I’m not the talkative type at 7:31 a.m. in the morning. This is very hard for my husband to believe, but it’s true. He freely confesses that often all he hears coming out of my mouth is, “wha whaaaa whaa.” However, at 7:31 a.m. in the morning, let me assure you I am not at all like the teacher in Peanuts. Rather, I zip my lip and appear in all respects to be a mute.
For the most part, the 7:31 a.m. train out of Bethel offers a relaxing and quiet way to start the day, the only sound being the constant humming of the ventilation system. Most people read, work on their laptops or check their phones, but I prefer to embark on a much-needed vacation-for-the-brain that I dub “catching flies.” I highly recommend this exercise. As with any exercise, it’s important to follow proper form. You should (a) be on a train, bus or other form of public transportation, (b) stare blankly out the window at nothing in particular, and (c) let your mind go completely 100 percent blank, which I liken to the moment the SAT test administrator said “…and BEGIN!”
I also use my quiet morning train ride to catch up on important current events such as, “Who Wore It Best?” and “Fashion Police” courtesy of such essential publications as "US Weekly." If I notice any smirks from fellow commuters peering down from their Wall Street Journals or New York Times at my high-level choice of reading material, my natural instinct is to quote from "Clueless," my favorite movie of all time, and retort, “As if??!!” On other occasions, I will pull out the Dostoyevsky novel I started after a questionable epiphany where I resolved to reacquaint myself with classic Russian literature, to several nods of approval, however, “Fashion Police” usually wins hands down.
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A few weeks ago, during my analysis of “Best Beach Bodies”, I was rudely interrupted by a high school French class, who invaded the train like one of Napoleon’s armies. The excited chattering and peels of high pitched laughter, combined with, in my opinion, the general overuse of vowels in the French language, jarred many bleary-eyed commuters out of their usual half-conscious morning coma. I don’t speak French so I had no idea what the students were saying, but they were talking so rapidly that I wondered if they had just chugged several Red Bulls. Had they been speaking Spanglish, it would have been a different story. I speak fluent Spanglish - which is a combination of English, high school Spanish and a lot of hand gestures (the bigger the better).
Thankfully, as tensions were beginning to rise, the wise chaperones gathered up all the invading French students, who never once stopped talking, and settled them into the rear-most car of the train – leaving two peaceful and quiet cars. Linda, my train-friend and a long-time commuter, must have been inspired by the chattering French class because she turned and started talking (in English, with no apparent hand gestures) to a friend seated next to her. Her clippy Massachusetts accent was clearly discernable over the humming ventilation system in the otherwise silent car.
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A woman I’d never seen before, sitting across from Linda, looked at her and quipped “Are you going to talk the whole train ride?”
Without missing a beat, Linda looked squarely at her and replied, “As a matter of fact, I am.”
Ha! I thought.
The woman managed to flag down the train conductor. She asked him to do something about the talking. The conductor shrugged. “I can’t make them stop talking. It’s a free country.”
Ha! Today it’s more like a French country, I reminded him silently.
Linda turned to address the woman. “If you want it quiet, try the last car,” she suggested, pointing towards the car which housed the French class. Glancing down there, I keenly observed many of the French students using large hand gestures.
Gleeful, Linda turned to her friend and continued talking. I went back to my review of this week’s “Citizen’s Arrest” and exasperated, the woman huffed and stared out the window. I bet to catch flies, or as the French say, pour attraper les mouches.
