Don't Block the Door

Like anyone with a regular 9 – 5, I keep a somewhat regular schedule. Millions of New Yorkers do. One in particular who rides the same train I do annoys me. He is an older white man who works somewhere in the financial district of Manhattan. Like all people, he appears to be a creature of habit. He gets on the same train car at the same door on the same stop every day. He stands in the same place(s) space providing. This is where my annoyance takes root.

Upon boarding the train, he stands just to the right of the door, still in it, partially obstructing it with his profile. He carries a brief case and places it between his feet. He always carries a copy of the New York Post, which he flips through in random fashion, glancing here and there. I wonder about the potential of his comprehension and retention of the material he peruses.

Like many men of his age, his hair is thin at the top. He compensates by combing it forward and using product that, in its fixed dry state bears the appearance of dandruff. This would suggest failing sight and some vanity or embarrassment in his signs of age. I cannot say if he might be a humble man or not. I see no ring on his finger, so he is not married presently.

He is attired similarly every day. Business casual according to the season typically in the form of an oxford button down shirt, blue, and some shade of khaki trouser and a tweed blazer with some light pattern. The quality of his clothing does not concern me normally. Today however, the quality of his clothing did draw my attention. On his right jacket shoulder was a smudge. At first glance, you could have mistaken it for feces. My imagination ran wild for a moment with the glee of potty humor and sexual deviancy. After reeling myself in, I reevaluated the facts. There was no odor. It was dry, almost crumbly, but not flaky. Could it have been mud? That is not likely. Clay seemed out of character as, to apply a financial stereotype, he probably doesn’t have an artistic bone in his body. It is quite fine by me if I never really know.

Naturally, after finding one major flaw, I began to look for others. My eye drifted up and not even a hand’s length away, shaving cream. Dry and caked, it glared at me like a neon sign. This gave me a visceral joy I can only guess might be a very distant relative to blood lust. This seemingly pompous man with soiled clothing and lax personal grooming who would partially block the entrance to a train was drawing far too much of my attention. He mattered nothing to me. Just a point to focus my jaded criticism whilst riding the train.

I guess the things I can take from the wicked interlude are two. First, it is remarkable how little people are self aware. I have certainly seen more glaring examples of this. They are obvious many times over during the day. I guess this guy’s habit of blocking the door drew my ire and it progressed from that. Secondly, it is worth it to note the ease with which we find things disagreeable as opposed to agreeable.

Remarkable how the turn of the seasons can sour one’s mood.