Monday, September 29, 2008

Suspect of a man and some spit.

I rarely write about my fun BART experiences anymore, more so because I think I've written about everything that could possibly happen to one person after taking public transportation for a million years (okay, no, not a million, but it definitely feels that way).

Then today happens.

I got on my normal first car of the train (the first car is always the emptiest, take note future BART riders) and noticed immediately that it was warm on the train. It wasn't necessarily a hot day today, so I figured the AC died on the car.

I was already really hot because I wore jeans instead of my normal capris because I thought it was going to be cooler today, but I spent most of the day with my mini fan blowing air all over me while I worked. As previously mentioned in another blog post, I have this whole overheating / sweating issue, and today was definitely not a good day for me.

I decided to tough it out on the car because I didn't want to be stuck sitting next to other people, and I figured if I didn't move too much, I would be okay.

I was catching up on reading blog posts when one of the BART maintenance men got on. He went to one of the door locks and locked it. Then he went to the other three doors and locked those. Then the train operator got on the intercom and said the doors were being locked on the car and to move one car back if we wanted to get off.

This is normal. At least I know it's normal. Locking the doors confirmed the AC had croaked, and instead of taking the whole train out of service, they decided to lock the doors. Really, I don't know why they do this because I don't think it has a thing to do with the AC dying and they do it for a more complicated reason, but I'm just glad we weren't all booted off the train to stand on the platform like sad commuter orphans waiting for the next train to arrive so we can pack ourselves in it like sardines.

The two guys sitting behind me did not think this was normal. The guy directly behind me got up, mumbled and grumbled, and walked to the next car. I was watching him walk, wondering if he was this same guy that sits in the very last bench in the car and sleeps. Totally a side thought that was random and had no real meaning.

While I was watching him walk down the aisle, I saw in my peripheral vision the other guy standing up and gathering up his stuff.

And that's when his spit "accidentally" (I hope) hit me in the face, hand and arm.

I proceeded to give him a "you've got to be kidding me" evil look that soon turned into disgust because he spit on me! Real spit! No, not a ton of spit, but I think one drop of spit is quite enough, thank you.

I was listening to my iPod while I was reading, and I normally have my music up loud enough to block out any noise, so I didn't hear what he said, but he said something. To someone. Not even sure it was me. Because he really looked suspect.

I kept staring at him, shooting death rays (and if you don't think I can't shoot a ray of death or even two, you have another thing coming) until the disgust hit me again.

It reminded me of a time when I was being trained at work by someone who always reminded me of a person with down syndrome because of how she looked and acted. I know that sounds mean, and I know you're thinking that, but the one person who knows whom I'm writing about can vouch for me - this lady didn't look all there half the time. Anyway. She and I were rarely on friendly terms, more on strictly business terms, and one day I asked her for help with something.

She was feeling slightly casual and loose at that exact moment, as she was shoving a chocolate something in her mouth, when she came over to my desk to see what I was talking about. She decided speaking with her mouth full of chocolate was a brilliant idea and ended up splattering chocolate spit on my arm.

Do I need to say I almost hurled?

She, on the other hand, felt this was really funny, and while laughing, apologized in her cute "tee-hee-hee" way. I just wanted my answer so I could do my job and then find some anti-bacterial, anti-fungal, anti-everything soap to wash my arm off.

So yeah, this suspect of a man spitting on me pretty much grossed me out like I haven't been grossed out in a long, long time.

Take note those who know me: I didn't do anything. Except throw death rays, but can you blame me? Because he was looking really suspect, and he already spit on me, I didn't need him touching me too. Although maybe the BART maintenance man would have saved me since he was still on the train.

Who knows. Certainly not a scenario I wanted to see played out.

On a funny note, when I picked up Mateo from daycare, he just got his diaper changed. After a diaper change, the kids are supposed to wash their hands. Mateo decided he'd rather flip out, refused to wash his hands or get anywhere near the sink, walked a few steps away, fell to the ground (face first) in his dramatic drama king way, and wouldn't get back up. I had to go over, gently help him up, and try to convince him to wash his hands with me.

You know why? Because I wanted to wash the suspect of a man's spit off of my hand and arm (too bad for my face). Otherwise I would have just let it go and taken Mateo home.

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