Train Ride to Disturbia

Oh dear God. I've found my "thing."

I've figured out that most everyone has a "thing," as in "it's my thing." With my friend Sean, it was feet. With my friend Kristin, it was wrists. Something that just totally skeeves you out to the point where you are overcome by the shakes and you will do almost anything to get away from it.

My thing, I figured out not too long ago, is touching knees with strangers. This was discovered in one fateful LIRR ride when I found myself seated opposite a very large male whom I did not know in a face-each-other-four-seater.*

*On re-reading this sentence, I've decided that perhaps I should have started with, "Dear Penthouse..." Alas, it is not that kind of story.

Anyway, there's this very awkward "where do my knees go" thing that happens. Unless you are seated across from a Chinese gymnast - this hardly ever happens, and also, see Penthouse letter - then either (1) your knees both go in-between his knees, (2) you spread 'em, classystyle, and his go in-between, or (3) there's an interlocking your-knee-my-knee-your-knee-my-knee thing. This last one, IMHO, is the most uncomfortable.

Because of the reasons elaborated above, I generally refuse to sit in the face-each-other seats.

Jim prefers them, because he uses his laptop on the train. There is no room for this in the regular seats.

So on nights when Jim and I ride the train home together, he tries to get this one face-each-other-five-seater and he lets me pick my seat, which I literally process in a statistical, methodical manner so that I pick the seat that is least likely to encite a person to sit across from me, or so that if necessary, Jim could scoot over and share knees with me. If we get on the train, and someone is in our multi-seater to begin with, I will go sit somewhere else - or even stand - while Jim sits there. That's how much I hate other people's knees.

Well tonight, someone sat right across from me. Fears, meet Realized. He was a very large-statured douche, who put his dong in my face while he put his bag on the overhead rack, and then sat down and spread em'. So I spent the entire ride with my knees pressed together and up on my toes because his feet and knees were EVERYWHERE. I kept looking at Jim, who was sitting next to me, mumbling, "Oh my God, oh my God" under my breath.

Oh but then.

He takes out his cell phone, and - SERIOUSLY - places it between his legs. Not on his lap or on his leg. UNDER HIS BALLS. Between his fat thighs. But really UNDER HIS BALLS. The balls were flopped over the phone.

OH MY GOD.

And then he fell asleep.

And all I could do was wait. Wait for the ringing, which would be followed by him being startled, and grinning, and then more knee touching.

SKEEVEY!