This morning I was taking the bart to work, per usual. It was crowded, so I was doing the surfing stance, balancing my open book in one hand and clinging to one of the vertical rods with the other.
A guy leans in and tells me he likes my hair bun. Thanks, I smile politely and turn back to my book. Then he says something else about it being fancy or something. It's the easiest thing to do with sopping wet hair, I tell him. Back to the book for a delicious few seconds.
So are you going to work or school? Wait, are you still talking to me? I'm going to work, and you? To work. Book. Do you work at a green place? Are you asking me this because I'm wearing a green sweater with a leaf on it? Umb, I work at a nonprofit. Oh, what do you do? Software development. Book. I didn't know there were non-profit software companies. Leave me alone.
I spend the next five minutes telling him how yorba works. We're open-source. No, we don't sell our product. Yes, that means people can use it for free. That's why we're a non-profit. Admittedly, lots of non-profits sell things, but I had to repeat a lot of stuff in order for him to get the idea. And I wanted to read my freaking book.
My favorite was when I said "Linux," he told me about how someone in India had fixed his Windows machine remotely. Because linux is apparently related to IT. And then when he asked what we developed, I told him multimedia apps and listed them...photo organizer, video editor, audio editor...then he pipes in "online social networking?" No, not that. And then he wants us to set up an online social networking site for his company. You aren't available are you? No, we aren't.
Then he asked what I studied. Computer programming? Computer science. I left off the engineering for brevity. But despite that, he praises me and does a little mock worshiping bow. And then finally the conversation stops and I can go back to reading. I get through a paragraph before he hands me his card. Without saying anything, wonder of wonders. I say thank you, and he leaves me alone.
There's a shuffle as passengers get off. I sit down. He sits down in the same row, across the isle. We go for a bit, I let someone out and move closer to the window. He takes the seat next to me. Let me see if I can guess your name, he says. Oh boy. Cythia...Sally...on and on, all starting with C/S/T sounds. He tries a couple others and then asks for the first letter. A. Angelina, Amanda... Finally, I just tell him.
And then he gets off, saying goodbye to me by name. He talked to me from MacArthur to Civic Center. Over 20 minutes, 2/3 my commute. While I was fairly obviously trying to read. Who does that??