The Hot Seat

The uptown A-train, Wednesday, 10:30 pm. I got on at 14th St and sat in the inner seat of one of the little two-seaters that stick out perpendicularly from the walls of the train. A 25-ish man, who looked rather like a Muppet, sat down beside me, holding a small plastic pumpkin in his lap. He clearly should have had a book or a iPhone rather than a pumpkin, because he was incapable of entertaining himself. Instead, he proceeded to interview every single person who had the misfortune of sitting in the seat immediately in front of us. The first woman, who was already sitting there when we got on, either had the good fortune or incredible insight to pretend that she did not speak English, so she escaped unscathed. At 59th St, an elderly woman got on holding a playbill. My companion immediately began grilling her. "Did you see a show? What was it? Yo-Yo Ma? You saw Yo-Yo Ma? I didn't even know that he was in town! I've been here for six months, and I've already seen Elton John." (Um... yay?) "How many people were in the audience? Do you have a subscription to Carnegie Hall? Really? Oh, how lucky! Does that mean that you always sit in the same seats? Are the seats comfortable?"
The woman held her own, and eventually, (perhaps to shut him up,) started just reading the playbill out loud to him. Every word. Including the advertisements. It was scintillating. Finally, she got off at 125th, and her seat was then taken by a very tired-looking man.
My seatmate quickly moved on to his next victim. "What's that around your neck? Is it a compass? Does your compass work underground? Did you buy it at a flea market?" (It was, in fact, a compass, and no, he had not bought it at a flea market. Perhaps he was trying to start a new millennium trend like Flava Flav's clock?) The poor compass man happily exited the train at 145th, and his seat was left vacant. I rode in blissful silence until my final stop.