Dear Evil Discussor... Why do you love it so much when people just miss the subway?

Because. I love it. I love it I love it I love it I love it. I love when you see them racing down the stairs, huffing and puffing, hope-filled and wide-eyed, such promise, such longing, such potential for an ideally timed and perfectly planned subway trip, and just as they get there, those doors bing and close, right before their outstretched arms. And they stand there, in disbelief, sighing, and panting, and fuming, and praying that the Conductor will have but an ounce of humanity hidden somewhere behind his burly exterior, and offer them one last tiny speck of hope, one fragment of a glimmer of a glimpse of an opportunity, one teensy weensy chance to salvage this rapidly deteriorating day, and open those doors just a sliver of an inch, so they can ram their arm in and pry their way into the sweet safe innards of the subway car, knowing that all is right and fair and just in the universe, and that they've been saved from hopelessly waiting in disgust and shame and bitter bitterness and embarassment for the next train to arrive.

But he doesn't. No. Because, like me, he loves it too. He loves their misery. And we laugh together. The Conductor and me. We laugh heartily. Not out loud. That would be weird. No, we hide our laughter. And then we go and blog about it. Well, I do. He probably doesn't. He has to conduct the train.

Always,
E.D.