Good afternoon. On the 4:28PM out of the City. A vociferous bunch. Let’s get right into it.
A Rutger Hauer lookalike is here along with his wife, who reminds me of a grown up chubby baby from a Tom & Jerry cartoon. He is no gym guru either. He was here first and after placing his well cushioned self on the cushion,
proceeded to dive into an Italian beef sandwich with hot peppers and onions.
Just before the train departed, his beloved sat down, and while diving straight into a clerical day from hell, (“Oh my god, she kept asking me for help when she’s supposed to know how to do this work. She’s trying to finish early so she can get all the credit.”), Mrs. Milk-baby Bauer dives into not one, but two large homemade chocolate cupcakes with chocolate buttercream icing. She scarfed those down and has continued (crumbs of moist cake escaping her maw) to excoriate her fellow clerical coworkers. He is looking out the window, attempting to tune out the (..I can’t believe that this woman can be so unhappy with her job, considering she has a job…) noise.
Evidently Milk-baby (age 49) has a co-worker named Ann who is the worst sort of co-worker. She gets work done on the backs of others in the office pool. Ann has a resume that suggests she has the prerequisite skills and work history to be able to do the job without leaning on Milk-baby for everything. And Ann seems to have the audacity to dictate work orders and roles-and-responsibilites. Milk-baby is putting her, considerably massive, foot down and talk to Dennis about office efficiencies. Now it seems Nellie, evidently another inept co-worker, is not up to snuff and she, Milk-baby, has to keep Nellie afloat, while taking tasks from the, again considerable, back end from Ann. And Dennis is the only one that can fix this
Speaking of management, a similar conversation is happening with a desi fellow, from my family’s neck of the woods, and his seat-mate, a distant desi relative of the Hauers. In an Indic dialect interspersed with accented English.The gravitational force of mass and negativity is causing a serious emotional black hole on that side of the car.
Fascinating how I am reacting internally to the black hole of clerical/IT doom on the other side of the aisle. I feel strangely annoyed with Management of all types. I may need to beat up the conductor. Oh…good….the feeling has passed. The desi couple is talking about food. The Hauers are looking a photos of Rotweilers and stray Pittbulls on the Internets.
There is a fellow who is an amalgam of David Tennant’s “Barty Crouch, Jr.” and Matt Dillon sitting in front of me in the next seat over. A very serious fellow. Thankfully, he is on his iDoohicky listening to something and has avoided the conversations being broadcast. I take his cue and put my ear buds in to filter out the “oh how nice” coming from Mrs. Hauer as she points out a very lively video of a 200lb bulldog ripping off calves of mailmen and joggers.
OK. Also here are the Williams sisters post-Wimbledon, Ira Glass with a goatee, Rosie Perez, and Grandma Moses. All are armed.