Train: Cancelled

So I know most of my stories involve trains and commuting, but today is a day I can't possibly avoid writing about.

I'm at the station on my way to work. It's about 8:30. The train was supposed to be here 15 minutes ago, but it was CANCELLED! A severe inconvenience to say the least. When I heard the news I just called my boss and told her I would be late. She responded with a grunt, but knowing it was out of my control she said "Okay. See you when you get here."

She knows as well as I know that I didn't break the train. She knows it is the train I catch every single day, like I have for the past 3 years, and she isn't mad. Just like me. Sure this is going to make me 30some minutes late for work, but I'm not mad. This is the 2nd or 3rd time this has happened. But there's nothing I can do to make it any better. So rather than get angry about something I can't control, I just deal with it. Unlike the man who heard the news after I did. He demanded an explanation from the ticket agent, who had none. She was nice enough to inform everyone as they bought their tickets, but I guess she forgot her tools to fix the train at home. He goes to her window about once every three minutes to get a status -- as if his repeated treks to her is going to make the next train arrive miraculously early. This man will probably let this affect his whole day. When someone asks him why he doesn't want to go out with everyone at lunch he will respond "Ugh. I'm just having a bad day." It makes me happy that stuff like this doesn't ruin my whole day.

Of course now this train will probably be crowded and I will hate the world.

Blog off?

Skrubby88: let's have a blogging contest

whatisakeith: what are the details?

Skrubby88: we have to post everyday

whatisakeith: I'm very interested.

Skrubby88: whoever has to most readers in the month of February and gets a free pitcher from Miller's Ale House

whatisakeith: that's worth $5. you're on.

Skrubby88: is there a way to tell how many viewers we get?

whatisakeith: I haven't posted since March of last year. I have no idea how to check my views.

Skrubby88: i'm sure there's a way, google is smart.

whatisakeith: okay, so when does this begin?
Skrubby88 signed off at 9:23:49 PM.

Go look at John Wilson's blog (or don't and I will split a pitcher of free beer with you).

Crashing someone's car.

So Sunday I crashed someone's car into someone else's car.

It was the first time I have ever hit a car, which sucks because now after almost 8 years of perfect driving I can't say "I never once got into a car accident" anymore -- although since it wasn't my car I crashed I can say something like "I never crashed my car once", and still be telling the truth (or at least convince myself I am.)

Quick description of the incident:

Me and Kristin were in her car. I was driving down my street towards my house approaching a curve to the right. I applied the brake about 70 feet back and the brakes locked because of ice, causing me to have no control over the deceleration of the vehicle. We hit a curb and got sling-shot into the back of an SUV. The airbags deploy, we cough, I apologize. I give Kristin my coat and she gives me a kiss. The police come, think I'm drunk, I prove them wrong. Insurance is exchanged, and Kristin, whose toes are near frostbite status at this point, is carried 6 houses down the street by me to a bed and a warm heating pad. I go back to take pictures of the area. I check the car for anymore belongings and come home to an asleep Kristin.

I would like to (for myself, mostly) try to go through the thought process I had after colliding with the parked car.

Fear - I wanted to make sure Kristin knew we were going to crash. I believe my exact words were "Holy shit, Kristin!".

Understanding - I remember thinking in the last .05 seconds before impact that there was nothing I could do to stop this from happening. I just asked someone if this could all just end nicely.

Disbelief - The moment I tasted the acidy powder I didn't want to accept what just happened.

Worry - I pushed the bag away to make sure Kristin was okay. She looked scared, but assured me she was okay. I apologized and didn't hear what she said after that. I got out on my side and someone was asking me if I was okay. I walked over to her side to open her door and I helped her out. She was okay.

Disbelief - "Did I really just nail a car?! Is this what it's like?! What do I do now?! This isn't even my car! Am I hurt?!"

Apologetic - I think I apologized to an innocent bystander thinking it was his car. I apologized to Kristin one thousand times and then to a man who told me I was bleeding from my mouth.

Fear - "Holy shit. This is happening. I have to deal with this. Don't freak out."

Comfort - I was thankful Kristin was okay and I was also thankful there was no human beings between me and the parked car. The mantra "Things could have went a lot worse" circled through my head a dozen times as we waited for the police. They were going to ask if I had any drinks that night and I wasn't going to lie to them, "One or two earlier in the night". The police were going to have their suspicions and I was not going to tell them how to do their job. It was something I couldn't run away from and I just had to accept. It's sort of the same way I look at going to the dentist. He's going to do some shit that's going to hurt. It's going to hurt a lot. But there's nothing I can do to get past this without getting hurt. So in order to get past the pain I need to think of the relief I will feel when it's done.

