Three Little Tramps and the Big Bad Wolves Who Flirt with Them

I’m on my way home the other day, and when I sit down in my Red Line train I dive immediately into my bag to pull out the iPod. I actually don’t use my iPod that much on the subway (there’s a whole music-mood-must-match-book-theme thing there I won’t get into—for now). Typically the only time I use it is when there are obnoxious people about. You know, the people that actually want to talk. Out loud. During rush hour. When all of us working joes just want to get home as fast as possible in as much peace and quiet as possible.

So when I step on the train and see three girls on the seats across the aisle from me, I know this is an earbuds-required trip. They’re virtually clones: No more than 14 years old, going on no less than 18. Same hairstyle. Same tight-fitting, low-cut baby doll tees. Same jeans-and-sandals combination. And, unfortunately, same volume.

As I mentioned a minute ago, Metro during rush hour is typically a quiet affair. So when two people are conversing, it’s noticeable and distracting. When three teenage girls are apparently using flashcards to study for an exam, the racket becomes downright intolerable.

The only thing less tolerable, however, is the middle-aged guy who, a few stops later, decides he’s gonna turn on the charm as he gets ready to disembark, just to see if he still has it, apparently. I’m talkin’ late 30s, early 40s here. As he slides by them on his way to the door, he looks down at the girls and then sorta shuffles, putting his weight on first one foot then another like he can’t even believe it himself that he’s about to put his thing down for these little tramps-in-training.

The Queens of the Stone Age pumping through my ear canals and into my brain prevents me—thank goodness—from hearing exactly what the guy says. But I think the girls must be struggling over an answer that he ever so suavely provides. Or maybe he’s correcting an error or something. All I know is when he actually leans over toward one of them to, ahem, point out something on the flashcard, all three look up at him slightly aghast and cringe ever so subtly back into their seats in a what’s-this-creep-talking-to-us-for kinda way.

The only thing worse than that, I guess, is the old guy to my right who’s watching this whole abominable scenario unfold and, knowing exactly what’s going on, utters a guttural chuckle of approval for his fellow cretin.

And the only thing worse than that is the middle-aged woman sitting a row behind the girls who looks over their shoulders with an approving little nod-and-smile combo, like she thinks this guy is actually trying to help and oh isn’t he so nice and aren’t these girls so cute.

I should have waited for the next train.