Why Men Shouldn't Read Sexy Stuff on the Train

 Books, Essays, Humor, MARTA, Memory Mondays, Sex  3 Responses »
Aug 202012
 

When peo­ple find out that I’m a writer, they often rec­om­mend that I read this book or that book and sug­gest that I write some­thing like it.  One of the recent sug­ges­tions had been for an erotic-mystery-thriller.  I wasn’t sure exactly what an erotic-mystery-thriller was, so I decided to pick it up and give it a go.

Since erotic was the first word in the descrip­tion, I had antic­i­pated that the book might read like a porn movie, which are very sim­i­lar to Rodgers and Ham­mer­stein musi­cal, except instead of hav­ing a char­ac­ter erupt into song at the drop of a hat, the actors have sex every five minutes.

I started the book at home and got about 100 pages into with­out any sexy time; how­ever, I liked the protagonist’s voice, the crime was intrigu­ing, and there seemed to be twist at the end of every chap­ter that kept me turn­ing pages.  But all the action seemed to be from the waist up.

The next morn­ing, I boarded the train for work and stum­bled into the first sex scene.  I peered over the top of the book to check to see if any­body was watch­ing me, like the other peo­ple sud­denly knew that I tip-toed into the dirty part of the book.   I returned to read­ing and after a few para­graphs I felt–how do I put this?–one of those “periscope up” moments com­ing on.

I imme­di­ately low­ered the book to crotch level and started think­ing about base­ball, Mother Teresa, road­kill, and any­thing remotely unsexy, while I sucked in deep breaths.  The last thing I wanted to hap­pen was for another pas­sen­ger to point at me and scream, “Hey, let that Boy Scout out of that pup tent in your pants!”  In a nut­shell, I was mortified.

Obvi­ously, I just needed to put the book down until I returned home that evening; how­ever, I wanted to know what hap­pened to the char­ac­ters and who the killer was.  I couldn’t wait, though.  I had to find out what hap­pened next.  Nat­u­rally, I thought I’d just thumb past the sex scene, but when I got there, I real­ized some­thing impor­tant hap­pened because they were no longer speak­ing to each other.  I had to read the sex scene to find out what happened.

If I had been seated, it wouldn’t have been a prob­lem, but there were too many women, elderly folks, and dis­abled peo­ple on the train for me to sit down.  I tried turn­ing my back to the rest of the car, but then I looked sus­pi­cious and the MARTA police­man started watch­ing me.  Finally, I slid my back­pack off my shoul­der and held it ad an odd angle to cover myself while I fin­ished the sex scene.  Just as I fin­ished, the train pulled into my sta­tion and I disembarked.

I thought I was safe for the ride home that evening, but no–the cou­ple had such a good time that they imme­di­ately had to get it on again.  What’s up with that?  Who does that in real life?  And why did it take these char­ac­ters so long?  It’s not like that in real life.  If one per­son man­ages achieve orgasm before the other starts snor­ing, it’s con­sid­ered a suc­cess.  Again, I reached for my backpack.

I read more of the book that night at home, but the char­ac­ters seemed to still be angry with each other–or at least tak­ing cold show­ers.  The fol­low­ing morn­ing, as soon as I boarded the train, they were paw­ing at each other again.  And it was the same thing on my trip home, and the next day.  By the time I got to work, I was crav­ing a cigarette–and I don’t smoke.

So, gen­tle­men, I do not rec­om­mend read­ing read­ing any­thing sexy on pub­lic trans­porta­tion, unless you’re seated or you’re wear­ing extremely baggy pants.  And if you see me wear­ing a trench coat on the train in August, I’m going to tell you that I’m read­ing the bible.

How to Motivate People to Get Out of Your Way

 Creativitiy, Essays, Humor, MARTA, Memory Mondays  No Responses »
Mar 262012
 

One of my biggest pet peeves is the peo­ple who line up in front of the doors of the MARTA train so that you can­not exit.