Fear - Without even getting out of his car the cop already made it known that he didn't like me. Maybe I just physically don't seem like the kind of guy people would immediately get along with? (Infact, he told me later he was angry about having to be at Cottman and Frankford all night, for the possible Eagles win). Kristin was very beneficial at this point after the officer cut me short of my explanation. She looked me in the eyes and told me to be calm and that everything was going to be okay. He was going to give me a sobriety test and I had a lot riding on it. I had my license, which if taken away would significantly impact my entire life. I had J--- who, as my little brother in the big-brother/big-sister program looked up to me as a mentor... and to have him taken away from me for a mistake like this would crush him. I had future job opportunities which would be severely diminished if I failed this test. I'm sure that anyone who's gotten a DUI can also come up with a million other reasons why it SUCKS to get one, but those are the ones that came immediately to mind.

Determination - The officer was very stern with his instructions during the sobriety test. I didn't approach the test with the "I am drunk, how do I convince this man I am not?" mentality. Instead I told myself that, since I'm not drunk, this test would accurately be able to tell him so, and we could just put this behind us. He tried confusing my left and my right, but I saw through his superior officer-intellect. I passed the test with flying colors.

Apologetic - Now that the worst part was over I had to focus on correcting the problem I had created in smashing Kristin's car. I apologized profusely (and I still am), and told her I would do whatever I could to rectify the situation.

Determination - I know what I did and demanded responsibility in correcting the problem. The feeling of not being allowed to help truely hurt, so I continued on with persistence that no matter what was needed to make this better I would do it. Again, this is a lot like the dentist. What ever I have to do is going to suck because if I just hadn't slipped on that ice I wouldn't have to do it. But now it's my responsibility and I'm not going to run away from it. I'm going to deal with the pain because I know there will be relief afterwards.

My worst fear was that I messed up so bad that Kristin wouldn't let me take part in fixing it. But as I went to the mangled car this afternoon, when I got home from work, she had left a note on it. It was telling the owners of the parked car that her now-destroyed vehicle would be towed away the following day. Instead of signing it Kristin she signed it "Kristin + Keith".

Whew.

G'bleshye

Why do I always sit on the train next to a person who's obviously allergic to showers?

This and many other questions arise in my morning commute. I take the train to center city which takes about 45 minutes. I have been doing it for over a year and I've tried every legal form of killing time there is. Reading books, newspapers, listening to my ipod, giving strangers misleading and curiously charming winks... But somehow there is always one thing, albeit small sometimes, that seems to double its irritability with every station stop we leave.

Like now for example, there is a lady who has a giant white bag that partially obstructs the already menacingly narrow walkway in between the benches. She seems more worried about having quick access to her enormously obnoxious "sack" than to convenience her fellow commuters by simply placing it on the rack about ten inches above her head. The size of the bag I must bring attention to. It's like there's a stop after mine that I haven't seen yet where you're left alone in the complete wilderness and the only things you have to keep yourself alive must be carried in a giant bag. A bag big enough to steal small children and medium sized dogs. It could possibly be used as a pillowcase for someone who uses entire loveseats for pillows. Normally I wouldn't complain about this kind of stuff, but when you're on a crowded train and the only noise is electric motors, and abnormally loud cell phone conversation you seem to pick up and dwell on things.

For example, midway through the preceding paragraph a fellow commuter of mine sneezed. Naturally as I thought any civil-minded well-wisher would do I said God bless you (or how I lazily say it - "g'bleshye"). Well supposedly I was absent to the SEPTA train ethics board meeting where they decided the only thing more annoying than sneezing was someone saying God bless you. I know that people around me could hear the sneeze because my "g'bleshye" was at equal volume yet seemed to turn more heads than her sneeze. Not a thank you from our sneezer either. It was as if I'd committed a capital crime and she did not want to run the risk of being an accomplice. It's not the last time I say God bless you though. I don't give a shit what the ethics board says.

Okay, my stop is next. Time to stop hating everything I see.

Crazy

Here's my account, my advice, or my depiction.
Of when it's time to trade your pet paper clip for a psychiatrist's prescription.

Now don't think I'm being nosy, or anything like that.
Your best friends could offer their advice, but they can't because they're cats.

You don't need me to tell you that it seems kind of crazy when you cut off your toenails and mail them to Patrick Swayzee.

I can't say what's up there, creeping in your head. As your left hand tries to kill you while you're sleeping in your bed.

When the grocery store's a source of food, but also good debate. With bacon, peanuts, laundry soap, and bags of purple grapes.

When your favorite sound is screaming and your automatic guns, you should trade your postered walls, for some extra padded ones.

Puppies, kittens, and hamsters are things you should admire. Not sacrifice, throw at cars, and occasionally set on fire.

