Taking the T in Boston during rush hour is what I imagine taking the subway in Hong Kong during any hour is like; overflowing with people who are all desperately trying to push and shove their body into a space the size of an American Girl doll. Fortunate for Hong Kong, the average Chinese citizen is not the size of the mother from What's Eating Gilbert Grape?. Unfortunate for Boston (and all U.S. public transportation systems come to that), the average American is closer in size to Mrs. Bonnie Grape than say, the average terrestrial inhabitant, making the morning commute a disgusting tangle of foreign limbs that you cannot put a piece of paper between. Further exacerbating the spacial issues are Stair Sitters*. These are the people who, instead of standing like the rest of us that don't live in Newton or wherever else the T originates, just plop their ass down wherever they see fit. They are usually obese and reading a piece of junk food literature. As luck would have it, this morning I was the lucky bitch** whose feet got sandwiched between two of the largest Stair Sitters around, both with noses buried in the McDonald's of literary efforts. Once they realized their airspace was being violated by a few inches of skin and bone, the Chewbacca noises started along with a few elbow rolls purposely bumped against my jeans for good measure. Tradtionally, this is the point where a person will try to move and end up grinding against someone else so that the Stair Sitters are appeased. This is also the point where the only movements I make are from ballet class. 
A harumph to get us started? My feet make the move from fifth position to fourth. Another sigh? Third position. A wookie mating call perhaps? Second position. Silence usually follows. Sometimes they even stand, too annoyed to read anymore of their Jennifer Weiner book with Cameron Diaz on the cover. *By nature, Stair Sitters are rude motherfuckers.
**Unfortuately, by nature New Yorkers can also be rude motherfuckers without the exaggerated exhaling (note: we are not constantly rude, despite popular opinion. Boston is much more unfriendly than NYC).
Safety.
This morning my alarm went off at 5:30 am. I woke up but didn't move from the bed. Fleeting and vivid visions of imminent danger kept playing behind my eyes; and, because there's no way I'm going against my seldomly incorrect intuition regardless of how much I want to go to the gym, walking down the dark and deserted street by myself is not happening.
Cut to 7:45 am - I'm getting ready and drying my hair when I hear heavy footsteps in the hallway. This spooks me a bit seeing as my upstairs neighbor usually isn't making a noise until at least midnight. I shrug it off though, assuming that maybe vampires can go outside in the sunlight every once in awhile.
15 minutes later I open the front door of the house to a scene straight out of Law & Order. There are at least 5 marked and 2 unmarked police cars lining my street, each pointed in a different haphazard direction. 4 or 5 officers are outside taking statements and speaking with people about an incident. A few of them keep glancing up at the apartment building on the corner. No one is available to field my questions or placate my concerns.
Too preoccupied with my morning to work, I im'ed roommate to see if she noticed anything weird. She mentioned also waking up at around 5:30 but attributes it to a bizarre dream.
I'm not buying that we would both be uneasy at the same time for unrelated reasons... so I call up the good ole' Boston Police Department. I am told that there was a break-in on my street - the other side though, the side that is across 4 lanes of traffic.
No dice, officer. This was something else.
Last night roommate and I were invited to a going away "party" for the friend of a friend who is moving back in with his parents at the age of 24. He's making this move for many reasons, some financial, some personal, all noble. Though, really, you'll see me busking on the street corner before you catch me living back upstate.
The going away "party" was more of a going away gathering that consisted of a bunch of people I don't know sitting around and playing Creed's version of Kumbaya... featuring the second coming of Christ himself. Clearly, I needed to get out of there before Scott Stapp walked in, blessing each ridiculously boring heathen soul as he went.
I inched my way towards the exit with my back to the wall (don't ever show Scott Stapp's followers your back), gathering up roommate as I went. It was time for Our House - a mix of equal parts BU greek life, Allston scenesters, and underage students wtih some young professionals tossed in and blended with a dimly lit room, dingy couches, board games, and alcohol.
At the bar we happened upon some friends and much merriment and hijinks ensued.
Move on to the end of the night and the walk back home where we were met with a delightful assortment of the best Allston has to offer. First up, was the ghetto lova who invited me back to his place for the rest of the evening. Having been brought up correctly I politely declined with a laugh and was on my way. Seriously - how fucked in the head was this bag of douche to look at me in my hoodie, jeans, and vans and think, wow, that's the type of girl I want to wake up to tomorrow morning. Horror would have ensued on both our parts - mostly mine.
Next in the long line blocking my success in getting home was Gerry who I will affectionately refer to from here on out as "The Village Idiot" -- or "TVI" for short. TVI, clearly trying to get anyone to go back to his place, was pulling out all the desperate male stops, including:
"Justin Timberlake is my cousin." No he's not TVI, if he were you'd be hanging out with whores and groupies at his sweet hotel room in downtown Boston right now, helping him prepare for his show tomorrow night. Instead, you're joining the mass of suburban drunkards waiting for Store 24 to re-open.
"I'm from Ireland." Please, TVI, please. You have no accent which, granted, I could possibly forgive. After all, my friend Jo is actually from Ireland and has no accent. What she does have that TVI does not is a base knowlege of Irish geography. Galway and Cork are not "right next to each other" you stupid fuck. Go buy a globe.
"I go to business school at Boston College." ...not with that vocabulary you don't.
After extracting from the web of lies spun by TVI, we kept walking. Home was so close! I could see the finish line! ...I could also see some kid peeing in the bushes at Budget Rent-A-Car. As we walked past he looked up and attempted to chat... with his penis in his hand and urine going everywhere."Feeling relieved?" His response was one of confusion; which would be fine if he wasn't still relieving himself five feet from my sneaker.
Finally, finally, we got back to the apartment, to be know from here on out as The Motel. I decompressed by eating my pizza from the man who told me I had pretty eyes and watching some Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights starting Diego Luna, a man who has pretty everything.
Everyone has that creepy person in their office. I know its true because Dane Cook says so and Dane Cook never lies.
This creepy person is usually a little bit off-center, maybe a close talker, always socially awkward. The creepy person in my corner of cubicle hell is all of these things with the added bonus of also being a snappy dresser.
By snappy I mean he wears tee shirts with wolves howling at the aurora borealis. And tight black jeans that look like they would be more at home on a member of White Snake.
Here's the thing about my snappily dressed creepy co-worker that most don't have - he hasn't evolved from his days as the creepy kid in high school. You know the one. You were sort of nice to the kid because he looked like he was hiding a glock in his locker and when the shooting spree came you didn't want to be on the list.
(Secretly, I'm worried that he's still got that gun hidden in his desk.)
What I want to know is, how does a socially awkward, scary kid like this get hired? What manager interviewed him and thought to himself, this is the best candidate for the job? I look at all creepy coworkers and question the sanity of employers.