Logic would dic­tate that if you want to board the train, you should allow a path for the peo­ple on the train to dis­em­bark, so that there is room for you on the train. Instead, these peo­ple line up right in front of the door, a wall of flesh that one must push through to exit. Let me tell you, Moses would prob­a­bly have bet­ter luck with his staff just knock­ing them in the head than try­ing to part them like the Red Sea.

On Thurs­day of last week, I had worked late. I’d been fin­ish­ing up a tedious project and my vision was blurry from star­ing at the mon­i­tor all-day. When the train came to a stop at Five Points, I peered through the win­dow and saw the wall of peo­ple lined up in front of the door.

Some­thing snapped inside of me.

When the door opened, I screamed, “Get out of the way! I’m gonna blow chunks!” I slapped my hands over my mouth like I was about to throw up at any moment. Let me tell you, kids, those peo­ple got out of my way.

It all hap­pened so quickly, it took me off guard. How­ever, I recov­ered quickly and ran through the path the bystanders left open for me. I dashed around the cor­ner and hopped on the esca­la­tor that leads up to the east-west line. The andren­a­lin rush was incred­i­ble. I started laughing.

And then I began to feel guilty about the whole stunt. It was dis­hon­est. It was mean-spirited.

And it also worked.

I made a note to myself: You should be spon­ta­neous more often.

You Talking to Me?

 Essays, Humor, MARTA, Relationships, Social Issues, What's the Story? Wednesdays  1 Response »
Apr 132011
 

This morn­ing on MARTA, I heard one lady ask another, “Now, what’s your name again?”

“Jesse,” the other replied, as she gath­ered her things and pre­pared to dis­em­bark the train.

“Well, it’s nice to finally know you, after rid­ing the train together for the last few years.”

Years!  How could some­one ride the train with some­one for the past few years and not know their name?

I looked up from my book and scanned the peo­ple around me.  Almost every­one was sit­ting within inches of one another, but star­ing at their iPhones and Smart­phones, e-readers, and books.  I stud­ied my fel­low trav­el­ers for a good five min­utes, wait­ing to see some sign of con­nec­tion between pas­sen­gers, but, alas, I saw noth­ing of that kind.

Of course, I was guilty, too.  When I ride MARTA, I tend to think of it as my read­ing time, and so I bury my face in a book.

I glanced around at some of the famil­iar faces, with names I didn’t know:  Young Guy Who Wears Skinny Jeans But Shouldn’t, Exhausted Bag Lady With­out Any Bags, Angry Busi­ness­man With Mag­a­zine, and Tranny Hooker in Cam­mies.  In my own way, I attempted to estab­lish a con­nec­tion with them by giv­ing them nick­names, yet the names were also a buffer to keep me from know­ing them.

I should have told Young Guy Who Wears Skinny Jeans But Shouldn’t, “That cut makes your butt look con­cave; try a relaxed fit, instead.”

I should have offered Exhausted Bag Lady With­out Any Bags the plas­tic gro­cery bag in my brief case.

I should have asked Angry Busi­ness­man With Mag­a­zine, “What are you read­ing?  Are you hid­ing a Play­boy behind that copy of Newsweek?

And I should have asked Tranny Hooker in Cam­mies, “I’m not say­ing you are a pros­ti­tute, but how much would you charge to walk across someone’s naked back in com­bat boots?”

But I didn’t.  Even­tu­ally, I turned back to my book.  I told myself that it might crush Young Guy Who Wears Skinny Jeans But Shouldn’t to find out that his sacred skinny jeans made him look like a human clothespin.

Whom do you see every­day?  What keeps you from reach­ing out to them?  What would you do or say?

Who Are You Talking To?

 Celebrities, Conspiracy Theories, Humor, MARTA, News of the Weird, Pop Culture, Theoretical Thursdays  No Responses »
Mar 312011
 

I’ve learned to expect any­thing when I ride MARTA–and that’s half the fun.  Whether it’s a man who squeals and holds a toy light saber at imag­i­nary Stormtroop­ers, or the tooth­less woman who winks at me and tells me she’s God’s gift to men, I usu­ally smile and go about my busi­ness.  Not so yesterday.

