Freaks (or Freakshows?) on the Subway

Consider this my official prediction: one day I'm going to be in trouble, and I mean big trouble, for too closely observing people in public. I'm not talking about a quick glance at that woman who's so thin her bones protrude, or sneaking a peek at that guy who's spitting chewing tobacco into an empty Pepsi bottle. (Really though, man, it's 2010, not 1910!)

No, I'm talking about staring. Really staring, gazing intently at someone's odd behavior or dress, sniffing their unusual scent (gross, right?) and eavesdropping on their cellphone conversations. I'd hesitate to say that I'm nosey-- even though I am-- but rather curious. Exceptionally curious. Like "Curious George was my role model growing up" curious.

Considering this is one of my most prominent personality traits, it makes my subway commute to and from work interesting and, yes, I'll say it, the best part of my day. Not only do I get to sit back and relax while someone ELSE drives me around, I get to encounter people from all walks of life that I otherwise don't bump into. What a better place than a major city for me to fulfill my thirst for observation?

Today in particular proved especially interesting on the subway. Actually, this week has been interesting in regards to transportation all around for me. Let me explain.

I hopped on the train at my normal stop, ready to do my daily reading on my Blackberry. After I finished a quick phone conversation, a flash of color in my peripheral vision caught my attention. Apparently I had sat next to a woman who sported a wild Hawaiian print silk shirt, dandruff covered black pants and a stretchy visor, the tacky kind only a grandmother wears. Sure, she was quite a piece of eye candy to a girl like me who's interested in the oddities of life, but really she didn't appear to be anything special.

It wasn't until I realized that my iPod was dead and that I'd have to rely on other forms of amusement that I noticed that she was reading. Reading to herself and aloud. Now what, you might ask, was so interesting about her reading? Everyone reads on the train to work, you might think.

She was reading erotic literature. Yep, right there, right next to me, a girl sitting close enough to see what she was reading. As she muttered to herself about how Clyde groped Charles so tenderly that Charles... ok, enough... I won't go further, my stomach sunk and I feared that I'd get sick all over her.

Before I knew it, this woman had finished reading her story. She was already at another webpage where she was selecting criteria in an erotic literature search engine so she could amuse herself with another story. Apparently her fetish is man-on-man first person POV. I'll admit that's way more than I'd ever want to know about someone I'm simply watching from a (slight) distance.

Anyway, I'm realizing that the more I seek out these unique people in my travels, the more that I find. Yesterday while being attacked by miserable humidity, I stepped into a frigid cab in order to go on an errand for work.

"Welcome to my cab," the cabbie exclaimed.

"Thanks," I responded.

"I hope you like the music that I've selected for you," he continued.

"Yes, it's fine, thank you," I said, further proceeding with my destination's address.

"I want to tell you about something that not everyone knows," he began, as I half-tuned him out. "The most important thing in this world is money. Money. The second most important thing is school. And everything after school and even INCLUDING school costs money!"

I attempted to tune him out, but realize the impossibility of this task as he asked me questions of opinion following each of his statements.

"But did you know," he questioned, "that the President of the United States of America will help you out with all of this money? Did you know that if you pick up any phone, dial zero, say 'Operator, I want to be connected to the President of The United States of America,' she'll put you through to a White House operator, operator number nine, and you can tell this person that you want to petition for the jubilee status. Do you know what the jubilee status is?"

"Um, no, sir, I don't know what the Jubilee Status is."

"Well 18 million people in Massachusetts are ahead of you! They already petitioned! And they're having all of their bills and college loans and rent paid for by President Obama! You can look it up! We're all entitled to it under The Constitution. Look it up, article 3C-L3!"

I couldn't wait to jump out of his car. Really, I almost considered having him pull over and letting me out early, only so I could brave a walk in the heat to get rid of this crazy man. But I made it safely to my destination (surprisingly, he was an incredibly safe driver) and forgot about him for a couple minutes. That is, until I made it back to my desk and decided to look up the article number that he had stated.

Nothing. Of course nothing. There's no such thing as Jubilee Status.

But what if, I thought, there really is something called the Jubilee Status in our country, and maybe I had just written down the numbers incorrectly? So of course, being the gullible and curious person that I am, I googled "Jubilee Status." To my disbelief, I came across a blog, similar to my own, where someone else had chronicled their adventures with brown cab #9. Not only that, but tons of people afterward commented on the post, relaying similar tales of this crazy man who they unexpectantly encountered on trips to the airport or City Hall. See http://tellhimfred.com/2008/01/11/welcome-to-crazy-town-population-your-cab-driver/#comment-24167 for the post and a more accurate description than I could ever give. (It's funny, I almost promise.)


So yes, this cab driver was insane. As one woman described him, he's "batshit crazy." That very well might be the case. But, nonetheless, he made my ride an adventure unlike any other I've ever had in this city. And the woman from this morning? Same thing. As weird and sick of an experience as that was, it entertained me and provided me with a conversation started at the very least. I think I'm learning to appreciate the nutty people in life and realize that, just like the woman's shirt, they bring a little color and spice to our lives.


XOXO,
R.

And it all all works out in the end...

You might be wondering why I haven't posted in well over a month. Since my last post I have quit my first job out of college and been hired to work as an executive assistant to a doctor/scientist at a local hospital. It may sound silly, but this whole transition thing has drastically changed my daily attitude toward going to work and my notions of how people act in the workplace.

