Obnoxious: odiously or disgustingly objectionable: highly offensive

As I stepped on the subway Tuesday evening, I was happy to find plenty of open seats. As I took one, I noticed the young woman sitting across from me intently applying make-up. Staring into her compact mirror, she repeatedly dabbed her brush in powder, then blew the excess powder off the brush, while I watched a lovely little cloud of powder drift toward me. I thought how tacky it is to apply make-up in public. I thought how humid it was to be applying make-up. I thought how shiny my own face must be due to said humidity. As the clouds continued billowing toward me, I thought all sorts of things. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the man to my right look at the make-up process, then roll his eyes and shake his head.

As she continued working on her face, her brush knocked a chunk of make-up out of the compact and onto the floor. I thought about the mess that would inevitably make. And then she surprised me: she bent over to pick the make-up of the floor. I thought how I had misjudged her. Obviously she was considerate enough not to leave a mess. She then put the make-up she’d picked up back into her compact, then continued to dab her brush in it, blow the excess off, and apply it to her face. I thought I might throw up.

People had been getting on and off the train, and at this point it was a little more crowded. As another cloud wafted my way, I looked to the left and saw two women standing up, mesmerized and appalled by my make-up-applying friend. We shared a smirk and a headshake. When the next cloud formed, I looked toward them again, and we shared another moment. Shortly after, the young woman closed her compact, put it in her bag, and got off at the next stop. And I thought that was the end of this amusing little scene.

Just after she exited the train, the young man to my left began talking.

Him: You really shouldn’t laugh at strangers.
(I turned and confirmed he was talking to me.)
Me: I never laughed out loud. I kept it inside.
Him: It was pretty obvious.
Me: She picked up make-up from the floor of the subway
and put it on her face!
Him: It was pretty obnoxious.
Me: Wait . . . I’m obnoxious??!!!!

I had erroneously assumed until this point that he was being sarcastic.

Him: Yes, you were being really obnoxious.
Me: Well, I found it obnoxious that she was blowing make-up on everyone around her. That was the reason I noticed her in the first place.
Him: You don’t know her. You were obviously looking around trying to find people to make fun of her with. It was obnoxious.
Me: Well, you’re entitled to your opinion.
Him: It was obnoxious to laugh like that.
Me: I guess this is kind of circular. You thought I was obnoxious. I thought she was obnoxious. I wonder who she thinks is obnoxious.
Him: It’s obnoxious to laugh at strangers like that.

And I finally got smart enough to turn away from him and remain silent until my stop. Now that I’ve had a couple days to reflect, I can say with certainty that at least one person on that train was most definitely obnoxious. And I feel pretty certain that it wasn’t me.

No Time to be Picky

A few years ago, my brother had just started dating a woman who was clearly not good enough for him. (Biased much, little sis?) After hearing a voicemail left by this woman on my sister’s answering machine, I said something about her being crazy. To which my sister responded to my brother, “You’re almost 40; you can’t afford to be picky.” I don’t recall how I responded at the time, but I know what I thought:

• You’re almost 40; there’s a lot more crazy out there to weed through.
• You’re almost 40; you’ve avoided getting tied to the wrong person so far, don’t blow it now.
• You’re almost 40; you won’t have as many years to recover if a relationship turns out to be horribly wrong.
• You’re almost 40; it’s time to be pickier than ever.
  

I thought of this brief encounter in the kitchen today because of a conversation I had with a colleague who shares my job status (there aren’t many of us out there in my particular situation). We jointly wondered how to balance being open to opportunities while trying to protect the lives we want. I can hear the practical angel on my shoulder saying, “Your job ends in October, you can’t afford to be picky.” And then my true self pipes up:

• I’ve put my life on hold for three years; shouldn’t I get some sort of return on that investment?
• I’ve put my life on hold for three years; if I take the wrong job now, am I just maintaining the instability?
• I’ve put my life on hold for three years; if I settle now, was it all for naught?
  

Lots of questions. So far, no answers.