Riding the railroad in the wee hours can be the most uneventful moment of your life, or it can be like that scene in Adventures in Babysitting where Brad gets stabbed in the foot because he fucked with the Lords of Hell.
On the special nights, some of the creepiest creatures known to man descend upon the largest commuter rail in the country and make it a point to ensure you never want to be awake and in public past nine o’ clock ever again.
From the people who drink brown mystery fluids out of mason jars to the wasted guy with no shoes and filthy, hole-riddled socks who shares dieting tips whether you want to hear them or not, you’re in for a night to remember if you run into any of these winners.
However, nothing compares to the combustible result when you combine the volatile mixture of blabbermouth teenagers with people who have spent some time behind bars who just want to sleep.
Ever think you were sure to see someone get stabbed in the neck? If you answered yes, then you were probably riding the train with me late last year.
It was late on a Thursday night last November. I was with my girlfriend and her friend in a six-seater, when a young, homeless-looking fellow plopped down in the four-seater across the aisle from us. It wasn’t long before his shoes were no longer anywhere in sight. Smelly and content, he struck up a one-way conversation with us, sharing diet tips and telling us the dangers of eating processed foods.
After what felt like an eternity, he drifted off to sleep mid-sentence, and my companions quickly followed suit. It wasn’t until I had no one to talk to that I noticed how loud some drunken teenage girls from the other end of the car were talking and laughing. And it only seemed to get louder. And LOUDER. And LOUDER.
A man with a teardrop tattooed below his eye noticed too, and he decided to stand up and shout at the girls that they should “shut the fuck up,” and that he was “trying to get some goddamn sleep.” He also noted that he had “no problem going back to prison.” After a few more thinly veiled threats and profanities, he once again reminded the “bitches” to “shut their fucking mouths.”
They responded by giggling uncontrollably, not knowing an invitation to the ER when they saw one.
My fellow travelers (and shoeless buddy) slept through the rant, and I was left to be the sole murder witness when the bloodshed went down.
Things eventually quieted down, and the man fell asleep. A good bit of time had passed when I looked up to see two of the girls, holding back laughter, now standing over the sleeping man, waving in his face and talking baby talk to him. They may as well have strapped raw meat to their asses and ran around the Serengeti. What were these assholes thinking?! Well, their guardian angels must have been working overtime, because by some grace of god this guy didn’t wake up and bust a cap their goddamn domes. They quickly realized they were tempting fate a little too hard, so they knocked it off, sat down and shut their traps.
As the ride dwindled down, everyone parted ways. The ex-con woke up and got off, the health guru found his shoes and departed without even saying goodbye, and the girls, after sobering up a bit, quietly left realizing that they had barely survived after stared death in the face, quite literally.
Even though it was uneventful in the end, I couldn’t help but think that if some murderin’ had gone down, I’d have probably turned a blind eye if I weren’t too busy cheering and applauding. Usually I only dream of yelling at the loudmouths on the train. So, sleepy ex-con with the teardrop tattoo, consider yourself my hero.
