THE MAN

I left for a work a little earlier than normal today.  The only nice thing about that is that the trains are less crowded and fewer people are on the platforms. As the doors were opening on my train an older white man literally shoulder checked me to enter the train first.  Normally this would irritate me, but as I was carrying my dog and she was also aggressively jostled, I was really irritated.

How dare this mussed and too skinny man shove his way into the half empty train car before me when I WAS HERE FIRST!  There was another man waiting for our doors and he and I locked eyes after I was checked out of the way and he was also clearly bothered by it as well.

Neither of us said a thing.

This man, I shall call him THE MAN, raced to an open seat and shoved his way into it.  Uneccessarily so as THE MAN was very thin and could have easily fit into the open seat without bothering the people on either side of him.  I sent my angriest stares at THE MAN and now am so glad I was glaring because I watched him pull a notebook out of his breast pocket, stare at his watch for what felt like eternity and then furiously start writing.

Because I am nosy and because THE MAN made me mad, I got closer and snooped.  This notebook was filled with times.  At the top of each page (and I know this because as we moved along and he finished his entries he flipped back thru the pages of not just one but two of these pocket-sized notebooks, the words "I left..." were written.  I assume from watching him check his watch every stop and write the time down that THE MAN needs to keep obsessive track of the time and how long everything takes.

What a terrible life that must be.

How do you get to a point in your life where the only solution to what ales you is to shove strangers our of your way and write a million numbers and times in a tiny DuaneReade notebook?

It took us 19 minutes and 27 seconds to get into Grand Central Station.  Now get out of my way, I need to get off the train.