You should quickly know the difference between doing wrong and doing right. Like going to a funeral and trying to pick a fight.

I hope this has convinced you even though it probably won't. Because you're not crazy if you think you are, you're crazy if you don't.

Super Powers

If I was a super hero I'd have many abilities.

I'd be able to see through walls. Even walls covered by other walls.

I'd have the power to be invisible. So I can protect women while they're in the shower. When they're most vulnerable.

I would be able to see through people. Not literally. I'd just be very observant and socially aware.

I could fly anywhere I would like without (unwillingly) getting a cavity search.

I could brew the tastiest coffee ever. But I wouldn't drink any. I would be powered by solar energy, so every morning I'd pour me a nice hot cup of sunshine.

I could have laser vision. And my laser vision could have laser vision.

I could smell from 5 miles away. Unless I use my super hero deodorant.

I could have the ability to make people realize they talk too much without hurting their feelings.

I could dance at weddings and not get sweaty.

Instead of daylight savings I could just stop the earth's rotation for an hour.

I could think of funny things to write.

Investment Into Chance

He pulled up to the gas station that morning at 6:17am. It was Thursday and he was making a stop before going to work at the nearby mill. He had 3 minutes to spend 5 dollars before a 10 minute drive to work. The support attached to his truck, to step on before reaching the ground had been wearing away ever since his black S.U.V. turned five years old, ten years ago. Avoiding the support, he shifted his body and made a tiny leap. He landed, knees bent and hunched forward like a gymnast would have done on a jump ten times more difficult.

The pain in his knees caused from years of abuse caused him to hold his breath in a brief, but passing moment of agony. It was at that moment bent over that he felt his right foot getting cold and wet. The rain from the night before seeped in with the realization that his boots, now, were about as useful as the sidebar on his truck.

He straightened his back and examined a hole in his Levi's that seemed to be growing in diameter with every wear. Head hunched forward in the universal sign of "I'm not happy right now." he approached the entrance. He thought about a coffee, but didn't know if he had enough cash for that as well as cigarettes. He could have, he just didn't want to face the embarrassment of not having enough.

He thought of how the night before his 7 year old daughter offerred her piggy-bank she'd been collecting change in since she was 5, a year before her parents divorced. He thought of how pathetic it was that a 7 year old could sense his desperation. He thought of how much could be in there, and then he regretted thinking it.

While in line holding a five dollar bill he thought about the coffee he could be sipping if he gave into the last resort of "piggy-bank" desperation. He got over this thought with a quick shake of the head and a small hum to himself in a tune he created on the spot.

It was his turn in line and he approached the attendant, a 50-55 year old white woman wearing thick-framed glasses which must've been thrown through a time machine 30 years into the future. She looked as excited as he felt that morning with one hand on the counter and another hovering below the overhead cigarette case. This told him he was familiar enough to her to remember his habits, but not his preference. He told her the cigarettes he'd like to purchase without eye contact. She rang them up and they came to $3.75.

With quick math, he saw he had $1.25 left. With quick sensibility he knew there was nothing this day could offer that cost less than a dollar. And with a moment to spare before causing the female time-traveling gas attendant to ask if he needed anything else, he told her to pull off a $1.00 scratch-off ticket.

He had never really gambled. His motto was always "you need money to do that" and now with a quarter left of what used to be five dollars he couldn't have been more right. He justified his purchase on the way out by saying that it's a risky move, but it can be considered an investment into chance.

He got into his car, avoiding the support with a tiny hop, took a cigarette from the pack, and put the box on the passenger seat. He took the quarter change he was given and held it in his right hand. His cigarette, unlit, dangled from his lips, bouncing up and down as he quietly mouthed the directions on the lottery ticket in his left hand.

He had to reveal a secret number which for him was 10. Now he'd have 5 chances to see his number appear in three spots marked "pots-o-gold". He scratched the first one to see a 10. He was a bit pleased, but instead of the prize for that one he scratched the next pot-o-gold. It was a 10. So was the next one. And the next one. Then the next one. And so was the last one. Five 10's meaning he won 5 times. This brightened his day. Maybe he could get some lunch or buy his daughter a toy. He scratched off the first prize. Stopped. Scratched the second. Stopped. The cigarette came loose from his lips and soaked up the muddy water brought into the vehicle from his boots. He paid no attention and furiously scratched the rest of the card.

He saw zeros. Lots of 0's.

He sat in his car quiet for a while. The morning rush was now beginning and his parking space made others envious. If they only knew they had a lot more to be jealous about.

He made a phone call and spoke through a smile. He leaped out of his car and hunched forward bending his knees, but shooting right back up in a quickened gait towards the gas station entrance. As he opened the door he thought about what he'd have for lunch that day.