I Can't Make This Stuff Up

On the afternoon of Friday, August 15, 2008, around 3:58 PM EST, an impatient Julia was standing on Track 4 at the NJ Transit Trenton stop.  My crowded train arrived nearly 20 minutes late and those of us bound south had missed the connecting SEPTA Regional Rail R7 to Philly.

Irked as we all were, some lady smoking like a chimney wanted to chat.  As I struggled in vain to strategically avoid the poisonous clouds of swirling smoke that eerily crept out from her nostrils, she jumped at the chance to strike up a conversation with me.  "Do you think I'll make it to work on time?  When's the next train coming?  Why did we need to make every local stop?  Are you watching the Olympics?"  To this last question, I said, "No, I'm not very interested."  This seemed to stop her steady flow of questions and I thought, good, that finally shut her the hell up.

As she reached for another cigarette, I glanced up at the board above our heads to see that it was exactly 18 minutes after I should have departed on the last leg of my trip and that the 4:01 train was still listed as being on time at 4:03.  I shook my head disapprovingly.

And it was at this precise moment when my right ear unmistakably heard, "Do you live in Chinatown?"

I muttered a curt "NO" before bolting to the other end of the platform.  I mean, I didn't want her to think that all Chinese people were rude or anything.