jan12: blip
On the way back from buying groceries today, the train stopped after leaving the departing station and promptly stopped in the middle of the track, underground. It was a two car Muni train, and in front of me was a mother with a baby, while next to me was an antsy young man in fashionable sweatpants (it's not an oxymoron if it has fancy graffiti-esque designs on it). i was carrying a heavy linen tote, stocked to the brim with food -- the top of which was meat that i was preparing for dinner.
No one panicked while we sat and stood in impatience. Trains stopping between tracks happens upon occasion in San Francisco. I got to thinking, what if we were stranded here for half-an-hour, an hour, a couple hours. Earlier, upon boarding the train, there were two women engaging in lively conversation, and Mr. Sweatpants was clearly not amused to be so close to such loud conversation. Young Mommy had started talking to another girl close by. He, I presume, was anxious to get somewhere, the way he swung his body back and forth to make up for the pacing he'd do with more space.
I wasn't being Miss Prim and Proper, myself. The bag of groceries was cutting off the blood circulation in my arm, so that after a while, I gave in and set the bag on the ground, risking the bag breaking loose should i lift it up again. The car was starting to get stuffy, and while the air was still running, I began to wonder how long people are able to stay underground in a train car, comfortably, without running out of oxygen. Silly thoughts, perhaps, but unexpected scenarios--like being stuck in a train during rush hour -- creates stories in the most unimaginative of minds.
Eventually, the wheels began to turn, and with a couple starts and stops, we finally made it to the next station, where I managed to haul up my bag and step out onto the platform. I passed a man on his way into the car, and we made brief eye contact before the car pulled away. Young Mommy had already headed up the stairs, business as usual. I had to take a moment to take in a couple breaths on the platform. A blip in an otherwise normal routine of one's endeavor to purchase groceries for dinner. Blips that are what stories are made of.
People don't need to be put in very extreme scenarios to create a narrative. They just need to shake up what they thought they were getting themselves into. It sounds cliché, because people write about stories about meeting people on trains and such all the time, but being apart of it when it's not being created as a device in a narrative creates this lull and pull. It made me think for a moment: what if I don't make it out of here? And sometimes it's just the thought we need.
No one panicked while we sat and stood in impatience. Trains stopping between tracks happens upon occasion in San Francisco. I got to thinking, what if we were stranded here for half-an-hour, an hour, a couple hours. Earlier, upon boarding the train, there were two women engaging in lively conversation, and Mr. Sweatpants was clearly not amused to be so close to such loud conversation. Young Mommy had started talking to another girl close by. He, I presume, was anxious to get somewhere, the way he swung his body back and forth to make up for the pacing he'd do with more space.
I wasn't being Miss Prim and Proper, myself. The bag of groceries was cutting off the blood circulation in my arm, so that after a while, I gave in and set the bag on the ground, risking the bag breaking loose should i lift it up again. The car was starting to get stuffy, and while the air was still running, I began to wonder how long people are able to stay underground in a train car, comfortably, without running out of oxygen. Silly thoughts, perhaps, but unexpected scenarios--like being stuck in a train during rush hour -- creates stories in the most unimaginative of minds.
Eventually, the wheels began to turn, and with a couple starts and stops, we finally made it to the next station, where I managed to haul up my bag and step out onto the platform. I passed a man on his way into the car, and we made brief eye contact before the car pulled away. Young Mommy had already headed up the stairs, business as usual. I had to take a moment to take in a couple breaths on the platform. A blip in an otherwise normal routine of one's endeavor to purchase groceries for dinner. Blips that are what stories are made of.
People don't need to be put in very extreme scenarios to create a narrative. They just need to shake up what they thought they were getting themselves into. It sounds cliché, because people write about stories about meeting people on trains and such all the time, but being apart of it when it's not being created as a device in a narrative creates this lull and pull. It made me think for a moment: what if I don't make it out of here? And sometimes it's just the thought we need.