Like a Noodle in Crowded Cup

Riding the train from Baltimore to New York is miserable if its crowded as it often is on Sundays. I try hard to get a window seat so I can tune everyone else out. Last weekend, I ended up in the cafe car, a hit-or-miss proposition. This ride is a big miss; I just can't tune this one guy out.

Its like he just got released from a concentration camp, eating like a beast, pouring apple juice down his throat in fast gulps. First, he pours the juice from the bottle into a cup of ice then washes it down like its whiskey. Maybe it is.

The smell of beef makes me turn away, but he eats his sandwich fast in furious bites. He pulls out a quart of blueberry yogurt from his Au Bon Pain bag. I turn away. In seconds, I hear his spoon scraping the bottom of the empty plastic container.

He gets up and walks to the end of the cafe car. Those pants can't be his; they are several sizes too large. The excess fabric bunches at his waist. He paces to the other end of the car and returns with a coffee and a Cup O' Noodles.

Maybe he is cheating on a diet in the privacy of an Amtrak car, alone in the crowd. Maybe he figures yogurt and Cup O' Noodles are not that caloric. They are in those sizes, buddy. The "coffee" turns out to be hot water to bring the dried noodles to life. Eww, I can smell them.

He seems to have some attention deficit, pacing, eating re-situating his laptop. Now he's reading sheet music, muttering and waving his hand as the notes go through his head. I hate his caged animal energy and now that we've passed Trenton and passengers have departed, I wish he would move to one of the empty tables.

I would move myself, but I wedged my bag under the table and I'm worried I will struggle to spring the suitcase. But what goes in must come out, right? Including this guy's meal. Eww again.

Finish your Cup O Noodles already!