Just a Jew. Named Mitch. Writing about his feelings.

Train Drinking

Posted by JewMitch on May 18, 2010

This weekend, I got invited on a beach/drinking weekend in Westport, CT. Which was amazing for about hundred reasons, but the highlight may have occurred on the train ride there. Note: one of the main benefits of living in NYC is being able to take the train for weekend trips, where you’re allowed to bring as much alcohol as you can carry on board.

My friend Nick and I got to Grand Central about 5 minutes before the train left, and the people we were traveling with, who we hadn’t met before, were already on the train.

“How will we find them?”

“Easy,” Nick said. “Just look for people drinking.”

Sure enough, a group of 5 people had taken over one of the double seats (where the seats face each other) and were getting into a 12 pack and a handle of vodka. This was definitely our crew.

Now, if you were a commuter on the train, and you just wanted a quiet place to read the newspaper, you probably wouldn’t choose to sit with a group of twenty-something weekend alcoholics, who are already drinking?  Right? Well obviously this one woman is retarded, because she sat down in the one remaining seat between us.

We did the only thing that we could in such a situation; drink and be loud and tell inappropriate stories. All the while, this large, mannish, angry woman (let’s call her “Hogbeast”) looked on in disgust. I guess I could feel bad for her; she’s probably a very nice person who just wanted to relax on the train ride home. But as there were other seats on the train, she really brought this on herself.

She hated us for the whole trip (at one point she shouted, “I think everyone in Westport can hear you already!”), but there were two moments that made her look up at us in utter disgust. The first was when I retold the Cowboys and Indians and Stripclub story in full.

But the second moment was truly classic. It turned out that I had met one of the girls on the trip before – and she began telling me about when she had come to flipcup after kickball, and I had tried to pick her up, but had been drinking, and wound up falling down during the process, and dropped her onto a table, and she had bruised her leg.

I apologized to her and responded: “I really wish that was the first time someone has told me a story like that — of meeting me, me trying to pick them up drunk, and falling down in the process, and someone getting hurt, — but it’s not.” At this point Hogbeast just looked over like at us like she was about to write her Congressman about the state of youth in America. It was an amazing start to the weekend.


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