I Spy With My Little Eye

I’m not sure if there is any better place to people watch than on a train.

My city has a metro system, for better or worse, and people use it to get around downtown as well as come in from the surrounding localities. What this means, of course, is that while on the train, the microcosm of humanity is pretty diverse, again for better or worse. This amalgamation is definitely a double-edged sword.

In the evenings I ride home with loads of other people who, after a day of unfulfilling paper-pushing, brown-nosing and the ceaseless application of assorted back-stabbing prevention techniques, are tired and cranky and just want to get home. Sometimes the ride becomes unbearable due to circumstances beyond my control, such as a car with broken air conditioning or some kid playing his twenty-dollar CD on a four-dollar boom box or the intense crazy guy trying to convince the entire crowd that the apocalypse is nigh. A modest half an hour stretches into a Dante-like eternity next to someone who really does smell like brimstone (or patchouli or stale cigarettes or armpits or Drakar Noir.)

Those train rides I despise.

However, tonight, despite all the usual suspects, I had a lovely train ride. Sitting directly in front of me in this tightly packed subway car is a child who cannot be more than, say, four years old. He is on a train. A train! To him it’s the coolest thing since, well, birth. My guess is that there is some serious Thomas the Tank Engine in his most recent past, so it’s just a great big fun ride, like the Matterhorn without the serpentine, hour-long lines. He is totally digging it.

Chatting happily with his father/uncle/guardian, and looking around, he asks pretty intelligent questions like, “Why are all those people standing up?” and “Why is that little red light blinking?” and “Why is there a smudge on the glass?” one after the other, rapid fire, and his father/uncle/guardian answers them so good-humoredly, just as quickly, “Because all the seats are taken.” and “That shows that the video surveillance camera is on.” and “That’s where somebody fell asleep against the window.” This pair is cool: an adventurous, curious kid and a patient, enthusiastic adult.

Makes my day.

So, just when I think he's having the time of his life, we emerge onto the elevated track from the underground tunnel into the twilight. Those of us next to windows look out of them, enjoying the remains of the sunset, the swath of brake lights below, the silhouetted cityscape, and various lights that flicker on in the gathering dusk.

I swear this kid's about to explode.

“Oh, look!” and he gets up on his knees for a better view. “Look!” and the questions begin afresh.

“Is that the moon?” and “The cars look so small.” and "What building is that?” and “Look at the lights!” And then “Yeah, that’s the moon.” and "We’re up pretty high. Neat, huh?” and “I don’t know.” and “Oooh, sparkly!” Suddenly, out of nowhere the kid turns in his seat, looks squarely at me and, with the biggest Christmas-present grin I have ever seen, the kind that takes over his whole face, squeals, “We’re on a train!"

I grin back, in spite of myself.

My commute will never, ever be the same.