I sometimes commute with a neighbor, whom I will refrain from naming because of the lessons of last week. But I will say, for the benefit of my young female readers, that he is young, straight, single and good-looking, and headed for a successful career as a lawyer someday. He also has a great sense of humor, which came in handy this morning.
He and I were riding on the downtown A train, and someone's music was blasting. This is not all that unusual; occasionally someone's headphones come unplugged and they don't realize that they are sharing their morning wake-up music with the rest of New York City. In this case, the music was not particularly loud, but everyone could hear it. At first, we all ignored it, but after a few moments everyone started making faces, and then we all started looking around to see if we could identify the careless culprit. Around 125th Street, people started becoming noticeably annoyed.
My friend checked his iPod. "It's not me," he said, with a measure of relief.
"It sounds like U2," I said. Future Lawyer agreed.
We rode along for a few more minutes, saying nothing. The song ended and another song started. "Now it's the Police," I said. Proud of my quick identification skills, I added, "I should go on Name That Tune. I'd be a zillionaire."
The people around us laughed. My friend said he thought the music sounded like the stuff they play in doctors' offices or spas to relax people. "At least it's not gangsta rap," offered a man standing near us. "It's sort of old-lady music."
"Right," I agreed. "This could be my iPod." Pause. "But it's not," I assured him.
Still, the music was familiar. It was all stuff that I really like. A light bulb went off in my head. Wait a minute. I reached into my pocket and made a horrifying discovery. It was my iPhone, inadvertently turned on and blasting from my pocket. I held it up so that everyone could see the hi-def picture of an angst-ridden Sting, hands gripping his hair in frustration because every little thing his woman does is magic, but he doesn't have the courage to call her and propose marriage in some old-fashioned way.
Fortunately, it was a pretty nice crowd, and they all laughed as I turned off the music and ducked out of the train at 59th Street. It's no big wonder to me sometimes that people don't want to be identified as my associates. I'm beginning to get it.
Still, I hope you have a great Wednesday, with lots of relaxing music playing in the background.