I was at the Sprinter station one afternoon, waiting for
the train to Oceanside. The train station usually isn’t a very exciting place. However,
things got, um, rather interesting about ten minutes before train time.
A man and woman standing some distance away from me began
arguing. I couldn’t hear what the man said, but the woman obviously was annoyed
by the word he used to describe her. “I’m not a chick. Stop calling me a chick,”
she shrieked three times in as many minutes.
Hmm…. She looked
like a “chick.” And sounded like one too.
The man apparently refused to cease and desist. A few
minutes before the train arrived, the woman freaked out and yelled, “I am not a
chick. If I was a chick, I’d have [female anatomy] and a [more female anatomy].”
Crickets!
Travelers on both sides of the platform stopped talking,
texting, smooching, or whatever else they were doing and craned their necks in
the direction of her voice.
About a half second later, the woman realized that
everyone at the transit center had probably heard her. “Sorry if I announced
that to everyone,” she hollered.
We were sorry too.
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