Wednesday, May 26, 2004
Follow that robot
Hard as it may be to believe, there was a point to my previous entry before it got hijacked by my inexplicable obsession with the only ABC sitcom so bad that it makes Step By Step look like The Office. The last entry was supposed to be about brief encounters with intriguing people whom you know you’ll never see again. These moments always come when you least expect it; like when you’re in an elevator on your way to work, or standing in line at the grocery store. Since I normally try to avoid small talk the same way Kelly Osbourne avoids singing lessons, it’s always a pleasant surprise whenever I have one of these encounters.
One of my more memorable encounters happened a few years ago on the train. It was around 10 or 11 O’ Clock at night and I was miserable. I can’t remember exactly what it was that had me feeling so depressed, but it was one of those nights when I just had to get out of the house, otherwise I probably would have pulled a Jonathan Brandis. (And by “pulling a Jonathan Brandis,” I don’t mean ‘suicide;’ Just that I was contemplating starring in a lame Sci-fi series with Peter DeLuise and Dustin Nguyen)
Anyway, I didn’t have a car, so I decided to ride the train around until I either A) suffered a gruesome death at the hands of one of the many homicidal hobos that lived in the train stations, or B) fell asleep in one of the cars, only to awaken the following day in an ice-filled bathtub with a bloody bandage across my midsection.
I ended up getting off at Five Points Station and wandering aimlessly through the downtown area amidst aggressive prostitutes and even more aggressive homeless people. After 45 minutes of being yelled at by angry homeless guys and trying to convince various ladies of the evening that I did not, in fact want to “have a good time,” I headed back to Five Points station and caught the Northbound train. As soon as I boarded the car and sat down, I noticed that an attractive girl who bore an uncanny resemblance to Emily Watson was smiling at me.
I’m not used to being smiled at by attractive women who look like famous British actresses, so my first reaction was to see if someone was sitting behind me. After all, I figured, there’s no way in hell that she could possibly be looking at me. I turned around and discovered (much to my surprise) that there was no one behind me.
We ended up having a great little conversation. It turned out that she was from Ireland, and was visiting the US for a few weeks. Listening to her talk was like having a party in my eardrums because she spoke with a thick, Irish brogue, which automatically made every word that came out of her mouth sound 75% more interesting and charming. We talked for what seemed like hours about The Commitments, Irish (and American) slang, pop music, and Atlanta’s crappy mass transit system. She talked a lot about Ireland, and how she thought I’d really like it there because the people were so friendly. (Which is the exact opposite of what I’ve heard from Americans who’ve visited Ireland) It was such a great conversation, that by the time I’d reached my stop, I couldn’t even remember what I’d been so depressed about earlier that evening.
One of my more memorable encounters happened a few years ago on the train. It was around 10 or 11 O’ Clock at night and I was miserable. I can’t remember exactly what it was that had me feeling so depressed, but it was one of those nights when I just had to get out of the house, otherwise I probably would have pulled a Jonathan Brandis. (And by “pulling a Jonathan Brandis,” I don’t mean ‘suicide;’ Just that I was contemplating starring in a lame Sci-fi series with Peter DeLuise and Dustin Nguyen)
Anyway, I didn’t have a car, so I decided to ride the train around until I either A) suffered a gruesome death at the hands of one of the many homicidal hobos that lived in the train stations, or B) fell asleep in one of the cars, only to awaken the following day in an ice-filled bathtub with a bloody bandage across my midsection.
I ended up getting off at Five Points Station and wandering aimlessly through the downtown area amidst aggressive prostitutes and even more aggressive homeless people. After 45 minutes of being yelled at by angry homeless guys and trying to convince various ladies of the evening that I did not, in fact want to “have a good time,” I headed back to Five Points station and caught the Northbound train. As soon as I boarded the car and sat down, I noticed that an attractive girl who bore an uncanny resemblance to Emily Watson was smiling at me.
I’m not used to being smiled at by attractive women who look like famous British actresses, so my first reaction was to see if someone was sitting behind me. After all, I figured, there’s no way in hell that she could possibly be looking at me. I turned around and discovered (much to my surprise) that there was no one behind me.
We ended up having a great little conversation. It turned out that she was from Ireland, and was visiting the US for a few weeks. Listening to her talk was like having a party in my eardrums because she spoke with a thick, Irish brogue, which automatically made every word that came out of her mouth sound 75% more interesting and charming. We talked for what seemed like hours about The Commitments, Irish (and American) slang, pop music, and Atlanta’s crappy mass transit system. She talked a lot about Ireland, and how she thought I’d really like it there because the people were so friendly. (Which is the exact opposite of what I’ve heard from Americans who’ve visited Ireland) It was such a great conversation, that by the time I’d reached my stop, I couldn’t even remember what I’d been so depressed about earlier that evening.
