I DO feel strongly about how strangers conduct themselves in public or semi-public places, like an Amtrak train. That I was on. Traveling from D.C. to New York for the holidays.
Two college aged kids took seats a few rows behind me, striking up conversation about typical college-y things. I remember one of the kids being douchier than a Summer’s Eve sales and marketing expo. That he was wearing a velour sweatsuit did not help his cause. The tete-a-tete soon arrived at the topic of hooking up. For some reason, SweatsuitDouche felt particularly emboldened, claiming,
“He’s turned into such a player. And since I’m friends with him, whenever we go out he wants me to get tons of pussy too.”
As if saying “pussy” on a train in a louder than average tone weren’t enough, he had to lead up with “tons,” as if “pussy” were a quantifiable commodity that you can pick up in bulk at Costco.
As I was playing out the image of this kid being doused in gasoline and lit on fire, a woman interjected with a distinct Roseanne Barr-like southern monotone twang (a monotwang?), saying, “That’s disgusting – watch your language!”
She may have been a God fearing evangelical. She may have had children with her. Or perhaps like me, she just has a distaste for those with no sense of self-awareness or public composure. Regardless, for a moment, my rapidly advancing cynicism abated. I smirked, realizing that there are still those out there who have the wherewithal to stand up to P.A.D. (public acts of douchebaggery).
Mysterious southern woman – if you are out there reading, I salute thee. And I explicitly call on all of you to stand up to P.A.D.s wherever you may be. Godspeed.
