Page Thirteen: The A Train Observer

The observer is getting sick and tired of being stalked and followed and creeped on and starred at. The latest observation was not so much who I observed...but who I observed observing me.

He followed me step for step, every move I made, from Penn Station to 145th street. If I went to check out some magazines to get my gossip (aka escape his laser beam eyes), he also went. When the seat next to me became available, he made sure to plop himself down.

We finally parted ways after the train left him standing there blowing me kisses and begging that I would get off the train with him.

I would rather have 10,000 more Subway Studs that don't call than one more Subway Stalker. I can't seem to avoid them regardless of my tactics.

I asked the lady sitting next to me how to look like a tough girl so creepy men will stop talking to me. She told me to bring a book. A book? Really, a book? I was thinking more like a knife in my pocket or one of those dog collar necklaces with spikes on them, but if a book works...OK.

On a less creepy note, I witnessed the best break dancer yet. I'm not sure how much spare change he collected, but he definitely received more claps from the commuters than anyone else I've seen yet.

And lastly, the observation that is hard to write about. I don't know if I can do it politely.

The Odd Couple. She was a rough and tumble New Yorker with frizzy red hair and gaudy jewelry. He was a teeny-tiny man with a cane who literally couldn't walk without her help. He loved the Yankees...and her. She took care of him like he was her child.

I spent the whole ride trying to figure out if they were a couple or if she was getting paid to take care of him. Then they started making out and I got the message. L-O-V-E-R-S.

It gave me a lot of hope for marriage. If they can handle each other, someone out there can definitely handle my weirdness.