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Jewish World Review May 6, 2005 / 27 Nisan, 5765 Train of Thought By Gene Weingarten
http://www.JewishWorldReview.com |
I was heading home from work the other day, descending into the Metro, minding my own business, when an intense, silent 20-second psychodrama unfolded. I am reconstructing it here exactly as it occurred, thanks to the gracious cooperation of the other principal player in the drama. Her only condition is that I keep her identity a secret so as to avoid embarrassment, a condition I immediately agreed to because I am such a sweet, sensitive guy.
Therefore, I would like to state, for the record, that this other person was not Amy Lago, comics editor of The Washington Post Writers Group, a professional colleague who happens to edit this column for syndication. Let's call the other person in this silent psychodrama "Mildred." Mildred is a professional, um, hairstylist of my acquaintance.
I swiped my card and step-ped off the bottom of the escalator, onto the train platform. I was moving a little tentatively because, having just returned from a journey into a wilderness area, I was still wearing an old, dispensable pair of eyeglasses with a too-weak prescription. The platform was crowded with commuters.
Mildred: Oh, there's Gene! (Smiles.)
Me: A woman is smiling at me.
Mildred: Gene's not smiling back.
Me: (Getting closer.) It's an attractive woman. Attractive women do not smile at me. She must be smiling at someone behind me.
Mildred: Why is he not smiling back?
Me: (Getting closer.) Wait, she looks familiar.
Mildred: Hold on, those don't look like Gene's glasses.
Me: (Getting closer.) Hmm, is that . . . Mildred?
Mildred: The glasses are ALL WRONG! And he's still not smiling back! It must not be Gene! I'm giving this big, goofy smile to some strange guy!
Me: It is Mildred! (Smiles.)
Mildred: Omigod, the guy thinks I'm making a pass at him! (Stops smiling.)
Me: (Holds smile uncertainly.)
Mildred: (Turns bright red, looks away.)
Me: Uh-oh. That can't be Mildred! It must be someone else, and she must have been smiling at someone else, and I reacted like a typical male jerk, the kind of man who assumes that all women want him.
Mildred: (Elaborately studies everything else in the station but Gene.)
Me: I'd better just pretend to read my paper, like nothing happened. Absolutely nothing whatsoever has happened here.
Mildred: Wait a minute, he's reading the New York Daily News comics section.
Me: Yessir, I am absolutely buried in my paper, like any other commuter who is minding his own business, and certainly not the sort of man who acts like a jerk with women.
Mildred: Why would anyone else in Washington, D.C., other than comics-freak Gene read the New York Daily News comics section, which—were I a professional comics editor and not a hairstylist—I would know carries strips like "Gasoline Alley," "The Lockhorns" and "Little Orphan Annie"?
Me: I can feel that woman staring at me.
Mildred: This simply has to be Gene. He's even got Gene's posture, now that I see it.
Me: I love my wife.
Mildred: He must be mad at me.
Me: I love my wife and can't wait to get home to see her and I am not going to look up.
Mildred: I must have done something to really tick him off.
Me: Thank G-d the train is entering the station.
Mildred: This is so childish and unprofessional. I really should just go up to him and ask him what's the matter. But he seems so, so . . . upset.
Me: Here it comes! Soon I will be free from all this pressure.
Mildred: This is going to be awful. Because of some terrible thing I have done— something so dreadful it has infuriated him, yet is also so subtle I am completely unaware of it— we are no longer even on speaking terms.
Me: If I walk forward a little, we won't even have to be on the same car!
Mildred: (Getting on.) I am going to e-mail Gene tomorrow and find out what's going on.
Me: (Getting on.) If I get an e-mail from Mildred tomorrow about this, I am going to feel like such a dork.
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