“So that’s how it is, is it?” the man yelled into his cell phone.  He was seated behind me on the east­ern bound train toward Decatur.  I was try­ing to read, but resigned myself to the fact that at least my stop was next and I could escape this man soon.

“Show me the birth cer­tifi­cate, then!”  Oh no, it’s the Obama birth cer­tifi­cate again.  I turned the page, but I won­dered whom the man was speak­ing with.  An attor­ney?  Con­stituency ser­vices?  A poor AT&T cus­tomer ser­vice rep­re­sen­ta­tive out­side of Delhi?

“And I’m telling you, Don­ald Trump wants to see my birth certificate–my birth certificate–no one else’s!”  The man beat his chest with his free hand, like a lazy King Kong imper­son­ator.  I won­dered why Don­ald Trump would want to see this man’s birth cer­tifi­cate.  The train started to pull into the Inman Park Sta­tion, so I stood up.

I got a good look at the man.  Although he didn’t appear home­less, he had a scrag­gly beard and a weath­ered face.  He was dressed in ath­letic shoes, jeans, and a sweat­shirt.  I also noticed that he was talk­ing on a Fisher Price cell phone.  He wasn’t talk­ing to anyone.

“Well, let me tell you some­thing,” the man shouted.

The doors opened, and I dis­em­barked the train.

The Underbelly of the Underarm

 Gender, Humor, MARTA, News of the Weird, What's the Story? Wednesdays  1 Response »
Mar 302011
 

http://www.rocktownhall.com/blogs/index.php/tag/fun-and-games/page/2/

While rid­ing the train to work the other morn­ing, I was star­tled when a young man in a tank top sat down oppo­site of me, raised his arms, and applied deodor­ant.  My reac­tion sur­prised me.  I glanced around to see if any­one else had noticed.  Most oth­ers were involved in con­ver­sa­tions, read­ing, or check­ing e-mail on their smart phones.  I found myself won­der­ing why I had such a strong reac­tion to this episode.

Firstly, I asso­ciate per­sonal hygiene with the bath­room.  It’s where peo­ple go to the toi­let, bathe, and apply health & beauty prod­ucts.  Unless we accom­pany friends to the gym, we don’t nor­mally see peo­ple we know in such an inti­mate setting.

Sec­ondly, expos­ing under­arm hair in such a non­cha­lant man­ner is a very male thing to do.  Most men seem to pos­sess lit­tle, if any, self-conscious atti­tude about their bod­ies.  In fact, at the onset of puberty, many boys proudly show off any hint of body hair to prove they are at long last men.  Since most west­ern women remove any axil­lary hair, under­arm con­fi­dence is typ­i­cally a moot point.

Thirdly, this young man made me real­ize how in some ways I’m not com­fort­able with my male­ness.  Although at the gym or the beach, I might not be self-conscious of expos­ing my pits to the world, pub­lic trans­porta­tion is a dif­fer­ent mat­ter.  Fur­ther­more, I don’t like draw­ing atten­tion to myself in any way that might make me stand out from oth­ers.  I think this goes back to when I first started puberty and my feet grew.  My mother con­stantly com­mented on how big my feet were.  There­fore, I over­com­pen­sated by hid­ing any phys­i­cal change that might draw atten­tion to the fact that my body was slowly trans­form­ing from a boy to a man.  This prob­a­bly explains why I was almost 30 and had put three states between me and my fam­ily before I ever exper­i­mented with grow­ing facial hair.

Update:  This morn­ing I sat down on MARTA and felt some­thing under­neath me.  I stood up and found a trial-sized Dial deodor­ant stick–on the morn­ing this post was first pub­lished.  Weird, huh?

Have you ever had a strong reac­tion to some­thing about your own gen­der that made you uncom­fort­able? If so, what’s your story?


