the sniffer

The Monday/Thursday commute in and out of Boston provides a lot of ironic solitude and brain-time. More than I recognized grad school would include. Down time has been rare in the past couple years. Now, suddenly, I have no choice but to sit still and think for 40 minutes, 4 times a week. I check news. I started reading a book yesterday. I people watch.

I am often struck by people. Getting out of our small-ish, town-ish, city, and into a big-ish city means new faces. Endearing elderly couples sitting on park benches. A business man walking his fluffy-furred dogs. That man selling color-bursting flowers outside North Station. They're new to me, and the routine is still not routine. I'm starting to catch on to what train conductors work when, and how long different walk signs last. And the sheer diversity of a city is enthralling. No matter how accustomed I get with this routine, and how familiar the faces become, I hope I somehow maintain fresh eyes to it all.

Last night the train contained a sniffer. One who sniffs. Constantly. For the first 10 minutes or so, I thought there must be someone quietly sobbing somewhere in our train car. For the next 10 minutes, feelings of guilt settled upon me- "should I ask if she's ok?" and "what if something is really wrong?" Then, I finally tracked down the sound to the woman sitting right diagonally across from me. A SNIFFER. There was nothing wrong. My guilt was entirely misplaced. This woman was unconsciously sniffing her way home. Every 5-10 seconds, another dry nasal sniff resounded through our area, and she calmly read on. 



the sniffer wears old school tevas

We're funning, aren't we? Our quirks and idiosyncrasies. I wonder what nicknames I've earned in my commute. The twirler? I tend to unconsciously twirl my curls. Dry eyes? My contacts dry out and I use eye drops a lot. The judger? Always coming up with nicknames for other passengers. How about you? What could your anonymous-commuter-nickname be?