The Comfy Corner

Alrighty folks, pull a couple of extra fluffy pillows into your corner, because we are about to discuss the Massachusetts Bay Transit Authority, a hotbed of discomfort also known as "The T." With a capital T and that rhymes with P and that stands for problems. Riding the T is akin to hanging out in "The Chokey" from Matilda. Okay, I exaggerate slightly. The T doesn't have spikes. More specifically, I am concerned with the silver line. Or as I like to call it "the crackhead line" because you aren't on the silver line unless there is a crackhead or two yelling gibberish at no one in particular. And there is never a shortage of rowdy teens innocently rolling joints in the back of the bus, nor is there a shortage of screaming children shamelessly... rolling joints in the front of the bus. You get the point. It's sketchy.

So in this first chapter I would like to create an image for you to hold in your mind and then I'll hit you with the kicker. Imagine a man wearing a Santa hat, a plastic purple lei, and a jersey, nestling a small brass urn in his left arm and a small bottle of cologne in his right. At this initial description, you may be asking, "What's inside the urn?" I asked myself the same question. I even asked my boyfriend, Chris. Astutely connecting the dots, he said "maybe it was the remains of one of his reindeer." I responded (and here's the kicker!) "He was a large, middle-aged black man." To which his retort was "Oh, Santa wasn't black." I thought about this and the only black Santa that comes to mind is the robotic, dancing Santas on display at Wal-Mart (cut to a five-year-old, chubby me standing on the cold, white tiles of Wal-Mart staring at a dancing, black Santa in wonderment and confusion). So, the Santa theory is out. The only logical conclusion left is that this man's brother died on Christmas from cologne poisoning during a Celtics game in Hawaii. And this man... this loving, caring brother, was simply paying tribute on the day of his death. An honorable act that should be looked upon not in concern or confusion, but in admiration. I'm ever the optimist.

My favorite part of this story is how everyone else on the bus reacted: they didn't. Like true silver liners, everyone on the bus acted as though absolutely nothing was out of the ordinary. I probably wouldn't have picked him out amongst the sea of crackheads and Asians with pink shopping bags if it wasn't for the fact that he almost dropped his urn and the woman beside him tried to catch it as though he were about to spill his Dunkin Donuts coffee, not the remains of his brother (or reindeer). Luckily, he caught it. And that, I suppose, is the silver lining to that story.

Keep comfy.