Praying Mantis waiting for a train in Stamford 1 AM. Just before this photo, he pissed himself, stomped out his cigarette, then awkwardly flew into the side of the local and bounced off. Drunk!
Sunday, August 26, 2018
Scene: two 15 year old girls sitting down on the Stratford Station platform today. They had their legs dangling over the edge just as our train was pulling onto the platform. Luckily our engineer had quick reflexes and applied the brakes in time.
Me (agitated): Girls, What were you thinking? You could have gotten your legs chopped off...or worse!
Girls: We’re sorry!
Random guy across the aisle: Hey, At least you’d get great parking spots.
Me: Do you know how many people get killed out here doing stupid things like that?
Girls: We’re sorry!
Girl’s mother: Conductor, I have their tickets.
Me: And where were YOU when your daughters were dangling their legs off the platform?
Girl’s mother (defensive): Well...I TOLD them to stand up.
Random guy: ...and don’t forget, you’d get disabled rate on train tickets.
I still haven’t figured out if the random guy was being a jerk or was trying to make a point.
Wednesday, August 08, 2018
Yesterday, while crossing a footbridge at a beach here in Maine, we came upon a cute little 10 year old girl leaning over the wooden railing watching her father trolling for crabs in the water inlet below. The name “McDonough” was emblazoned across the back of the softball shirt she was wearing. I get ridiculously excited when I meet other people named McDonough, so I couldn’t wait to strike up a conversation. “What’s your name?”I asked, in the most non-pedophile voice I could muster. “Caitlin” she said. “Wow! My daughter’s name is Caitlin McDonough.” She smiled, but I could tell she wasn’t as taken by this fact as I was. “Where do you live?” I asked next, even though my wife was giving me that “you’re kind of being creepy” look. “Boston,” she said. “Wow! my ancestors first immigrated to Boston.” Caitlin smiled and turned back to look over the bridge as if to dismiss me. After putting our sand chairs away, I went back to the bridge and introduced myself to Patrick and Linda McDonough, Caitlin’s parents. They told me that the name McDonough is ubiquitous in Boston, “a dime a dozen” was the phrase I think Patrick used. They were very friendly, but I could tell they didn’t share my enthusiasm for finding distant relatives. I was a little disappointed, but before I left them to their crab pots, I told Caitlin that my daughter’s middle name was Aileen. Caitlin told me that her middle name was “Arlene”. I was now beside myself. I even think my Bean-town cousins were a little impressed by that.