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Let's do this. In.
Ugly In The Morning fucked around with this message at 23:12 on Feb 11, 2014 |
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Feb 11, 2014 22:07
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| # ¿ Apr 26, 2024 01:15 |
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A Little Too Routine 1,219 Words Another day at the office. The same, everyday, average frustrations. The dumb customers, the micromangement, the tedium. Another day to finish, file away, and forget. And it could have stayed that way, too. Life’s a lot like a Choose Your Own Adventure book, where the author got lazy. Half the choices seem to just lead to the same page, one that says “You get home and go to bed. The End!”. But when they don’t, boy howdy, look out. I logged off my computer (It freezes and takes longer than normal- go to page 63, you get home and go to bed, the end!), and headed down, through the lobby, past the street meat carts (I decide to get a snack? Page 63 again!). I trudged down the same stairs I walked every day, I waited in my usual spot for my usual subway car. I could have walked ten feet to the right, stood on a different shaped puddle of subway goo, and had this day be just the same as any other. But I keep waiting right where I always wait, having the same day I always had. The train arrived. I boarded it, and started reading what had to be the hundreth Harlan Ellison short story I had read that week. Great way to pass the time on a long, dull commute. Just couldn’t wait to get home, relax, and go to bed. It may not be exciting, but drat if I don’t love that page 63 ending sometimes. Today, though, I’m snapped out of my book. “Hey, an “excuse me” would be nice!” “gently caress you, man, get out of the door!” Oh, wonderful. One of the happy-hour crowd has decided he’s going to educate somebody in proper manners. Unfortunately, the University of Subway Manners, R Train campus seems to be having a student protest, and they seem to prefer yelling and screaming over a good old-fashioned sit-in. A drunk businessman and an angry homeless man arguing? Well, I thought, it beats breakdancers. I watched, closely. I’ve never been a fan of having emotions run that high when I’m that close to the action, so I wanted to at least keep an eye on things. The homeless man was gesturing wildly with one hand and- hey, wait, where’s his other hand? My eyes dart over him, and I realize his hand is tucked away in his back pocket. Well, gently caress. That’s really not good. There’s plenty of reasons to reach for your pockets, but when you’re that heated up in an argument, all signs point to you being about to make a really bad decision. “C’mon, man, take a swing at me! Take a swing! You know you want to!” Christ, he’s baiting him. He really wants to be able to say “The other guy hit me first!” when poo poo hits the fan. The Professor of Manners seemed to have realized his mistake, and began apologizing, saying it’s no big deal, don’t worry about it. I wanted it to work. I wanted to turn to page 63, to have another boring non-event of a commute, and destress from work. The homeless man takes a step forward, swinging his arm from his back pocket towards the other man. He stopped it short, obviously having just been trying to draw him into striking first, but clenched in his hand is piece of metal, gleaming brightly against the grime of the dingy old subway car. poo poo. poo poo poo poo poo poo. What’s weirder is how nobody seems to really be noticing what’s going on. All headphones and tablets, their routines insulted by a wall of comforting noise. Lucky bastards. “Woah! Hey, what the-! Put that away!” Well, that did it. Some reactions from the peanut gallery, people scooting away, clearing out. I don’t exactly have the luxury, being cornered between the back of the train car and the rapidly escalating fight. The brakes kicked on. A stop. Thank god. The doors swung open, and the man who started this whole mess had his first good idea of the trip and got out. A few of the other passengers joined him. The man with the knife, though? Stayed right where he was. It wasn’t about being disrespected anymore, and with the adrenaline in his system and his target beating a hasty retreat, he didn’t have any one clear outlet for his rage. The doors shut. The train started to move. So did the man with a knife. He paced, he muttered, he shouted. He waved the knife. None of it was coherent. Page 63 seemed like a distant dream by now, all I could hope for is to not do anything that would give me the other Choose Your Own Adventure standby ending, a good old fashioned “Surprise! You’re dead!” Don’t draw attention. Stay calm. I can do that. I took out my phone. I began to type, trying to look as if I didn’t notice anything was even happening, like I was just playing Angry Birds on my way home. The text was to myself. “Red plaid shirt. Missing two teeth on the top right. Frizzy long brown hair. Has a black trash bag on a roller trolley . About 5’10” ”. Any details I could see, anything that might be useful if the worst did happen. I watched, I waited. He walked in front of me, shouted something I didn’t quite catch. I was more focused on the knife pointed at me. It was probably only a few inches long, but in that moment it was monolithic. My breath caught in my throat, this was bad. Did he see me texting? Did he think I was calling the cops? Visions of all the mudane things I could have done differently and not ended up here, in this situation flashed before my eyes. The moment hung, it stretched, it lengthened to infinity as it was pulled towards the event horizon of my panic. It passed. He shouted again, walked further down the train car. He came back around. I watched, I waited for the right moment, and I switched sides of the train car. A stop was coming up, and now I was on the side with a door. Nothing would block me this time. I waited. He came around again. I tried to look casual. I have no doubt I failed. He kept walking, at least. The screech of the brakes. Normally, I hate it. This time, it may as well have been a choir of angels. I stood up, quickly but deliberately, trying to avoid grabbing any more attention. I quickly turned round the barier, just two feet from the door, and stepped into the station. Home free. I broke into a ran towards the end of the train a car away, waving my arms, flagging the conductor. “Yo! Hey! You have a situation! Man with a knife! One car down!” No response. Not to me at least. The train pulled away as the conductor began to radio ahead. The police would be waiting at the next station. I breathed a sigh of relief as I sank into the wooden bench. The next train, then. Hopefully I could just read my book in peace the rest of the way, as long as my hands stopped shaking so much. Turn to page 63.
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Feb 16, 2014 18:49
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In. If I could get my flash rule as soon as possible, that would be great, I'm starting a new job tomorrow so I have no idea what my time situation is gonna be like.Anathema Device posted:I'm in. What's my flash rule? Can you crit mine, please?
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Feb 18, 2014 19:04
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