I like to think that not everyone knows how awful my last job was as a bilingual paralegal at a law firm. I sincerely hope that my opinions and complaints didn't permeate all of my social interactions. But, as can be imagined, those close to me definitely were aware of my unhappiness.

Here's what it breaks down to: I had a horrible boss for nine and a half months of my life. And when I say horrible, I mean disgusting, inappropriate, mean, nasty, you name it.

Micro-manager to the core, this man would eavesdrop on my phone conversations and correct the words out of my mouth, citing my tendency to be "too nice" and "too polite." He'd watch me go to the bathroom in disdain, as if how could I become unchained to my desk on his time? I'd arrive in the morning to answer the phone to his screaming voice-- how dare I include the subdivision of an insurance company when addressing an envelope? That's not the way the mailman wants to see it and certainly I was going to lead to the ultimate poverty of each and every one of his clients because the mail would not end up in the right place on their behalf.

Maybe I most enjoyed when he called my cell at 9:30pm on a Saturday, only to grill me about my caseload, or when he'd ring me just as I left the office, shrieking about my unacceptable behavior of forgetting to take a file out of the file cabinet. "Completely unacceptable," he'd say, "and it's going to be noted in your personnel file." Yes, my personnel file, the one that was so far buried under all of his disgusting mess that he wouldn't be able to find it for evidence if he decided to sue me for royally ruining his life.

Sometimes dealing with this irrational man even became funny. When he took his week long vacation to the Caribbean, he called me the first day at 4:15pm, right before our office closed.

"I want you to call me at 4:15 every day for the rest of the week," he explained. "You didn't do that today, but that's OK because I didn't tell you to."

Right. I forgot that I was supposed to develop mind reading skills in college.

Anyway, that's over and done with. I've moved on to a much better place, where I find myself surrounded by cheerful coworkers who invite me to happy hours and lunches. (It should be noted, however, that my former co-workers are amazing and we've stuck by each other through thick and thin-- love you both!) I have also learned to appreciate the subtle gestures in life: I smile internally every time my new boss politely requests my assistance and I appreciate each and every time he thanks me for my help. I'm no longer told "JUST DO WHAT I TELL YOU," but rather spoken to respectfully, as if I'm a real person.

When I think back on it, I realize that beyond learning a lesson in how to treat and manage your employees, I'm mainly happy that I got the last word:

One Monday, well aware that the evil presence in my life was waiting god-knows-where for his car to be towed, I decided to give him a call to announce my departure. He wanted, of course, to know why I made my decision, and I explained that it was because of his lack of any sort of common decency toward me.

"I really don't appreciate you saying things like 'You don't remember who this lawyer is? I should send you to go be a waitress so that you learn how to remember things!'"

It's like dude, I got a college degree, and from a much better school than you ever went to, so you can stop insulting my intelligence right now. K thanks.

Unsure of how to respond, he made some sort of sarcastic comment about how he hopes that I "have a nice life" but that I "have some growing up to do."

My response?

"I hope you treat the next person you hire better than you treat me."

I proceeded to clean my desk, being sure to discard of my thousand newly-printed and expensive business cards that he just had printed for me.

Karma's a bitch, aint it?

XOXO,
RC

Living Life Unprofessionally

As you may or may not know, S and I are working on a journalistic endeavor that involves asking women around the country about their bad dates. We’re interviewing and uncovering these truly remarkable stories—women who have been dumped on street corners to fend for themselves mid-date, others who have had men scheme elaborate birthday plans after only a first meeting.

What’s been interesting along the way, though, is discovering the way that certain people react upon learning about our project.

The fun dating-expert girls from my gym (who so graciously have invited me out and into their homes to hear their stories) unilaterally react with excitement. They’re always chomping at the bit to reveal their stories. Understandably, the details roll off their tongues faster than their clothes flew off their bodies when that one-night stand happened in the first place. As one girl described it, sharing with us is like therapy. And who wouldn't want to have to pay their shrink to listen to them?

You’d think it would horrify older women the most when they hear about our project. After all, they’re all prudes who saved themselves for marriage and thus the worst sex on the planet, right?

Oddly enough, they also respond well to our undertaking. Most older women (and I’m talking the grandmothers of today) find the project to be clever, even cute. But, sorry nana, the story of you going on a horrible date and later finding out he was the son of the Shah of Iran is just not the type of “funny” we’re looking for. This is a true story coming from a woman who, at seventy-five years of age, miraculously still has her marbles. At least on the days when she doesn’t call me to tell me not to swim in a public pool because I’ll get bladder infections.

What’s funny, though, is how people in the professional world react to this topic. I quickly discovered that posting a question on Linked In as innocuous as “I’m working on a journalism project, need women as sources to talk about bad dates” immediately prompts a barrage of hate mail. Like seriously, words almost as bad as what Tiger Woods is probably still getting daily about how disgusting his overtly sexual behavior is.

Maybe the people who react so violently are the ones who have never even BEEN on a date, never mind a bad one, because they’re too busy reading the question section of their professional networking site. (Honestly, who is it that answers those questions anyway?)

I appreciate you women out there telling me that my boss would be ashamed of me for posting such a query on a professional site. Don’t worry, he’s already ashamed of me for other things I’m sure.

Really, I actually consider your thoughts. OK, fine, maybe I don’t listen to those specific frigid middle agers whose most recent fun experience was when their kid failed to puke on the car ride to Chucky Cheese.

Now’s the time in life to mess up and make both professional and social mistakes—and if it takes a little inappropriate behavior along the way to do it right, so be it.

XOXO,
R.