Trains, Douchebags, and the American Way
I ended my summer break with a very brief internship in Manhattan. In my few weeks experience with commuter rail at rush hour, I noticed a very odd behavior in seating. People invariably seemed to favor aisle seats, so rather than sliding over, they did this:
This is peculiar, but not harmful.
Then one day, a pair of frat boy business students wearing nice suits and drinking cheap beer pull this one on me:
These two products of American homophobic awkwardness would not sit next to each other, thus not revealing the fact that they are friends. By the time their inane conversation was underway, it was too late. The stereo effect would prevent me from reading until salvation at Jamaica.