Eavesdropping

I had a series of business meetings in the City today. As I got on the subway at 6 pm, I found a solitary seat available on the subway and I backed my fat ass into it (somehow I always imagine hearing the beep-beep-beep of a vehicle in reverse as I aim my copious bottom into the small square footage). By 42nd Street, the subway was full and people lined the standing area on either sides in front of us. The person sitting to my right exited the train at 50th Street and a middle age man of slim build plopped his ass into the seat and stared into space.

At 66th Street, a woman got on the train and insinuated herself into the standing row right in front of the man sitting next to me. She started to read the paper (I believe it was The New York Times although it was hard to tell because she had the demi-fold thing going as she read the pages). When she finally fluffed out the paper to its full breadth, the man next to me perked up. This caught my attention.

Suddenly he speaks to the woman (my attention is on full tilt now--they are clearly strangers but it's rare that strangers in NYC speak unless a local decides to be helpful to tourists).

Man: What's that ad on the back page?
Woman: (a little startled. She looks at the back page of the paper) Uh, it's a tribute ad to Tim Russert.
Man: Yeah, but who placed that ad?
Woman: (still confused, looking at the ad): Uh, CBS did.
I now extract my notepad and sensing it's going to be noteworthy, start taking shorthand of their conversation. He is oblivious to me.
Man: If I were a shareholder at CBS, I'd be pissed off that CBS took a 50 grand ad about someone who works for NBC.
Woman: Oh, well, um, maybe. But it's the thought that counts.
Man: (defensive) For a competitor?
Woman: His passing was very sad. So unexpected.
Man: What's so unexpected? He was fat. Fat people drop dead every day because they don't take care of themselves.
Woman: (looking shocked) He wasn't that fat.
Man: It would be sad if he had kids, of course. Sad for the kids. Did he have kids?
Woman: Yes, he had a son. He just finished school at Boston College.
Man: Oh well that's not so bad. It would be tragic if the kid was seven years old. This kid was old enough. So no big deal.

The woman looks at him, appalled at his insensitivity. I am also looking at him with a hard look. The woman sees that I have been listening and sees that I am equally appalled at this thoughtless prick. She smiles sympathetically at me, folds her paper and exits at 86th Street. The thoughtless prick then sees me glaring at him and says to me nastily, "What's your problem?" I respond with the silent, upward "don't talk to me" hand.

Oh, but I wanted to scream: You are, my friend.