Bonding With Strangers

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I was going to write to you about the Fish Face Man who pretended to be a fish at the train station. He opened and closed his mouth as people walked by. He neared them wtih mouth wide open and watched speed up as they hurried away, and when they were out of sight he giggled and started over- he was waiting on the next person who acted scared of him or looked at him in disgust. I thought he was freaking hilarious, and brilliant. (Do we honestly think that people don’t notice our disdain when we glower at them???) He watched me intently and I did the face back at him when nobody was looking. We have bonded over fish faces. I put money in his jar.

I was going to write to you about the worst wingman ever. When his friend was hitting on a nearby girl in the middle of their conversation, he said, “Hey bro, put your penis away this is our stop.” The friend look mortified and I almost fell over laughing, which bonded the first friend and I for life. I thought the girl was going to climb out of the window to get away, and when the young guy turned to talk to her, she tried to disappear. I said, “You might as well go on and hang that one up, there is absolute no way to segue into getting her number.” That was really the end of that story. He will be going home alone tonight. Crash. Burn. Worst wing man ever.

So the DART was fine today, I was proud, I was bonding with strangers! I talked to people I didn’t know! I let them in my space! I even waited six and a half seconds after my hand accidentally touched the rail to get the hand sanitizer out! I was making What About Bob kind of progress!!!!

It was actually on the TRE that my story comes to you today. My object of detest this afternoon comes in the form of Stripey-Shoe Girl. Who pushed her way to the back of the train car where I am sitting (clearly it is because I am not in my regular seat because Michael the spy was in my seat but because he was a spy with sunglasses from the 1984 premier of Miami Vice, I decided to not announce my ownership of this particular seat of public transportation.) But when the spy left I still had my back to the door, and clearly she could not see my RBF, and she barged her way into the seat bumping against me and looking at me to say, “you’re ok.” Was it a reassurance? Was it a question? Was it a final cry for me to slap her?

Stripey-Shoe girl reminded me of a story from when my sitcom-worthy son talked before he had any common sense. See, stripey shoe girl is in her 30’s, but shh…. she doesn’t know that. It’s been about a year and a half since she washed her hair, and I know she doesn’t realize that she isn’t the same size she was. I am pretty sure she is one of those people who still use their senior picture as their profile picture on facebook. She doesn’t fit behind the seat and table sideways… she just doesn’t. It is not pretty, she shouldn’t try.

So, onto Country and his antics, and the day I publicly disowned my child. Country was about 2 and  he was more than helpful. A woman at Wal-Mart (did you know if you google the words “crazy people” walmart comes up in the images- true) was trying to squeeze in between this buggy and this isle. ?Now, to be fair to Country, she was a lot of woman. To be fair to the woman, she didn’t know that my son didn’t have any common sense. Regardless, she was trying to suck it in and get past the cart to go pay and it wasn’t working. Country said (in his loudest voice) “UMMMMM SCUUUU ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” She turns and before I can stop him, “You too big!” I died in that moment… twice. I buried my head in my hands and said, “Come on little boy, let’s go find your mother, I’m sure she is looking for you!”

So to you, Stripey-Shoe Girl, I say, “Scuuu me!!!! You too big! You do not fit there. I am not ok, and you hit me with your GINORMOUS MK bag!”

 

To make it worse this freaking moron was on the train today. I think he was trying to impress the cute nurse nearby, as he screamed out the lyrics to the classic hit, “They don’t give a F about us.” She wasn’t impressed. He became quite irate when I suggest, “Why don’t you just throw rocks at her and pull her pigtails like the other school children?” He is an idiot.

I curse, I listen to music. I do not, however, even though I really really want to right now, scream out profanity on the train REPEATEDLY…. and how long was that song?????? That’s the only lyrics apparently. The best part of the song was when he said, “bitch you got me so wrong. gonna be a player till I meet my maker.” I am pretty sure that is an invitation to kill him. Let me help end that chase for you!

Needless to say, I am no longer bonding with strangers.

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About Andi

This chapter in my life is called, "Managing Millennials". People always say that I have a way with words, and that I am great at managing Millennials. The secret truth to my success? I worked at a public high school. I was an educator that specialized in behavior and building relationships. So what happens when the sweet little kids that inspired me to sponsor clubs, put in extra hours and spend my own money all enter the workforce???? They drive you crazy! I can help! I understand why these participation trophy earning young adults are driving you crazy in the work place. I understand that the fact that we are inheriting a technology talented pool of workers that sit at their desk with ear buds in their ears and celebrate medicocricy in the name if effort. I understand that you are not used to emojis and GIFs in business communication, and that you don't want to stand around on a break discussing memes, vines, YouTube epic fail videos and what you binge watched on Netflix. I once told my students that they would learn to follow my rules because I refused to be miserable for the next 1488 hours of my life. Ninety percent of the time... They did. Now, I tell my millennials that same thing, "Welcome to the workforce. There are policies and procedures in place that will help us get along for the next 2080 hours of our lives." Welcome to my blog, "Let The Managers Say Amen."

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