Yesterday started off with the cutest thing I have ever seen on the metro followed by your standard irritating customer service issue. I'll spare the second story, since any of you who have read this journal with regularity probably are familiar with the scene: I comment on terrible customer service, employee said it wasn't their problem, "are you the manager"/"I'm not answering your questions" screaming match ensues...yaddayaddayadda. Maybe I'll just post the letter I'll be writing to Oh, Good Pain.
I ran down the escalator and snuck into the first car of the waiting train yesterday morning just as the doors closed behind me. I had discovered earlier that my headphones weren't working during a vain attempt to drown out Christina and Terri's excruciating conversation on the bus about how even though Christina and her friends are from Alabama, they're not typical snobby southern girls, as evidenced by her studying abroad and double major in French and Art History. I noticed a young boy, about two or three years old, sitting in a stroller near the front of the train making little kid gurgling noises, focused on my crossword and prepared for the worst.
As we left the Pentagon, the little boy, flopping his feet around and staring off into the distance, parrots back after the conductor: "Next Sta-shon, Ar-ling-ton Cem-a-tar-ee," and when we arrived, "Ar-ling-ton Cem-a-tar-ee. Doors open on the left." He did the same thing at Rosslyn. Cute turned to amazing when the kid beat the conductor to the punch and announced "Foggy Bot-tom. Doors open on the left." An awed gasp rose from the passengers, who until that moment were doing a good job of pretening not to notice him.
Sure, despite what that kid says, the doors don't always open on the left. It was still the most adorable child-making-noise-in-public situation ever. And the best part is that my co-worker has seen this kid in the evenings before and says he does the routine all the way home.