I’m on the 7:50AM into the City, and I don’t want to be here. Don’t get me wrong, the co-commuters in the front Quiet Car are an interesting lot, but I’d rather be home.
Today is my wife’s birthday. Now, she is working from home, and she has two sons doting on her as best as they can, but I would have liked to have stayed. In a mad scheduling mix-up, I was home on Friday and need today to catch up with work. I may leave early.
I have a small chocolate icing topped white angel food cake to purchase before I get home. It’s her favorite.
There is a four year old child sitting five seats back who is invisible to me, but is the only voice that can cut through the thrum of the engine and the periodic friction of the wheels. His name is Phillip.
Unfortunately for Phillip, we are in the front Quiet Car, and much like a classic Bill Cosby skit about toddlers and airplanes, the commuters around Phillip are ready to kill him. The father, a blonde, Rick Moranis looking fellow in brown camp shorts, white calf high gym socks and a canary yellow T-shirt, neatly tucked into the shorts, with an innocuous camp logo, has given up any pretenses about being able to keep Phillip from voicing every single thought – in the loudest, shrillest voice that most of these folks have experienced in many many years. The bespectacled father is putting on a stoic face and engaging the boy, by way of example, with whispers and a kind word.
Also here are General Norman Schwarzkopf, Rosie Perez, Lando’s Copilot in the Battle of Endor, Roy Orbison, and Charles Barkley. All are armed.
Happy Monday. Safe travels.