O L TRAIN HIPSTER
NEW YORK IS JUST YOUR GAP YEAR
BUT ACT RIGHT ON THE TRAIN
NO MATTER HOW CUTE
TAKE THAT KNAPSACK OFF YOUR BACK
OUR SPACE MATTERS TOO
OPEN LAPTOP ON TRAIN
YOU’RE ASKING TO GET RIPPED OFF
I MEAN, FOR REAL: DUH
HELP VOCAL FRY
BEFORE MORNING COFFEE SO
I MAY HAVE TO KILL
LOOK THAT GUY IS OLD
THAT WOMAN’S VERY PREGNANT
GIVE UP YOUR DAMN SEAT
I AM WRITING THESE
SO I DON’T GET ARRESTED
I’D RATHER PUNCH YOU
This morning as we were both exiting the bakery—and this is not a bustling city coffee shop but a lone building on an empty country road—the driver of this BMW nearly knocked my coffee over as she pushed ahead and let the door swing back on my face. Without apologizing the bird hopped in her car and then—no joke—nearly ran me over as I was crossing the parking lot. When I saw her bumper sticker, I burst out laughing. “Lady, you will never be MY yoga teacher.” In a battle of influences, masshole bests om shanthi every time.
Since returning from the desert, my already limited ability to tolerate mansplainers has evaporated entirely. Exhibit A: I was just cowering at Oslo coffee shop, waiting for the thunderstorm to subside while working on an overdue essay. In sails a former suitor, and by this I mean a man with whom mildly flirted for years though I’ve always rebuffed his direct invitations. I call this man The Crossword Bandit, or Bandy, because he often fills out the New York Times crossword incorrectly in ink, a transgression some may consider a dealbreaker in and of itself.