baggage's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- This is my space, that's yours I have a theory. If you're in the fast lane, and the car in front of you is going about 40 miles per hour, there are two ways to make it go faster. Way Number One: Speed up to the rear bumper and push the damn car up to the proper speed. Yes, this is rude, and illegal. But, really, drivers people who insist on going 40 in the slow lane deserve it. Way Number Two: Turn on your signal and make it look like you will attempt to pass. Switch into the next lane and start encroaching on the driver's space. The driver will almost always speed up. For some reason, human driving nature dictates that it's perfectly acceptable to drive slow in the fast lane, but deems it unacceptable to allow anyone else to pass. I've been working on this theory for years, people. It works. Almost every time. And since I don't have the mental capacity to rationalize such inane behavior in my unsophisticated little brain, I've resorted to the unthinkable: Public Transportation. Yup. The truck with the million dollar stereo system that I spent months tweaking so that I could hear every nuance of Eponine's "On My Own" while driving down I-10 now spends its time getting dusty on the driveway. Instead, my two hour commute to work is now spent on a train. Sigh. It's odd giving up my personal vehicle. At first, the thought of being two hours away from home without the convenience of my truck was a bit disconcerting. What if I need to go home quickly? What if I need to pass by the guitar center on the way home? What if I need to support my country's dependence on foreign oil? WHO AM I WITHOUT MY TRUCK? The train, to its credit, does offer benefits. I can read. There's a drinking fountain close by. I can pee any damn time I want. I can sleep. I can write. I can draw. I can listen to music. I can stare out the window in a stupor. Or, I could do nothing at all. That last option is particularly nice. But, the potential downside of the last option is that someone, usually the person sitting next to you, is able to observe you doing nothing at all. And, seeing as it's inconceivable anyone would choose to spend their time doing nothing at all, this well-meaning individual may take matters into their own mind and say what I've been dreading they would say: "Hi!" My bubble of privacy burst, I wipe the fog from my eyelids, look over and say, "Hi. I like to keep an on-line public diary, but have trouble relating to people on a face-to-face basis. I have issues. You do not want to talk to me." (OK. I wouldn't say that. I would think it though, damnit). "Hi" I would say with a smile-wondering if this could be the person I nearly rear-ended the other day on the freeway because they were going 40 in the slow lane (they won't recognize me with the smile I think....they may recognize my middle finger though. Better keep my hands closed and on my lap). And so a conversation would begin usually about the book one of us is reading (for me, the author would be John Irving), the train, our work schedules, how far we take the train etc. And, eventually, I would welcome their voice and welcome their intrusion because, regardless of my crankiness, I do enjoy company (even if it is forced). Which is really what the train does. It takes you out of the privacy of your car and into the forced companionship of strangers-all struggling to maintain their own little private space within the limitations of a four-seat area. I find it interesting as well that other major cities in the world have much more elaborate public transportation systems than Southern California. Really, Southern California's public transportation system is a joke compared to New York's or San Francisco's or Boston's. Why is that? Do Southern Californian's enjoy sitting in traffic? Possibly. Possibly, we've become so acclimated to our own definition of personal space that the thought of sitting so close to a stranger on a train sends our minds into a sort of mental revulsion. It's sad, really. And what about the folks who place their personal belongings on the train seats around them to discourage others from sitting there-the human equivalent of pissing to mark your territory? What about those losers? My guess is they're the same people who drive too slow in the fast lane. 10:36 a.m. - 2002-07-06 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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