the source of it all.
I dreamt last night that, while navigating some big city’s subway system, a huge crowd had assembled on a certain train platform. When I got closer to see what the fuss was all about, I saw them: two homeless people — a couple, I guessed — chatting, laughing, frozen. Sparkling with frost, their breaths suspended in the air, it seemed like the winter caught them in the happiest moment of their vagabond lives. They were stuck and hardened from the cold, and yet seemed to be truly free for the first time in years.
I guess their wish to make that otherwise fleeting moment last forever was granted.
I forget how much I hate the morning commute in the winter–with men in their big coats and grumpy faces, women in their big coats and grumpy faces and two+ bags, me in my big coat and grumpy face and huge backpack, and the heat on the train that makes me gag and suffocate… And I left my phone at home.
You know, if you’re gonna hold the door on your way out for people on their way in, don’t look at them impatiently, don’t tell them to “come on,” just–just don’t fucking rush them. So you saw me coming from thirty feet away; good job! Well fucking spotted! But who the fuck told you to hold the door for me? I’m limping because my foot hurts; not because I think it looks cool to walk that way. It’s fucking freezing–below freezing–and yes, believe it or not, I DO want to get inside the building as fast as I can. But my foot hurts, my blood’s probably all smeared on the inside of my boot, I only had four hours of sleep, and you’re holding the door on your own free will, so no, I will not “come on” to keep your freezing dumb ass from holding the door too fucking long. Sorry, pal; if you’re too stupid to let go, you’re gonna have to endure the bitter cold. Shouldn’t you be wearing something warmer? Like, I don’t know, a coat?
Moving on to people and elevator etiquette. If you’re too fucking lazy to move your ass a couple of inches over and press the button to your floor, don’t wait until the last minute to say, “Can you press 2 please?” We already passed the first floor; what the fuck were you waiting for? Were you just too shy to say something? I can tell it took a lot of courage to utter those few words! Close call, wasn’t it? You were lucky, though; if you had asked me, you would have ended up riding all the way to the eighth floor before getting back down to yours. That’s right–I’m as much of an asshole as you are.
And on that note, I’m gonna go throw up.