Significant Strangers

A few years ago the NYTimes ran an article about a group of commuters from Long Island. They had all been riding the same trains together roundtrip daily for over a decade, more or less because of similar work schedules and because they lived in close proximity of one another.

Every Friday afternoon on their trip home they'd celebrate. Celebrate making it through another week in their meaningless jobs, rejoice in the fact that they had dealt with their boss's vicious comments and outrageous demands for another five days. One girl would bring a bottle of wine, another would bring fresh bread from the hot baker she'd flirt with as she passed his store window daily. One of the business men assigned himself the weekly duty of picking up gourmet cheese, and his buddy would usually grab a six pack from the package store outside his office building.

But what was so unique about this gathering? None of them knew each other outside of their daily commutes-- they had all met after seeing each other regularly. Maybe they realized they were sitting next to the same people each morning or afternoon, or perhaps someone haphazardly spilled coffee on another person one day, prompting apologies and ultimately leading to a conversation. Who knows. The trajectory of events doesn't matter so much. They made friends with the people around them-- people who in the end they probably spent more time with each day than their own families.

I think about this sitation when I notice myself eye-raping that gorgeous man with the ultra-short brown hair on my subway ride each morning. Being the sicko that I can be, I've picked up on the fact that he gets on somewhere between three or four stops after me. I also know that he hops off the train one stop after me. I mean he must-- that's the train's final destination. Today though I got my hopes up and thought maybe, just maybe, he was getting off at my stop and I could happen to "bump into" him on my way above ground. Really he just stepped off to let a flood of people exit without having to maneuver around him. And that just made him that much more dreamy-- a guy with manners!

Now I'm not trying to imply a connection between the first part of this story and this man that I'm going to marry in about six years. (Yea, we're getting married and having three kids. Obviously.) Not at all. But what I am trying to say is how I'm starting to realize that these seemingly meaningless people that we see regularly maybe do mean something.

Take for example that disgusting couple who commutes together every single morning. They always wind up in my car. They're not disgusting because they're ugly or forgot to shower-- they're actually so lovey-dovey they probably already took two showers together this morning. Who knows, maybe it's out of some deeply repressed form of jealousy that I end up despising them, cringing at the very first sight of them at 7:43 each morning. Without without fail though, when I'm BBMing with S, she gets an abrupt message from me-- right in the middle of our morning conversation involving me coaxing her out of bed all the way from a million miles away-- that says "UGH, that gross commuting couple is here AGAIN."

Realistically, do I ever expect to approach Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome? Of course not. And am I ever going to tell that couple, the girl with her cutesy winter hats, the man with his rugged North Face backpack and scruffy facial hair, that on the surface I find them repulsive but I'm really hoping for happiness as simple one day in MY life? Again, of course not.

The story of the New York commuters represents a rarity-- something nice developing after years of potential misery on the Long Island Rail Road. The people I see daily-- well, they're not going to become my drinking buddies for 5pm on Friday nights anytime soon, but as weird as it is, after months these complete strangers have become fixtures in my morning routine.

Carrie Bradshaw once said that "It's romantic when someone offers me a seat on the subway." So for now it's important to notice the simple little gestures and then maybe in the future, if GOD FORBID I'm still doing this daily ten years down the line, the couple will do that couple-y thing, move to the suburbs and a new revolting pair will replace them. And I can do more than just intensely stare at my piece of eye candy. Hey, a girl can dream, right?



XOXO,
R.