metro monday: the mystery of the ghost train

i'm a showoff. you see, b doesn't have very good vision, but refuses to go to an eye doctor and get glasses. i, however, have great vision. and whenever possible, i like to read something really far away to remind him that he can't bloody see and for the love of god will he please get some glasses.

for example, the metro signs. i like to tell him how long we have to wait for a car of what length as soon as it is in sight in the morning - knowing full well that he won't be able to read it until we're less than twenty feet from the sign. it's my little passive aggressive wife thing, and i'm sure he doesn't notice and it's getting me no closer to having a wildly hot husband who also wears glasses. (i like glasses.) nonetheless.

this morning was no different. as we scooted past the lost retired tourists and the sign came into the sight just before we stepped on the escalator, i chirped, ooh! an eight car train! in three minutes! perfect!

we hustled down to the front of the platform, b pointed out the schmoe wearing a black shirt and brown shoes. you could blog about that guy! what the hell is he wearing? (god i love this man.) a train came and went in the other direction, and suddenly b said, hey, i thought you said the train was in three minutes. i looked over to the sign and imagine my surprise. it said our train was boarding. curious, seeing as how there was no train and all. so the invisible train came and went, the platform quickly filling, and we waited for the next train. that train also arrived, boarded and left (according to the sign) with no actual train. the only logical explanation was that, of course, somehow time and space had intersected, and the metro was invisible, full of ghosts. a ghost train. obviously.

but the third time was a charm. as we got on the train, i couldn't help but wonder if we'd be transported to the great beyond instead of foggy bottom. and things seemed normal, until i made a face at bob about the big old man behind me who kept bumping into me with his gut. then, after he looked at the fellow, his eyes got really big. he leaned in as close as possible and whispered in my ear, oh my god! it's hemingway! and i couldn't get a good look - all i could see was the book in his huge hands. what's he reading? i mouthed to b. i can't tell, he mouthed back, and then grinned. but i've always wondered.

ok, maybe it wasn't hemingway. maybe. but, i don't know. maybe he missed the ghost trains and hopped on ours instead.