In light of all the recent Metro crashes, I am ashamed to say I have become fascinated – not terrified – with the idea of being involved in one.
No, I’m not sad and suicidal. In fact, things are going so well in my life I am quite the opposite. I have a new job I love, a new neighborhood that is one of the hottest spots in the city, an apartment that, apart from a raw sewage backup in our kitchen sink, is so much nicer than my old place, I actually have a debt pay-down plan and hopes to buy a place in the next year or two, Britney Spears came out with a new single, and on top of it all I’ve lost five pounds!
But – and I blame this on the fact that I’m a girl and can’t help it – I’m bored. Well, bored and a little lonesome. Sabrina moved a couple months back, Megan is moving next month to Louisiana for her new job and getting married a few months later, Ashmi and Raghav might as well be an old married couple, most of my other friends have paired off with someone, and even Margaret’s considering settling down.
So naturally I would fantasize about my Metro car crashing into another one. It’s gotta be a great way to meet people, right? The bar scene obviously doesn’t work, and neither does online dating (although I signed up for eharmony for the second time after making Joanna promise me she would cut off my hands if I ever considered online dating again). But if “Speed” taught us anything other than, yes, a bus can jump across a giant gap in a bridge if going more than 55 mph, it’s that people will live happily ever after if put in a very stressful public transportation situation together.
You may be thinking, “Mary El, your Metro car doesn’t need to explode to meet a guy – just go talk to him, or just slip him your card.” First of all, no. Second of all, um, no. “Okay then,” you may say, “smile a little and maybe one will come to you.” The problem with that is, if I make eye contact with a hot guy, I immediately get embarrassed and look away then attempt to make eye contact with him again for the rest of the train ride, but I usually wait too long and realize he got off two stops back and I have, once again, missed my chance with the man of my dreams (or Metro crash fantasy).
Anyway, the guys that usually talk to me on the Metro are either deformed, homeless, or have really bad breath. Recently, after grabbing a seat during rush hour (an almost impossible feat), the guy I sat next to began pointing out things in my newspaper, trying to make conversation, I imagine. I smiled politely, gave him a short answer, and stuffed my face deeper into the paper. He wasn’t altogether horrible looking, but he had, as Margaret would say, hot trash breath. So I could have gotten to know him, but I really didn’t want him to keep talking. Alas, he did, and then we got off at the same stop and I had to run ahead of him so as not to perpetuate the conversation all the way to my door. I saw him earlier this week and he gave me a mean look. I was too relieved that his mouth was closed to feel very bad.
This morning a particularly yummy, big, tall, Tom Brady lookalike boarded my car, and when we made eye contact I went all retarded, first shrugging into my coat then panicking that I was giving myself a double chin, so I craned my neck to make it look elongated and elegant, causing me to almost fall backwards when the train started moving. So…yeah, he didn’t try to talk to me. And when I finally got the nerve to look at him again four stops later, he’d gotten off. If only our train had crashed, I would have gracefully fallen into his arms, and he would have held me tight until the train stopped, and then I would have tearfully looked up into his eyes and frighteningly whispered, "Will you hold me a little while longer? I'm so shaken up." And then we would have gotten MARRIED!
But maybe I’m off base with this whole fantasy. Sandra Bullock’s character in Speed is kind of annoying, actually. She can't drive because she didn’t take care of her parking tickets (not that I’m that much better, but I’ve never had my license revoked thankyouverymuch), so I’m guessing she wasn’t terribly responsible in other areas of her life. Then there’s Keanu Reeves, who is (was) YUM (in the 90s) and is a superfine cop in LA (scary!) and looks awesome in a tee shirt and has a weird accent that’s kind of intriguing (Caaans! It was caaans!) and is quick thinking under pressure and manages to keep everyone calm while he’s defusing a bomb on a moving bus full of – let’s face it – bus people (which is why I don’t ride the bus). So, yeah, they shared that fun kiss at the end when they’re rolling out from under the bus right before it blows up, but would the relationship last? If they did keep dating, would they need stressful situations for the rest of their lives to make it work? Then they would die early from all the stress, or their car would possibly blow up.
Hmm, I’ve got some things to think about. I need a new fantasy anyway. Pizza, anyone?