Maybe We’ll Meet Again, Someday

The story of my commuting days would not be complete without Carey. I saw Carey practically every day I rode the train. He worked in my building (for another company), so we also often ended up in the elevator together in the morning. One afternoon I saw him sitting across from me on my ride home, and I said something like, “We work in the same building.” (Note that I am not the kind of person who makes small talk with strangers. The only reason I said anything to Carey is that he is young [I found out later he was 25] and cute.)

What happened next I never would have guessed. He opened his mouth, and never closed it. His commute ended two stops before mine, and, in that time, I learned that he is married (but no ring), has two boys (one with Asperger’s), doesn’t like to read, doesn’t make enough money to get his moped fixed, hasn’t talked to his sister in 2 years, and started doing drugs at a young age because his parents both did drugs. This all in the first 45 minutes I ever talked to him. Needless to say, my attraction to him was quickly squashed. At least he brought up his wife in our first meeting, in case I had any ideas.

The next morning I got another earful all the way to downtown when he sat next to me on the train. As if I needed any more confirmation, this meeting solidified my thoughts that I didn’t want Carey to think that we were now “train friends.” He was exhausting just to listen to – he had so many stories and talked so fast. I learned that this was not his first marriage (he got married at 18 because he got a woman pregnant but then they lost the baby – seriously, he’s telling me all this!) and that he is a Jehovah’s Witness. He told me about how he was disciplined at work and about his problems trying to get on medication for ADD (why any doctor would doubt that he needs meds is beyond me). I don’t think, at this point, that he knew anything about me except my name, where I worked, and that I wasn’t married. The rest was all him.

I put an end to our morning conversations by riding in a different train car. I would then have to walk slowly to the office so we didn’t end up in the elevator together. I knew which car he took home, too, so I rode in a different one. After a couple of months I figured there was no harm in quick conversations with him, so I started walking with him from the train to the office in the morning. I would catch up to him when we got off the train, and we would walk together. He said nothing about my absence at first, but once later mentioned (as a “joke”) that he knew I must be avoiding him.

From then on, we walked together from the train, and I got these brief updates about his life, work, wife, kids, financial situation, how crazy his family is. It was almost always entertaining, but I never felt that we parted too soon. Our relationship ended when the bank that he worked for went under and another bank bought it out. Only a handful of the former bank employees were re-hired, and Carey wasn’t one of them. We didn’t have a formal good-bye, as I didn’t see him on his last day, but I feel that we had said all that there was to say (well, he did, anyway).

I think about Carey every once in a while, and hope that he found another job and that he keeps taking his ADD meds. It was a good lesson for me that I need to be careful about striking up conversations with random guys, even the young cute ones.

Usuals Not Always Usual

The usual commuters on the Coaster are just that, usual. Typical business people who work at UCSD, Qualcomm, or other large employer in the Sorrento Valley area, or who work in downtown San Diego, often for the County of San Diego or a law firm. These people are generally quiet and often read a book or newspaper in the morning or carry on conversations with their commuter friends.

Then there are the not-so-usual usuals. My favorite is the eyeliner/hair woman. I wish I had a picture of her, but I can’t figure out how to take one without being obvious. Her look never waivers; even her clothes are the same, with little variation. She has long, bleach-blond straight hair that is beyond damaged. It is usually back in a low ponytail with a beehive-type thing at the top. She pushes up her hair from the back with a large barrette so she has these high sort-of bangs. She always wears dark eyeliner all around her eyes, giving her a strange 60s/punk look. She wears dark tights (black, brown, or dark green), short flair skirts, and big belts around her waist. Her shirt and skirt are always in the same color family of mustard, dark green, or brown. I can’t figure out what kind of job she has that she would wear such an outfit every day. Hostess? Tour guide? I want to follow her one day and get the scoop.

Another unusual usual looks like a regular guy, but decidedly isn’t. He is a hummer—a pretty loud one. And, he isn’t even wearing headphones; he just hums to himself whatever random tune is in his head. He also clears his throat in a way that sounds like a horse—seriously. He is quite odd, and doesn’t seem to realize that other people exist. He sometimes stands in the aisle while other people are leaving, waiting to take their spot, but totally in their way.

The towel guy is quiet and quite normal, except that he always puts down a salmon-colored towel before sitting down. He carries it in a tote that he has with him. I hope he puts the same side down every time, otherwise, using the towel is kind of pointless.

When Is Friendly A Little Creepy?

An empty car. Riders usually sit in the same car and same general area.

People are creatures of habit. On the train, people not only sit in the same car each morning and evening, but many often sit in the same seat, or at least in the same general area. Because of this, you get to know people who ride in your car. Among friends and acquaintances, it isn't uncommon to hear, "You weren't here yesterday, did you drive?" or "Did you take the later/earlier train?" Among strangers, it can be unnerving. You generally notice who is on the train and who isn't, but you don't usually point it out to a stranger. I once overheard a woman say to her friend, "We can sit next to him because he gets off in Solana Beach. Right?" She asked him. Then, "You think I don't notice."

Another time a man made a comment to a young student-looking guy who was eating a big sandwich on the train ride home. The man said something like, "That sandwich looks good" (which is a normal thing to say). But then a woman he was with said, "He has a good dinner every day on the train home." The young man just made some comment about how he saves his lunch for later, but seemed a bit weirded out. I would be, too, if I knew that somebody noticed what I was eating every day.

So I guess the moral here is to realize that you will get noticed in this micro-commuting world, but that there is a fine line between being friendly and creeping someone out.

The Cool Group

Typical seats on the train.

The Coaster train has a hierarchy, which, in my observation, is in direct inverse correlation to how cool you were in high school. The "popular" crowd tends to be on the nerdy side, not very trendy, and pretty boring when it comes to conversation topics. (I know because you can generally hear every conversation in your vicinity when on the train.)

The regulars have their usual seats on the train, and all share a similar characteristic that leads to my comparison to high school cliques: a complete disregard for others around them. They are loud and assuming, and show a disdain for non-regular riders who invade their space. This is especially true for those new or infrequent riders who show complete ignorance when it comes to seating. These regulars have their favorite spots, and become quite upset when those seats are taken, usually loudly proclaiming to their group, "Seems like our spot is taken" or "We'll have to find a different place to sit today." Or, worse (for the unsuspecting rider), they will just sit next to him/her, surrounding the person on all sides with their loud, boring chatter.

I lucked out because my Mom had been riding the Coaster for almost a year before I started riding, and I generally knew that the regulars had their favorite car and favorite seats. My first week I sat quietly and observed, figuring out all of the anthropological undertones. As a regular myself now, I don't belong to any "group." Most riders, in fact, don't. I sit by my Mom or Dad when they ride the train, or a coworker who also sometimes rides. But, generally, I sit by myself and read or sleep.

I had a chance to join a group in the beginning, and even sat with them a couple of times, but decided that I valued my time more than talking to these strangers who I generally didn't have much in common with. (To leave the group unobtrusively, I actually had to start riding in a different car.)

For any of you who may think it sad that I don't have any "train friends," see above for my description of them. I think the nerdy group in high school finally found their place to be cool. I, for one, am happy to avoid them, and let them revel in their popular status.