Editor’s Note: I am simply an innocent bystander in the nonsense that goes on in my life.
So I have this beef with the T in that the people of Boston are oblivious to the term “indoor voice,” and while on the train, are very eager to give out personal information. Fact: If so desired, I could have stolen about 17 identities by now. Since said citizens of Boston have no qualms about divulging their relationship problems, children’s potty-training stories or even their full address, telephone and social security numbers, I intend to, when worthy, blog about it in full.
Last week, I was taking the T to the airport from my office. For anyone that has taken the Green Line to Government Center for the Blue Line switchover at 5:30pm, you know the train is packed. So I’m standing in front of this guy, we’ll call him Marco (because that’s his name), and all of a sudden he takes off his gloves and smacks the back of some guy (who turned out to be the gay bff of the blonde girl he was with) standing on the other side of me. This is what transpired:
Marco: Hey, I know you!
Gay BFF: Oh yeah…Marco’s friend.
Marco: No, I am Marco. She (pointing at the girl) hooked up with Orlando (people of the T are now intrigued).
Blonde Girl: Oh my god, you need to give me his number.
Marco: He didn’t give you his number?
Blonde Girl: No…
Me: (inner monologue) Well, this is awkward. Kelly, try not to stare.
Marco: Weird. Anyway, there’s pictures of you all over my Facebook page.
The entire T cringes; Blonde Girl tries to nonchalantly open her bottle of Diet Coke, which fizzes and spills over.
Blonde Girl: Yeah, I have to see those. So why don’t you give Orlando my number?
Marco: Um, why don’t you text it to me and I’ll send it to him?
Blonde Girl: Promise?
Marco: Um, yeah. Sure.
Collective Thought Process of the Rest of the T Passengers: Give it up sister. Orlando ain’t gonna call you (may I remind you, we’ve gone one stop).
Blonde Girl: Alright, well, this is our stop. We’re going to get spray tans for our office Christmas party. Tell Orlando to call me. Marco begins laughing uncontrollably and somewhat psychotically.
Me: Wow, that was hilarious. She looked mortified.
Marco: She should be. She hooked up with my friend Orlando…
Me: (inner monologue) Um, yeah, we all know.
Marco:…and I had to play wingman to the gay best friend. Like, I had to have a BRO-mance with him. Like, it was my first time hanging out with a gay dude. Like it’s just not what I do. I mean, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it, I’m just saying, I’m not gay…
Me: (inner monologue) Relax Marco. You’re wearing overalls. We’re already judging you.
Marco:…and like, I had to watch Get Him to the Greek with him.
Me: Well, you know Marco, it’s all just a part of life’s experiences.
Some people have suggested that, for transparency’s sake, I tell people upfront that I’m probably going to write down everything they say and post it on my blog for all the world to see. But as you can tell from the scene above, these people are putting it out there; they’re asking for it. I took Media Law and Ethics. I know what this is all about.