My Pain Is So Significant

Guys, hello.

So something happened over the weekend, by which I mean I did something over the weekend that I think might have been dick but maybe it was justified? I don’t know, I’m torn, so I’ve come to you to judge, evaluate and (hopefully) approve my behavior.

Sunday evening as the sun set, I was aboard the iron horse. I was headed to New York from Penne-Sylle-Vane-ya, where I had spent Mother’s Day visiting none other than the woman who gave birth to me. There I sat, thwacking away at my laptop, enjoying a good chew of some high-quality gum, life was normal.  

Presently we rolled into Penn Station, wheels a-clangin’. I got up out of my seat, lifted up my bags, popped in m’headphones and made my way down the aisle. I was almost to the exit when some guy sitting on the aisle uncrossed and re-crossed his legs, kicking me in the shin quite hard in the process. 

I had music on but I took one headphone out to better hear and accept the apology that I was certain was forthcoming, but it…never came.  The guy in question looked at me, said nothing and calmly went back to his reading.  No apology, not even a sheepish apologetic eye-contact half-smile. He definitely felt his foot make high-impact contact with my shinbone and he definitely heard my sharp intake of breath at the time of said impact, but still, nothing.

“Excuse me”, I said, Clare Huxtable-stye.

The man’s head snapped up, “It was an accident, okay?”

“You still say ‘excuse me’!” I replied, incredulous.

Nothing. Back to his reading. Floored, I rolled my eyes and muttered with no small amount of disgust “Who raised you?”

Apparently, my remark was less imperceptible than I had hoped because almost instantly the elderly, wire-haired looking woman next to him piped up indignantly, “I did!”  She was sporting a light pink sweatshirt emblazoned with two smiling tugboats in a placid harbor. A travel sized-bag of Cheez-its trembled in her pale, knot-ridden hand.  

It being Mother’s Day, and the incident of not much consequence, a more mature individual would have probably opted to let it go, to walk off the train and leave these two sweatclothes-clad, mannerless people in their own miserable company.  But the mature route has never been my style and I couldn’t resist tossing out a super sarcastic “Great work!” before leaving the train. 

Everyone around looked at me, horrified, and I felt the same sort of shame that creeps upon me after masturbating to someone I’m embarrassed to be attracted to. Still, even though it was sort of a dick move, I kinda think I nailed it. 

Thoughts?