Hugs, Not Thugs

 Humor, Kids, MARTA, What's the Story? Wednesdays  No Responses »
Mar 232011
 

 

EXT. INMAN PARK MARTA STATION — NIGHT

The train pulls up and JEF disembarks.

As he nears the steps, two THUGS, dressed in baggy jeans, t-shirts with the Grim Reaper bit­ing peo­ple in-two, and base­ball caps turned side­ways, approach him.

Jef’s knuck­les tighten on the strap of his briefcase.

THUG #1

Excuse me, sir, can you tell us how to get to Lit­tle 5 Points.

Jef’s grip loosens on the strap.

JEF

Um, you just go down DeKalb Avenue to More­land, then take a left.

THUG #2

Thank you, sir.

The two boys swag­ger up the stairs. Jef laughs to him­self, then fol­lows them up.

The thugs begin to descend a stair­case down to the elec­tri­cal room.

JEF

(point­ing)

This way!

The boys scurry toward the turn­stiles, where they fum­ble with their tick­ets to exit.

THUG #1

Thanks again, sir.

JEF

My plea­sure. Remem­ber, just take a left down DeKalb Avenue, then another left on More­land Avenue.

Jef exits through the turn­stile with his Breeze Card, then goes down the steps to the park­ing lot. He stops, and glances over his shoulder.

The boys turn right on DeKalb Avenue.

JEF

Your other left!

The boys reverse direction.

THUG #2 (O.S.)

Thank you, sir!

Jef shakes his head and laughs.

JEF

(to him­self)

You really can’t judge a book by its cover, can you …

You Make Me Wanna Snoop Snoopa Snoop

 Humor, MARTA, Uncategorized, What's the Story? Wednesdays  3 Responses »
Mar 162011
 

EXT. MARTA — DAY

The train rushes through the dark­ness of an under­ground tunnel.

WOMAN ON CELL PHONE (V.O.)

Ya know what I’m sayin’?

INT. MARTA — CONTINUOUS

JEF leans uncom­fort­ably against side of train, as a large LOUD WOMAN prac­ti­cally shouts into her cell phone. The other pas­sen­gers glare at her.

WOMAN ON CELL PHONE

So he tells me that I’m a nympho­ma­niac. And I say, are you sayin’ I’m a nympho­ma­niac? And he says, yeah, you’re a nymphomaniac.

Jeff awk­wardly opens book and attempts to read it.

WOMAN ON CELL PHONE (CONT.)

And I said, I’m not the nympho­ma­niac. You’re the nympho­ma­niac. And he says, he can’t be a nympho­ma­niac, because a nympho­ma­niac got to be a woman, so I said, well, I ain’t read your dictionary.

The woman slings her arm out and knocks the book out of Jef’s hands. He man­ages to catch it before it falls to the ground. He nar­rows his eyes at the woman.

WOMAN ON CELL PHONE

So he laughs and says, Well, I bet I could make you holler, and I said, I bet you can’t make me holler, and he says, oh, yes, I bet I can make you holler, and I says–uh-uh!

The woman thrusts out her arm and hits Jef in the side of the head.

She doesn’t notice, but pats her intri­cate hairdo.

Jef just stares at her.

WOMAN ON CELL PHONE

I’m gonna make you holla. So I invites him up to my place and got him tied to the bed and take all my clothes off and …

Woman On Cell Phone pauses and turns toward Jef.

WOMAN ON CELL PHONE

Excuse me! Are you lis­tenin’ to my business?

Jef turns and glances behind him, but it’s just the side of the train.

WOMAN ON CELL PHONE

I said–Are you lis­tenin’ to my businesss?

Every­one else in the train car says “yes” in unison.

Woman On Cell Phone flinches and looks around her. She slumps down in her seat and whis­pers into her phone.

WOMAN ON CELL PHONE

(into phone)

I’ll call you back later, girl. Some peo­ple on this train got no respect for others.

Jef rolls his eyes.

Woman On Cell Phone hangs up and sinks back into her seat.

The rest of the pas­sen­gers APPLAUD.