bomb on the train
I had a very interesting commute home tonight.
I usually ride my bike to work, but last week I sprained my knee – badly – and as a result, I’m taking the train this week.
I’ve decided that even though spraining my knee totally sucked, it was a sign that I need to slow down and take time to reflect and listen to my body…but I digress.
Anyway, I scored a seat on the train and sat down to rest my leg. I felt a little sad that I couldn’t ride my bike home, and a little anxious about the bombings over the weekend in New York City and New Jersey, and the stabbings in Minnesota. I also decided that I wouldn’t let the terrorists win, so I sent my friend Karen a text joking about how I felt…
So then…a guy gets on the train with a bomb. Tattooed on his arm. An ink bomb. The tattoo is very similar to the emoji I used in my text to Karen a few minutes before.
It’s a tiny, friendly little bomb. An old school cartoon bomb. The cute kind that wouldn’t hurt anybody. Even on a big, beefy arm like this guy was sporting. Downright harmless!
I took it as a sign for me to chill out and laugh about feeling scared. Fear in these situations is useless! I am going to continue to live my life. Fuck the terrorists.
So then I thought: should I say something to the guy about the coincidence? Yes, it was a little crazy, but the timing was so perfect that it was too crazy not to say something.
So I ask the tattoo guy if I can take a photo of his tattoo, and he and his friend roll their eyes…until I show him my text to Karen with the bomb emoji…which made the guy and his friend crack up. Of course I can text a photo of his tattoo to my girlfriend!
His friend even makes a scared face for me: A bomb! On the train!
My stop comes, and I stand up and say goodbye, thanking them for letting me take their photo.
“We’ll never forget you,” they tell me. “This one is legend. He’s always gonna tell the story about you and your text and the bomb on the train…you’re always gonna be a part of that tattoo now,” the friend says, laughing.