on the BART to work yesterday morning–a couple sat beside me; the guy spoke loudly in a voice and cadence that reminded me somewhat of my dad’s. I strained to hear when normally I could care less.
“Do we know the Hendersons?” the older guy said. He was maybe in his late 50s, early 60s, stout, white hair, wore a trench, clutched a brief case and held a fairly high tech gadget for someone his age–it looked like an iphone. And it seemed as if he was trying to figure it out.
“The who?” the lady sitting next to him replied.
“The Hendersons. Do we know them? Do we ever talk to them? That isn’t Billy’s parents that we met in blah blah blah.”
“No. I’m trying to read this, ok?” The lady continued reading the paper.
“Ok…but are these the same Hendersons that…” he continued.
“I’m TRYING TO READ. PLEASE.”
“Don’t talk to me that way.”
“I’m trying to read.”
“I said don’t talk to me that way. Why do you always have to talk to me like that? I don’t like it.”
“I just want to read.”
“See? Stop talking to me like that.”
“I’M READING”
At this point, the guy got up, clutched his briefcase to his chest, and stormed to the back of the subway car. The lady never, not once, looked up from her paper.
At Powell station, the lady quietly folded her paper and stepped off onto the platform. I saw her looking around, scanning the area, and then she walked off.
At the next stop, my stop, I got off and looked at the back of the subway car to see if the guy was still there. He was still sitting on the car, pouting, still holding his briefcase like a sick child.
Before he stormed off, I thought they were an old married couple. They had to be, right? Yet how is it possible that someone this old can be this immature. I mean, really, not getting off the train as a way to “punish” her? Stupid. Ridiculous. I wonder if they eventually met up.
And if they were, in fact, married, I hope to God that’s not me in 25 years.
