The following is based on a true story.
I hail from a small town, and as such, I am quite liberal in my social interactions. I am not adverse to smiling at people on the street or saying hi, provided they are good looking. However, there is one golden rule of big city livin’ that even I dare not break: The subway vow of silence.
Talking to people on the subway is just creepy. Everyone packed in like sardines during rush hour, your nose wedged in Johnny French Guy’s armpit, it’s just not a good scene. I am party to this twice daily, just before 9 am and shortly after 5 pm. My ride is a lengthy one, spanning a good ten stops and I have developed a series of coping mechanisms: The ipod and oversized sunglasses are a personal favourite. The pole sleeper is another, you know what I’m talking about, the guy standing at the pole with his head bobbing up and down with the rhythm of the train (he’s not seriously sleeping, no one actually sleeps on the subway). Thank god there’s always copies of the Metro lying around aswell. This daily indulgence of celebrity gossip and current affairs is always a good tactic for avoiding eye contact. All in all, the subway commute is a personal time of reflection whose sanctity should not be broken.
This brings me to today. While employing the ipod tactic (sunglasses were left behind at work), I noticed that a gentleman was staring at me with such intensity that it literally made my ears burn. Every once in while he would look down at his knees, and then back up. Since it was well after 5, the rat race home from the office was in full swing and as such my view of what was on his knees was obscured.
Runnymeade station – stare.
High Park station – stare.
Keele, Dundas West, Landsdowne, Dufferin – stare stare stare.
By now I was getting a little antsy. Was this guy an out of towner from Dildo Newfoundland? Did he just not understand subway etiquette?
It was only when the masses vacated the train at Ossington that I realized what he was doing.
Cue the Celine Dion Titanic medley….. The guy was drawing me!
A little taken aback, but slightly intrigued I got up and proceeded to move towards the door as if to prepare for an exit at the next station. I wanted to see this masterpiece, I was intrigued, a little excited. An impromptu portrait, how quaint, how Euro, I had to see it!
Nonchalantly I made my way over and as I passed him, I looked down at his sketch pad.
I can safely say I now know how Tricia felt when Napoleon delivered his work to her as incentive to attend the dance with him…. Maybe he just needs to spend another three hours on the shading on my upper lip.
Talking to people on the subway is just creepy. Everyone packed in like sardines during rush hour, your nose wedged in Johnny French Guy’s armpit, it’s just not a good scene. I am party to this twice daily, just before 9 am and shortly after 5 pm. My ride is a lengthy one, spanning a good ten stops and I have developed a series of coping mechanisms: The ipod and oversized sunglasses are a personal favourite. The pole sleeper is another, you know what I’m talking about, the guy standing at the pole with his head bobbing up and down with the rhythm of the train (he’s not seriously sleeping, no one actually sleeps on the subway). Thank god there’s always copies of the Metro lying around aswell. This daily indulgence of celebrity gossip and current affairs is always a good tactic for avoiding eye contact. All in all, the subway commute is a personal time of reflection whose sanctity should not be broken.
This brings me to today. While employing the ipod tactic (sunglasses were left behind at work), I noticed that a gentleman was staring at me with such intensity that it literally made my ears burn. Every once in while he would look down at his knees, and then back up. Since it was well after 5, the rat race home from the office was in full swing and as such my view of what was on his knees was obscured.
Runnymeade station – stare.
High Park station – stare.
Keele, Dundas West, Landsdowne, Dufferin – stare stare stare.
By now I was getting a little antsy. Was this guy an out of towner from Dildo Newfoundland? Did he just not understand subway etiquette?
It was only when the masses vacated the train at Ossington that I realized what he was doing.
Cue the Celine Dion Titanic medley….. The guy was drawing me!
A little taken aback, but slightly intrigued I got up and proceeded to move towards the door as if to prepare for an exit at the next station. I wanted to see this masterpiece, I was intrigued, a little excited. An impromptu portrait, how quaint, how Euro, I had to see it!
Nonchalantly I made my way over and as I passed him, I looked down at his sketch pad.
I can safely say I now know how Tricia felt when Napoleon delivered his work to her as incentive to attend the dance with him…. Maybe he just needs to spend another three hours on the shading on my upper lip.
posted by Olgs at
6:32 PM
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