Commuting

A (rather large) number of years ago, I had the pleasure of commuting by train.  And I mean it when I say "pleasure" because it was - you could relax, read the paper (or comic book), zone out watching the scenery, nap - even do work.

This was all possible despite the fact that on the ole Jersey Central the cars were from the 1920s (replete with seats that were bamboo-on-horsehair affairs and windows that opened since there was no air conditioning).

But, on a crowded train, the pleasure depended on your seatmate.  As a budding curmudgeon, I preferred none, but that rarely worked out.  One particularly bleak day, I got an older woman who nodded off to sleep.  You might be thinking "lucky you" - but her head slowly sank to the left TOWARDS MY SHOULDER.

Talk about invading my space.  As she sank, I shrank.  I faked a cough, rattled my newspaper some, even squirmed a bit, but that head kept on sinking.  I steeled myself for the inevitable touchdown. 

In the nick of time "Cranford! Next stop!" rang out - my penthouse suite awaited.