He don’t have a ring, so it don’t mean a thing

I hate sitting on the train with actual human beings. The train is not for human beings. The train is made so a bunch of strangers can sit in awkward silence until they wait for their stop to come up. It is the agreement we have as soon as we get on the train. You pay for a ticket and you cease to be a human being, albeit briefly. When you get on that train and you cease being human being, you are then supposed to lose all your senses and abilities. Essentially you shut up. There are, however, exceptions to this rule,

1. You get on the train and you have a bunch of friends with you
2. You are having a heart attack

Although the first one may seem to justify my very own actions, it doesn’t. It does, but more importantly it doesn’t. If someone has friends with them they are talking to someone who isn’t a stranger. The non-strangers on the train are having an informed conversation. They are having a conversation filled with anecdotes and love (with random pangs of jealousy).

Though people who attempt conversations with other people on the train are not the worst of the ‘human beings’. The worst of the worst are the broadcasters, people who use their mobile phones as a kind of portable Facebook. With their mobile phones they play their favorite music all pumped up, and they scream private details of their lives into their phone. Right now I am sitting opposite one such gentleman.

Apparently this man is getting married very soon. Although he is ‘f—cking stuffed out of his a-hole’* due to all his very important soccer training. Though tired as he is he is still managing to very effectively organize his bucks party. He is very excited about his bucks party, I know this because he keeps stamping his foot and shouting that it’ll be ‘f—king awesome’. He is especially excited about the topless waiters. He taps his foot very enthusiastically when he talks about the topless waiters.

He does worry though. He is a complex individual who wonders if it is right to spend too much money before he commits his life to… woman. He doesn’t say these words exactly instead he says, ‘Tell Johnno, that I am not paying for his fat f—king a-- again. Tell that mother—ker, that when I f—ked his sister she gave me herpes, and I’ll pay for that the rest of my life. So the least he can do is pay for his own f—king drinks’. So boys and girls, from broadcaster we have learnt two valuable lessons, always be safe and don’t have a mole as a sister, otherwise you’ll have to pay for your own drinks.

I don’t mind human beings as a rule. In fact I am a very sociable person. I like people and for the most part people seem to like me back. Some people like me a lot more than I like them, and some people I like a lot more than they’ll ever like me back. It’s the cruel cycle of life. Yet, to a certain degree the details I find out about their life come through a common interest, common situation. I do not need to hear about a stranger’s past and future sexual history as I sit on the train.

The sexual history of strangers is solely for reality television programs.

*If I am very lucky in my life, I will never know what this means.