Don't bother me...

I did not sleep well last night. Auni was over—though that had nothing to do with the quality of my sleep—just old guy stuff. But because of my lack of sleep I was a train zombie this morning, I had the dead eye stare which said “don\’t bother me”. I had my huge paperback collection of Orson Scott Card and I tried to hide in this tomb but I am sure I was not fooling anyone.

The stop after mine Mr. J got on the train. Mr. J. must be 85 or maybe even older, but he is a young 85 and quite spry. Mr. J is dressed in tans and browns nice shoes, great socks, slacks, white \shirt and tie , sports coat and a hat worn jauntily to one side. I once new another fellow who was aged and dressed similar, in Boise and the Boise guy was very interesting and bought me a lunch the first I ever met him.

I found on the first contact I ever made with Mr. J that he was dressed and heading in to Salt Lake at this early hour to do temple work—this is a quasie form of recreation for old Saints. I was deflated. I had much more interesting fantasies for this old guy. He seemed happy go lucky and we had a fairly interesting discussion.

It could have been me, it WAS probably me, with my ‘don’t bother me face’ and my diving into my book trying to be as asocial as I could be. Mr.J tried to make contact at one point drawing attention to how bad I was rocking with the train and perhaps I should sit another way. I just smiled and said something—not rude but limiting and returned to my reading , letting the train throw me all over the car only now accentuating each rock and roll the train made as it crossed its uneven rails. Mr.J was quiet till he got to the temple and got off but right before the senior left the train he turned to me and glared and said something like “ when you get off till the driver the electronic sign at the 45^th street says May—its November they need to fix this, you tell the drive”. Having said this, Mr. J made a sharp about face went to the back of the train and left the train.

I swear the conversation was like something from a Stephen King novel. I had just nodded my head in response to his command. Each station is equipped with an electronic sign reading month, time of day and time till next train arrives-and any other bits of information “train central” feels the transit consumers need to know. Everyone once in a while they mess up but people survive and the trains come and trains go. Maybe it was safer for the old guy to unload on the sign then it was to deal with me in my sleepy dark mood. Ether way I told the driver nothing when he let me off at the End of the Line…I sure wish I has taken the guys picture.