Diaries of a mad BART woman.

January 31, 2014 | 7:21am 

Please please, no one weird sit next to me. It’s too early for this. Oh, someone sat down. They appear normal. YES. He looks about 22 years old, with a backpack, hipster-ish style. He’s probably a student. Time for my headphones to make their grand appearance. “Hey, it’s cold outside isn’t it.” The hipster man says to me just before turning on my music. Rolls eyes. Great, this kid is talking to me. I reply, joyfully, because that’s the only way I know how to. Conversation carries on. This kid is nice and slightly attractive. We talk about my work and his school life. He invites me to a party. “There will be a lot of alcohol and weed. It’s all free. You should come.” I hate my life. Yes, I’m still alive. No, I didn’t go to the party.
Get me a drink.

January 31, 2014 | 8:05pm

I’m not sure if it’s possible to have a normal BART experience. It’s 8pm on a Friday night, this shouldn’t be too bad. There’s a tranny behind me. That’s normal. At least no one is sitting next to me. There are a handful of open seats. Next stop, people load on, still not many compared to normal week nights. Someone sat down next to me. WHY. THERE’S A MILLION OTHER SEATS OPEN. Whatever, I’m over it. I’ll just put my headphones on. I feel a tap on my shoulder. The man/woman person asks me if their hair looks okay. Why are you asking me? I reply, “yes, it looks great.” Still puzzled. I have no idea if that was once a man or once a female. I’m just really confused. He/She trots off in their 5 in tall heels. 20 minutes later I’m still trying to piece together what happened and I’m still grateful I’m alive.

February 2, 2014 | 7:43am 

Everything is normal, head phones in. At Hayward station a crazy lady just got on the train, turning my music off so I can listen to her rant. Please please don’t come near me. She’s screaming profanities to the air. Now she’s talking about her father. She’s still screaming nonsense. She has to be on something. Oh no. She’s turning around. Don’t make eye contact. Maybe if I put my sunglasses on, I’ll have less of a chance of making eye contact because she can’t tell where I’m looking.  People shuffle in the door at each stop, she’s getting closer to me. Oh Dear Lord, don’t touch me.  She just turned around, pointed what looked like me and said with determination, “You. I gon’ choke you. You betta watch it, mothaf*****.” Well, I’m scared. Does she have a gun? No. I don’t think so. She’s in hospital clothes, did she escape a mental ward? Profanities fill the air again. Every stop I hope she gets off, but alas, she’s still on the train. Time to get off, oh dear, I have to pass her, please please don’t touch me, don’t look at me, don’t talk to me. Whew, made it by without being seen. Once again, I’ve made it off BART alive. Time for work.

February 2, 2014 | 5:59pm

Great, three minutes until the fremont line comes. These people look normal, I’ll stand with them. Train comes. Get on. Standing room only. YAY. I LOVE STANDING ON A MOVING TRAIN. JUST YAY. Train begins moving and gets a little shakey. I’ve lost my balance about 4 times in the last few minutes. Oh, the couple behind me is just really in love. How did I end up next to this couple? Do they ever spend time away from each other? They are attached at the hip. Gross. COME ON. JUST STOP. STOP MAKING OUT. YOU’RE HITTING MY PURSE. Only 43 more minutes until I get off…
And yet again, I made it off alive.

And those are my experiences. Until next time…

*I’m not an alcoholic. Nor did I drink my sorrows away. References were  just for dramatic effect. 

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