Anyway, so, there was this woman on the train sort of intoning out loud from some tiny book of scripture. This didn't just fall into the usual category of annoying train noises; in the Venn diagram of things that piss me off on the subway, with circles representing evangelism, muttering, having a seat where there are none for me, this woman was the overlap between all three. I turned my music way, way up to drown her out.
I've been reading on the subway lately. Since I can't read and listen to music at the same time, it's been a while since the only thing I could hear was something I chose to listen to. I forgot how great it is.
When I got off the train and into my building I didn't take off my headphones, because the worst part of my morning is never the mass transit assholes. I would take three hours of religious chatter if it meant avoiding the unbelievably slow and crowded elevator ride to my floor. The people in the elevator are the worst, and because everyone always gets to work at the same time every day, there's no escaping the same handful of human mosquitoes piling in, piling in, piling in. There's the woman who brews a cup of tea and then leaves it on the counter all day. There's the woman with the pinched face who shakes her head at everyone. There's the man with the tiny dog. There's another man with a large dog. There's the girl who only styles the front of her hair.
Headshaker got in this morning, along with a couple of other people. Immediately she began shaking her head at me. When she reached her floor (a floor of my company, of course) she looked at me and this transpired:
Her: "Your headphones are so loud. It's a shame. You're going to go deaf."
Her: "I SAID YOUR HEADPHONES ARE SO LOUD YOU'RE GOING TO GO DEAF."
Me: (without removing headphones) I can hear you.
Her: "Your going to lose your hearing by the time you're twenty. Christ. Goodbye." (Exeunt shaking head vigorously)
The elevator doors close.
Now. Number one: fuck you. Number two: you're why I try to drown out everyone one the elevator. Number three: you were smoking a giant Virginia Slim outside, so if we're going to get down to discussions about personal health choices, Madame Glass House, let's start there. Number four: If my headphones were SO ABSURDLY LOUD, I wouldn't have been able to hear you talking to me. You don't like hearing my music. I don't like hearing your voice or seeing your face. How about we call it a draw? Number five: I got my headphones for $2.99 at Good Better Best Gift Shop in Brooklyn. Of the three adjectives in the store name, they would be classified as "good," only by virtue of the fact that it's not called the Mediocre Cheap Crappy Gift Shop. These headphones leak sound like you leak ugly. Number six: seriously, fuck you so much, fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou, fuck you, fuck you.
Number seven: go deaf by the time I'm twenty? This place may have sweatshoppish qualities (no windows, bad air, workers who look forward to a consumptive death) but to my knowledge we don't employ minors. I am certainly not one.
Number eight: once the doors closed, the other guy in the elevator turned to me and said "Sucks that no matter how loud you turn your music, it can't change the fact that you're at work and it's nine o'clock in the morning."
And I said, "With people like her. All day."
To my surprise, he got off on my floor and beeped in with a card. That gives me hope.
But not enough to quell the RAGE.