24 March 2008

Bad Hair Day

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So we were on the train coming home from Amsterdam yesterday, and I had just flipped down that tray thingy and was preparing to eat my lunch when this girl sat down in the seat in front of me and her hair was hanging in my lunch. I quickly moved my sandwich away, but for fuck's sake, it was still there and God only knows what kind of dandruff or head lice might have been flying off of it?

I am not really good with people being near me when I eat, as it is. I can't eat if someone is standing next to me while I'm sitting, for instance. And if I have to sit so close to someone that I'm touching them, then I can't eat at all. I'm willing to bet a lot of people feel the same way - you just don't want anything that might be in orbit around another person to potentially make its' way onto your food, that's all.

And you would think that someone with really long (color-processed, split-ended...Sorry, it was that close that I could tell) hair would be mindful of another human being's personal space, and either take care to pull their hair out from the seat behind them, or wear their hair in a chignon when they travel, like a decent person. But no. She just went on chatting to her friend while I was suffering in her wake.

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So I knew I needed to say something, which of course threw me into a quandry. First of all there's my fear of talking on public transport; then there's my fear that perhaps others will judge my boundaries; and finally there is my fear of not knowing what language to speak in. I mean just because we were on a train in Holland, didn't mean I should assume to talk to her in Dutch. And I certainly didn't want to speak in English like some American tourist with this imperialistic sense of entitlement, assuming that everyone will understand them. I tried to listen to her speaking and it sounded slavic - I think - but again I couldn't assume there, either, could I? And especially not when the only word I know in Polish is Kurva ("fuck it!"), although it certainly would have been appropriate. I started turbo-whining to Wim, who was busy eating my now-inedible sandwich.

"Just talk to her!" He said.

"No, dammit! No! No!" I screamed, sinking into my seat in the fetal position.

And with that Wim put his sandwich down, stood up, and asked the girl (in english) if she would please move her hair. Then she did.

But to my credit, the photo above was taken after she had moved her hair. It was hanging much further down when my sandwich was near it. Bloody weirdo.

Oh, and, um... apart from that, Amsterdam was really fun. We had a great time.

I guess I'm really not much of a Travel Blogger.

2 comments:

13smokesquirrel said...

Perhaps "the hair of the Dog"...

Brian said...

Bald is beautiful.