Because I perpetually run late in the mornings I have learned to look for certain riders at the train station to assess whether I've made it on time. It's amazing but I haven't been late to work since I started riding Caltrain. Oh, sure, there was my ill-fated first day at The Agency That Never Shuts Up, but anyone could make that mistake. Other than that I've been at my desk exactly five minutes before 9:00 with smug regularity. Leaving my house, on the other hand, varies considerably, and I'm always just a little later than is comfortable.
Here's my morning routine: grudgingly wake up at 5:00 when Keiko walks on my head indicating she is A) hungry, B) bored, or C) happy. Feed cat, pet cat, or fling cat out back depending on mood. Natasha sneaks over and takes up astonishingly large section of my side of the bed while I am sorting out Keiko. Hoist Natasha onto floor, go back to sleep. Wake up at 7:00 when John gets up, decry cheery morning sun, vilify mornings in general, go back to sleep. Wake up at 8:00 and hurl myself into the shower, choose clothes based entirely on what is closest to hand, reject clothes based on actual temperature upon walking outdoors, hastily scramble into new ensemble, comb hair, avoid breakfast, eschew coffee, check for keys, book, and train pass, exit building at 8:25 for ten minute drive to station, catch 8:36 train. Relax and wake up at work. Repeat five days a week.
Naturally, when I get to the station I want to be sure I haven't missed my train. I scan for the 8:36 regulars. There are three of them. I've been riding the train with them for nearly four months now and I have fairly elaborate theories about them.
The first one is an Italian-American guy. Looks like he's from New Jersey, or maybe his family's from New Jersey. His hair is that thick, wavy sort which looks good natural but is always shiny with some sort of hair oil to keep it in a permanent John Travolta do. Kind of ugly but with a fabulous body. Definitely an engineer or software geek of some boring sort -- not cutting edge at all. Never wears anything but freshly washed jeans, tennis shoes, and nice shirts. Undoubtedly has a wife and kids and drives a sports utility vehicle. A strange looking guy in that he's not cute, he's not grotesque, but I can't stop looking at him when I see him because the lines of his face are so at odds with his body. That's the Engineer.
The second one is the Gardener. She's 50-ish, pleasant looking, probably works for Excite or Adobe or someone like that. Always wears Laura Ashley knockoffs, and always takes her bike to work. Has short, silver hair, wears clogs, looks as if she might quote someone esoteric. I'd bet good money she's been to India to live in an ashram or else was in the Peace Corps. She's usually reading a newspaper and drinking coffee at the paper stands so I can see right away if I'm on time. When she's not in her usual place I look around for the Engineer.
The third person is someone I wish I didn't notice every time. I do, though. He gives off freaky vibrations, maaan. Tall, skinny, hunched over, works as a janitor, has several jobs, plays the Lottery every day, wears stained but rather good wool pants with t-shirts which are far too small for him. He has stringy brown hair and is balding but has no idea he isn't handsome. He's that weird guy in the back of your class who had B.O. and no one wanted on their team and wouldn't sit with at lunch. He talks really loudly to the ticket seller at the station about current events. All of his opinions are verbatim from the papers. He's the Creep.
Those are my fellow riders, the people I'm on time with Monday to Friday. When they're not there I feel the slightest bit uneasy. Are they ill? Have they moved away forever? Did they get a new job and ride at a different time or in a different direction? I don't care about them at all except for one minute every morning when I search for them. Well, and when I get off the train, actually. The Creep has at least one janitorial job in my area because he gets off the train when I do twice a week. He watches me, following me, and then eventually stalks on with his long legs carrying him past my deliberately dawdling steps. The weird part, the part I don't like which may be completely harmless but gives me the willies all the same, is the way he turns around to look at me even from two blocks away. I don't want this guy to know where I work. I don't really want to know anything about any of them, actually. I wouldn't dream of talking to them. It would ruin my stories.
I heart riding the train.
