I was on a train recently and I saw the most amazing thing ever, some Mexican woman’s cleavage. Now before this turns into some strange public transportation erotica story let me just say that it’s not. This is about spending time with people who you cannot communicate or share a single interest with. Let me just talk about her cleavage for a moment though.
Fantastic. The word fantastic was invented for her. She wore a black and white dress, conservative for the most part until we got to her bosom. Or is it bosoms? I don’t know if a tit is considered a bosom or if the whole package is the bosom. Anyway, the front of her dress crossed in some fancy way and there was a good space open in front of her chest large enough for me to shove my face in. I didn’t shove my face in there because I’m not one of those people and she had a boyfriend or husband with her and he was much taller than I am.
Rarely when I get on a train and I know it’s going to be crowded will I grab a seat. I know there is going to be some old person, pregnant woman, or pushy human being who deserves a painful death that I’ll end up having to give my seat up to anyway. It’s easier to just stand than to do a kind gesture for another person and not get anything back in return. I decided on this venture to stand near the door that says “Do Not Lean Against Door” rather than stand where all the buttons are. That’s the kind of person I am. I would rather accidentally lean against a door and fall out than I would accidentally bump against a button and have to stand there embarrassed as the conductor has to check to make sure there’s no emergency.
(That’s pretty much me standing there except I never dress like Hans Gruber)
The train was unusually crowded for a Saturday night. I thought people stayed at home crying Saturday nights like I usually do. Please don’t tell me I’m doing things incorrectly…
After a few stops and the first where things really packed in, the Mexican woman with the awesome cleavage stepped onto the train, heels clicking against the floor, the march of a slut sounds. With her was the earlier mentioned husband or boyfriend. He was tall, handsome, had glasses, and had the same voice as some guy I knew. I had not seen the guy in a few years and when I said hello to him he said “Oh yeah I remember you” then walked away. Fuck him.
(Both of these men look like actor Walton Goggins with a smaller forehead. If I had said with a bigger forehead that would have been frightening)
They stood near me because I guess they have farting problems and wanted my stench to cover up their gastrointestinal embarrassment. They began talking about how they were going to a show at UCB. The guy had no clue what UCB stood for and since I know more about the New York comedy scene than the average mongoloid, I chimed in that it stood for Upright Citizen’s Brigade.
The two lovers turned to me as this is the thing you do when someone you don’t know speaks. He gave me an “Oh yeah!” and we then began talking about the show they were seeing. Tits McCleavage-Bonergiver looked at me too and gave me an “I don’t know what you’re saying, but you don’t seem threatening” smile as I spoke with her man. He told me he had gotten an email from his work about the show featuring Amy Poehler, “that Michael Cera guy from Juno”, and “that blonde guy from 30 Rock.”
First of all, if you refer to Michael Cera as being the guy from Juno, you missed out on a lot of his career. He wasn’t even the star. The film had a titular character that wasn’t him and this is the only film the guy knows him from. Second of all, this guy wouldn’t shut up about 30 Rock. I have never seen an episode, but I pretended I knew who he was talking about because it’s weird to explain to a person “I don’t have cable and even when I did the idea of 30 Rock never really appealed to me much because I find Tina Fey a little overrated in many ways. I would probably give it a shot at some point, but there are so many other things I have to watch beforehand that appeal to me more.”
(Michael Cera has done so much at this point I bet he doesn’t even put Juno on his resume)
Our conversation didn’t last long and he kept saying “Should be a good show” in a “Shut up dude” way to me. So I did that. I stopped chatting with them. They continued to talk though and that’s when I learned this guy might not be so lucky. His female companion still could not grasp what improv comedy was. That’s fine. Sometimes I don’t get what improv comedy is.
Their interaction continued while I stared at some old guy in the adjacent train car picking his nose then occasionally back at the woman’s cleavage as a chaser for humanity. They talked about lots of nonsense and the most important thing of all was their conversation was not a back and forth. One would talk for five minutes and get almost no response and then the other would do the same. It wasn’t like they were loveless either. They just didn’t seem to comprehend what the other was saying.
Somehow it came up that the woman knew someone who was “really smart” and got real into UFOs. Awesome-Breasts O’Rgasmic told the most horrendous story about how they went to a bookstore looking for something. The story made absolutely no sense at all. Her hubby had so many questions and he seemed so terribly confused as did I. She laughed a lot during the story like she was already seeing Juno’s Michael Cera perform improv. When the story ended her husband looked at her and said, “Okay…”
(She could have read Great Expectations in Spanish and gotten a better response…and that book totally sucks)
At one point I thought this guy had it all. The more I was around him the more I came to realize he really did. Her cleavage was that awesome that it doesn’t matter how boring her stories were. It doesn’t matter how she didn’t seem to enjoy any of the same things as him. Perhaps worst of all, she reminded me a lot of someone I dated years ago. Both were Mexicans with beautiful pimple scars, nice bodies, and not making any sense. I could have been this guy. I could have been trapped in a world where the best thing in it is some Central American cleavage.