I decided to take a train back from NYC because the Megabus, though inexpensive, is entirely unreliable and I usually get parked near the bathroom. I bought a ticket for the 7:15 departing from Penn Station, and in typical me fashion, I hailed a cab slightly wine-drunk at 6:35 with (piloted by the angriest middle easterner I’ve ever had to deal with) and ended up in line for my ticket at 7:11.
The train was on time and so I hustled with my dorky, over-sized duffle down the escalator nearly KO’ing an elderly woman. The first and second cars were packed. To my elation, there was an open seat next to an adorable, pocket-sized hipster girl in the first row of the third car. I politely asked if I could sit next to her to which she replied a nearly inaudible “yup” (or “yum”…I was kind of hoping it was “yum”). I vaulted the early 90’s Adidas competitive badminton player edition duffel onto the luggage rack, grabbed my supplies and sat down.
Then the anxiety set in.
I realized a number of things. I had a clear sweat-stripe across my polo shirt from sprinting to the train. My breath reeked of wine and I was out of mints. My “supplies” were my iPod, headphones and my Nintendo DS…I knew I should have brought a god damn book. I made eye-contact with her with a face that was to read “I realize that I look like a complete nerd but would you consider converstion in spite of that?” but as I did, my headphones ravaged my eardrums with full-volume Boards of Canada (I must remember to always check the volume if my iPod has been in my pocket). I was left convulsing and she promptly faced the window.
It was a quiet ride.
the self-hating hipster 
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