Earwig’s Delight: Not for the Scatologically Squeamish

Here are two conversations I earwigged this morning as I made my way into Manhattan. The first is not for the faint of heart, so if you are baffled by bowel movement talk and all of its intrigues, skip down to the bonus (albeit less shocking) conversation.

Convo 1. As I made my way to the shuttle this morning, I found myself the unwitting witness of a young couple talking about a bathroom crisis. You may wonder just how close I was to be able to hear such an intimate conversation that was clearly not meant to be shared with 9 am commuters, however, dear reader, I certainly was not hovering between them. They were not whispering…oh, no. They were neither discreet, nor quiet:

Girlfriend: Oh my god, I’m going to crap myself.
Boyfriend: So, let’s go find a bathroom.
Girlfriend: (aghast). EWA. Not here.
Boyfriend: Where then, in your pants? You use public bathrooms all the time!
Girlfriend: (hissing loudly, clearly annoyed) To PEE. Not ‘the other’. And then I can stand.
Boyfriend: So, stand then!
Girlfriend: Then I won’t have leverage.
Boyfriend: (clearly fed up by the diva-like behavior) Jesus Christ, just go poop already!

I didn’t get the conclusion of this emergency, as just then, the Ebony Hillbillies, my absolute favorite street performers, began doing their thing—their loud and crazy country instruments flushing the poop talk away.

Convo 2. On the shuttle, I grabbed a seat and gasped as a very large object suddently appeared in my face, moving toward me at an alarming rate. It was a backside, and it belonged to an obese, middle-age woman who wedged herself into the two chairs next to me. I thought she was alone until she leaned over me, her watermelon breasts settling into my lap, and spoke to an equally large (younger) version of herself (daughter?) and a young, thin, hipster boy standing at her side (boyfriend? brother?).

Big Mamma: We gotta get him some new shoes.

(mother, daughter, boyfriend and me all look downwards. Said shoes were reminiscent of the popular 80s Keds sneakers, color blue, with various gaping holes revealing dirty socks).

Boyfriend: yeah, I know. But I, like, love these shoes.
Girlfriend: You, like, need titanium shoes.
Boyfriend: Yeah, I, like, saw these cool sneakers that had, like an inner and outer layer, that kind of like, prevented holes.
Girlfriend: Your lips are chapped.
Boyfriend: I know.
Girlfriend: I have stuff, like, for your lips.
Boyfriend: No, it’s ok.
Girlfriend: You’re just going to endure it?
Boyfriend: (shrugs, beginning shades of annoyance).
Girlfriend: Is it a germ thing?
Boyfriend: Uh…I just don’t really, like, like it.
Girlfriend: But more because of the germs?

Instant relief when the train stopped at Times Square so I could escape the tag-team accosting of this poor boy. Our car opened in the narrowest part of the platform (about half a foot wide). As she attempted to exit, Big Mamma turned to me and said, “looks like we aren’t exiting here,” in annoyance and pushed past me to the second car where the platform could accommodate her size. Begging to differ, I stepped off where I was.

Earwig’s Delight: Key-Books

As I stood on the train platform this morning, shivering in the upstate New York cold, I halted my teeth chattering just long enough to overhear a conversation that kept me smirking all the way to Manhattan. The players are two men in their late 30s, shootin’ the shite in between coughing up masses of phlegm and spitting on the tracks (I know, I know…I’m sorry). For clarity, I will call them “Beard Boy” (man with salt-flecked, red bushy beard) and “Wool Hat” (man with army-print ear flapped hunter’s hat).

Beard Boy: “Oh man, I need to get me one of those e-book thingers.”

Wool Hat: “e-book?” (face scrunched up in annoyance/disbelief).

Beard Boy: (Here I assume he provided a definition of an e-book [thinger], but unfortunately, a passerby chose this moment to cough in my face, and thus the keen insight was forever lost).

Wool Hat: “Oh like one of those ‘Kinders’? Yeah, but you can only read books with them. They need to make it so it has everything a computer does.”

Beard Boy: “Would it have as much memory though?”

Wool Hat: “Dunno.”

Beard Boy: “Cause I need memory.”

Wool Hat: “Do ya?”

Beard Boy: “Ah, yeah. Gotta have memory. I don’t have enough of my own memory. Heck, I can’t even find my keys!”

Wool Hat: “Where’s My Keys!” (said in deep, exaggerated voice, while hopping from foot to foot, palms facing upwards, giving his rendition of Beard Boy looking for his keys).

Beard Boy: “That’s what that e-book should do, find your keys!”

Wool Hat: “Yeeeaaaaaah!” (proverbial lightbulb going off).

Beard Boy: “That’s what would sell.”

Wool Hat: “Bzzzzzzz, bzzzzzzzz. You’re keys are here!” (can only assume this is the ‘Kinder’s’ way of getting its owner’s attention).


Unfortunately, just as this stimulating conversation was getting good, the train rolled in and we climbed into different cars. I really think they were on to something.