two men

Old Man in an Olive Green Jacket

"She is such a bitch."

I look up from my book, wondering if those words are addressed at me. I'm prepared to go on the defensive for an unknown reason, accepting the fact I live in a city full of nut jobs who are happy to throw insults at innocent people.

A fat man in an ugly olive colored jacket is standing by me. He is talking to himself, apparently in the midst of an angry monologue. His words are deliberate and loud. Phrases like "she just wanted to give me a hard time, so I called her a bitch," come pouring out of his mouth. I think I almost see the venom that's streaming from him in waves.

I want to roll my eyes and tell the guy to shut up, but instead I go back to reading my book. I'm sitting near the man, waiting for the subway to roll by so I can get to class, and I'm annoyed that this angry person is venting about some mystery woman so loudly. I want to tell him to be quiet and be mindful of his language, but somehow it doesn't seem wise to get into an altercation with someone who is so large and obnoxious. You never know with people, and this particular person seems very mad.

The man keeps talking.

I keep rereading the same paragraph, over and over.

A woman sitting next to me gets up and leaves, walking off in a huff.

The man takes her seat and turns towards me.

He keeps talking.

I keep trying to read until he addresses me.

"Can you believe people these days?" he asks. "That woman in the booth wouldn't refund my metro card. She was just being difficult. So I was more difficult back. I'm right, aren't I?"

He's talking about the poor old lady who works in the metro booth all day long. I see her sometimes, looking bored and placid like an old cow set out to pasture. She is kind of bitchy, but then again, her job is pretty terrible -- sitting underground in a glass booth all day, selling tickets and giving directions to strangers who don't say thank you and scowl at her with angry faces.

"No. I think that was pretty rude, actually."

My words make the guy pause for a second. It's as if the thought of him being rude never dawned on him. I want to smirk, but instead I go back to reading my book. I have an intense feeling of satisfaction at the telling the man off in my own little way, but I keep it hidden and internal.

The man doesn't get the point though. He launches into a long explanation of how he taught in the public school system for x amount of years, teaching "African American and Puerto Rican kids" and "keeping them in line." I want to ask him what being black or brown has to do with it, but I just nod, my eyes hovering somewhere between his olive clad arm and my book.

He's on a roll now. Somehow, the topic turns to the elections. The man is pro-Obama, which immediately makes me want to vote for Clinton. I don't say much except "uh huh" or "how nice" and make pointed attempts to read my book, but the man is relishing in his role of master orator. His reasonings are flawed and idiotic at best, and I feel like pointing out he's an ignorant schmuck. Plus, he keeps pulling me away from my book, which is irritating.

Finally and mercifully, the train arrives. I stand up, eager to get on board. The man is still sitting there, and jovially commands me to "Have a nice day." Yeah, whatever, dude. I will, as long as you stop talking to me. That's what I want to say, but instead I simply nod and mutter "thanks", because telling him "you too" would be a lie.

Old Man In Navy Blue

It's late and I'm riding the subway back home, same book as last time clutched in my hand. The train isn't too crowded, so everyone has a seat. The people sitting around me remind me of plumped up pigeons, fat and stuffed full of bread crumbs and gossip. It's mostly a car full of older women, talking loudly and cackling madly. I am very glad not to be a part of their conversations.

The subway stops to disgorge passengers, and to let a few others on. An older gentleman dressed in navy blue steps on board, and takes a seat across from me. He nods politely in my direction, and I nod back.

I go back to reading my book. I look up a few times to scope out the scene, but it's all the same chattering people and pigeon-women. So I go back to reading.

At my stop, I get up and the older man catches my eye. "Have a nice night," I tell him. He smiles and says, "Thanks. Thanks a lot. I appreciate it."

And you know what? I've never heard anyone more sincere than him.

He really was grateful.