It is my profound pleasure to re-start my “Tales from the T” feature, after 15 agonizing months of “Tales from the [Commuter] Rails.” To be back on the sleek, swift Red Line after experiencing the choked crawl of the Purple Line is a relief.
And the people on the T are so much more interesting to observe and eavesdrop on than the zombies on the Commuter Rail. Just yesterday, I overheard a young man discussing an intoxicated young woman who getting quite randy at a gathering of college students, and she totally attempted to put her legs behind her head while wearing a short skirt and thong underwear. It’s zany banter like this that will keep me young.
Today I got off the train at Alewife to find a troop of Boy Scouts selling, of all things, fudge. Yes, fudge, in plain white boxes, under a sign that identified their troop and proclaimed “Fudge! $5.” I did a double-take. Girl Scout cookies are prurient enough, but am I the only one with a scatological mind that the sight of Boy Scouts hawking fudge seems incredibly wrong?
Oh, I love the T. It’s like a Fountain of Youth for my inner bawd.
