Today at work I took a call from a very angry Hawaiian woman who needed help with her computer and was furious that I couldn’t magically remote control her boss’s computer while he was away. This is mostly due to the fact that I don’t work for the CIA, but there are other reasons involved (such as he has it on turned off in the luggage compartment of a jet). “I want into a computer, I am not asking you to launch a rocket to Pluto” she hissed before she knew me. I stated her name firmly, and I might have raised my voice when I told her, “that…. is not…. the way this works, that is not how any of this works”…. loudly…. maybe. She has decided she likes me, and I am competent and for my good service, I get honored with calling her back tomorrow. Yaaaaaaaay me!
So when I got on the DART, I was still a little angry about CIA Woman, and I was not in the mood for foolishness, but foolishness is what they were serving on the Red Line today. (On a positive note- I made it to the train with time to spare and with my undergarments in place, which that, my friends, was enough to lighten my mood a least a little.) I climbed aboard the Red Line and took my normal hiding place in the unused stairwell at the back of the car. As usual, I placed my roller bag between my feet, pulled my sweater over my hands so I could hang on to rails with both hands without being completely assaulted by rail germs, I could, after all, burn my sweater later… but I had to hang on, as I learned the hard way, so I did not fall when the train came to a sudden halt, and then I rededicated my life to the Lord and prayed that nobody would cough on me.
***pause to acknowledge our sponsors**** I would like to personally thank the Good Samaritan that keeps buying day passes for the homeless people, it is because of you that my readers will read this story today.
“Do you wanna sit here?” I hear a slurred gruff voice. I turn to see a rather inebriated homeless Scoot over. I turned as he spat on the floor and wiped his nose on his sleeve.
“You know, I’m good standing, thank you though.”
Apparently I am an ungrateful ogre and he was offended so he got up and moved down the train car and sat next to a large sleeping man. I watched the scene like a predictable scary movie you just can’t stop watching. We made it to the second stop before the nightmare unfolded. Inebriated homeless guy continued to dig for the offending object in his nose and cough and spit, and large chunks of ewww could be seen on his shirt sleeve, and this sleeping guy had NO idea. I willed him to wake up, I wanted to intervene, I wanted to shout, “He has a booger! He has a booger on his arm!!!!” Like those panicked people scream when someone has a gun. I stayed in my hiding placed and continued to get right with Jesus. God, please no matter what, do not let any part of that man’s bodily fluids get on me.
Do you remember how I held onto the train rails? Yes, well here is why. As the train jerked and jilted and people tried to keep their balance, can you guess which guy did not keep his balance? As the train halted abruptly the drunk homeless man bumped up again that sleeping guy with all the germs in the world on his shoulder and that sleeping guy never knew what hit him.
I can only imagine what kind of illnesses were transferred onto the sleeve of the unsuspecting sleeper. It is not the droolers nor the snorers, or the sleep talkers, it’s not the people who fall over, or who bang their head against the window while snoozing on the train, that is not what I think of when I explain that I couldn’t possibly sleep on the train. It will forever be the drunk snot covered guy that could be sitting next to me that makes me stay wide awake on the train, and is partly responsible for my insomnia at night.