Your Suggestions Are Ignored.

A fat waddling black woman who stank of days old piss waddled up to me on the platform and waived her emptied Big Gulp in front of me in a gesture that meant nothing other than ‘I’d like some change, but like any Trump voter am too entitled to ask.’ I shook my head in the precise rhythmic meter that she shook her empty cup, and I watched her walk away. All the way down the fucking platform. Like she only came down here to shake that silly little cup in front of me. None of the other Metro passengers had the pleasure because my life. Just as I resigned myself to how typical this was my train arrived and I was quickly back to reading about what that scurrilous Tyrion Lannister is getting up to in his adventures in non-contiguous Earth. Delicious and diverting, but only just.

There will be upwards of 50,000 protesters in downtown Los Angeles this afternoon. I am lucky I made it into work without incident. But there is rain. All 50,000 may decide they have better things to do.  Not that I don’t sympathize, but it is a bit of a fuss and nothing is ever gained by making a scene.

The other day I had an unseemly exchange.

‘Did you vote for Trump?’ All I wanted to do was order a vegan breakfast croissant and get back to my desk, but this post-menopausal tottering pile of hemp clothing was lurching over me and I eyed her like a pile of stinking shit in the middle of an otherwise impossibly pristine brunch.

‘No, I did not.’ The words came out of my mouth even as I understood she had no right to hear them and before she could articulate her next disjointed thought I added, ‘Why are you speaking to me?’

‘Well, I was going to see if you…’

‘Don’t.’ I interject before letting her finish.

‘We were going to have a protest.’

‘Why are you speaking to me? Do I know you? Have you introduced yourself?’ I tried a few of the obvious shots to see if the crone could possibly grasp how blindingly inappropriate she was being, and in front of the nice people who sell me vegan breakfast croissants to boot. I could have spat in her face, but I held it together, but only just.

Trying to drag me out into some tawdry 5^th grade political rage moment when all I had was hanger on my mind and a vegan breakfast croissant in my sights this terminal Women’s Studies flunky quickly realized she made a serious miscalculation and it could possibly be the first genuinely coherent thought she’s had since her second marriage fell apart, and I was happy to contribute in my small way to her road to recovery.