June 19, 2008...1:17 am

My cell phone is not a vibrator

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I used to feel bad about sleeping on the train ride from peaceful New Jersey into neurotic Manhattan. I’d try to not do it at all in favor of reading or staring out the window, or if I had to do it I’d sleep really lightly to make sure I didn’t embarrass myself in front of my fellow commuters. But the train ride is an hour long, if (and this is a big if) the train is running properly and on time. And then I noticed that everyone else on the train, even the CEO types in suits, would also take advantage of the extra rest time. Barely anyone is even on their cell phone or carrying on a conversation. So I decided to join the nap party.

Now, if I’m going to do something, I’m going to do it right. My train sleeping somehow veered off the napping track and mutated into the sort of sleep that should only take place in the privacy of your own bedroom. Napping is something that happens by accident, something that you are easily awoken from. The slumber I now dive into on the train is deliberate, deep, and probably not at all subtle. I bring a blanket. And I use it. And I know every time I wake up my mouth is wide open or the guy next to me has a look on his face like I was definitely trying to snuggle with his shoulder and he was not having any of that. 

Occasionally my second sleeps are interrupted when some fool decides that 8:15am is a perfectly appropriate time to ring me on my cell phone (it is not). This might be fine except that I keep my cell phone on my lap, under my blanket and somehow it always ends up dangerously near my crotch. So not only am I snoring in my little bed-on-the-go I’ve created in my seat, but once or twice during the trip I vibrate, I’m sure to the pleasure of the person next to me. They think they are so lucky to get the seat next to the tiny girl – I’m always the first seat mate people choose when the train begins to fill up. They begin their ride thinking they’re getting a little bonus leg room for their money. Then as the train pulls into the station they always hastily gather their things and scurry down the aisle like they’re afraid I’m going to rip off my blanket and force some sort of peep show on them. So, for the record, my cell phone is not  a vibrator. That would be way out of my price range.  

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