Commute

I was on a regional train going from New York to Boston the night before Thanksgiving during my first year out of college, when an unsettling unhappiness set in: I wasn't in the holiday spirit yet. Me- the most joyous of holiday Jewish elves. I immediately decided to force the festivities upon myself by going to the Café Cart for some red wine. I entered the cart and instantly felt like I had just walked in on a party where all the cool kids hung out. Strangers were talking to each other in line, in the booths surrounding me, in front of the bathroom, all as if they were at a bar in Brooklyn on a Saturday night. Since the only thing on my mind was drinking I decided to stay quiet and eavesdrop, and I actually overhead three very distinct conversations in the ten minutes that I was waiting in line. By the end my head was spinning as I diagonally made my way back to my seat, with a half bottle of wine in hand.

The first conversation was between a collegiate male and a thirty-something year old woman.

I listened to their introductions and somehow they were surprised that they shared the same destination. Their conversation hovered over a shared topic about drugs and drinking. The male confessed that he was looking forward to seeing his friends because he will probably spend the next three days getting wasted and avoiding his family. The older female laughed and explained that her plans for the holiday consisted of doing cocaine, marijuana, and drinking while eating turkey on the cold beaches of Marblehead. The conversation sobered up fast when the woman admitted that in the last six months, five of her friends between the ages of 37 and 45 have died from the previous stated causes. The young male toasted his beer to her and said, “Here’s to not letting what you love, own you.”

Once I moved a couple feet up in line I listened to three women in their late thirties who were clearly all friendly enough to share a bottle of wine. I saw a handful of empty beer cans beside them and an additional empty wine bottle on the table. I had a feeling that their conversation would be entertaining. The short-haired brunette expressed to the curly-blonde that she would love to drop everything in her life and go live in Italy to live a completely different lifestyle. The third woman with the darkest hair got really excited because her friend’s sister did just that a few years ago and absolutely loves life. The three went around saying how marvelous it would be if they left their current jobs (which apparently allow them to live well but not like queens), and start over in some European country. They all promised each other that they would, in fact, complete their plan one day.

Walking in on the previous conversation was what really threw me. It’s like having a dream and then hearing about someone else have the same exact dream the following day. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not that naïve to think that I was the only single-girl living in New York struggling with her career and prospects. Nor did I think I was the only one who fantasized about leaving everything for a more fulfilled. But it was great to hear my crazy insomniac thought process become conversed in front of me by three strange, drunken women on a train.

I suppose I’ll mention the third conversation because after I heard this chitchat I was ready for my wine and had luckily reached the counter.

This convo was between a twenty-year old sorority girl and twenty-two year old male computer programmer. Her looks put her way above him, but his maturity and tact put him light years ahead of her. I don’t lie when I say that he was reading a book titled “The Conservative Financer”. The two of them somehow began talking about partying in New York. The male explained that the female looks like she does enough partying for the both of them. The girl proudly told him that she had been getting into New York City clubs since she was fourteen. The two swapped their Thanksgiving plans. The girl highlighted that she was going to her cousin’s house in Boston for the holiday, which she had been doing since before she was born. This was the point where I slid a look at her eyes and realized she was blazed out of her mind. She then began to question the computer programmer about Plymouth Rock.

She asked him if it was really a rock, where it was, and if Pilgrims really had Thanksgiving there or not. He answered all her questions appropriately. It was when she announced that she wanted to have her Thanksgiving at Plymouth Rock while dressed as a Pilgrim, that I think both the computer programmer and myself realized that looks aren’t everything. - Belated Happy Holidays to all.