An open letter
Dear Woman on the Subway,
Hello. My name is Spec. I'm 25 years old, stand about 5'10" and have brown hair. I live in Brooklyn and ride the 2/3 into Manhattan every weekday morning, making my way through the masses to my job at an undisclosed location. For two out of the past three mornings I have seen you get onto my train, onto my car. Both times you came towards me, a sleepy and annoyed look in your eye. On both occassions I've wanted to ask you the same question: Why are you standing so close to me?
Why, when there are so many open seats and so many different metal poles to hang onto, do you sidle right up to me and place your hand gingerly above mine? I don't think that it's because you like me. I don't think that at all because you seem to hate everyone around you. This morning you edged away from the tall overweight man carrying a briefcase. You edged towards me instead. Am I your security blanket? Do I look like someone you know and trust? Or am I somehow invisible?
You may be asking yourself why I'm writing you this letter. Well, to put it simply, I want to explain that I didn't mean to touch your ass. And I wasn't fondling myself. There is a simple explanation: The Podcast that I was listening to was too quiet on the loud, squeaking train. I had to turn it down. In order to do that I had to reach into my pocket, which (unfortunately) on this particular pair of pants is very deep, and get the iPod out. I didn't mean to press the back of my hand against your buttocks when I performed this action. It was merely an accident, a jostling of the train which caused me to violate you so.
Maybe what we can learn from this whole experience is that people should not stand so close to one another, if it can be helped, on public transportation. Maybe if we weren't so close we could have avoided the whole uncomfortable situation.
Thanks very much for your time.
Sincerely,
Spec
Hello. My name is Spec. I'm 25 years old, stand about 5'10" and have brown hair. I live in Brooklyn and ride the 2/3 into Manhattan every weekday morning, making my way through the masses to my job at an undisclosed location. For two out of the past three mornings I have seen you get onto my train, onto my car. Both times you came towards me, a sleepy and annoyed look in your eye. On both occassions I've wanted to ask you the same question: Why are you standing so close to me?
Why, when there are so many open seats and so many different metal poles to hang onto, do you sidle right up to me and place your hand gingerly above mine? I don't think that it's because you like me. I don't think that at all because you seem to hate everyone around you. This morning you edged away from the tall overweight man carrying a briefcase. You edged towards me instead. Am I your security blanket? Do I look like someone you know and trust? Or am I somehow invisible?
You may be asking yourself why I'm writing you this letter. Well, to put it simply, I want to explain that I didn't mean to touch your ass. And I wasn't fondling myself. There is a simple explanation: The Podcast that I was listening to was too quiet on the loud, squeaking train. I had to turn it down. In order to do that I had to reach into my pocket, which (unfortunately) on this particular pair of pants is very deep, and get the iPod out. I didn't mean to press the back of my hand against your buttocks when I performed this action. It was merely an accident, a jostling of the train which caused me to violate you so.
Maybe what we can learn from this whole experience is that people should not stand so close to one another, if it can be helped, on public transportation. Maybe if we weren't so close we could have avoided the whole uncomfortable situation.
Thanks very much for your time.
Sincerely,
Spec
posted by Spec at 12:39 PM
0 comments
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home