A train commute and an umbrella

It rained that morning. Not a soft, raindrop by raindrop, rain. But rather a windy, more sideways than vertical rain.

That was an important fact, worthy of note, because it made Martin step inside the waiting room in the old brick train station. Most days, he got there just minutes before the 7:10 train arrived. Enough time to situate himself on the platform and be one of anywhere from 20 to 30 passengers peering down the track to where the headlights of an incoming train would soon show up.

Today he went inside the old station building’s waiting room to escape the rain. It wasn’t jam-packed, but most of the would-be passengers were in there. A plethora of soggy umbrellas and humidity drifting in every time the door opened made the room feel more crowded. Martin debated whether to wend his way over the one of the few empty seats or just stay standing near the exit door. Given that the train should soon be here, he chose the latter.

Standing in a waiting room with strangers is unsettling. Because what to do with your hands? Where to look?

Martin was still fairly new to this whole commuter game. It was early fall and only about a month earlier that he’d started taking the train into the city each morning to his new job. Then back home each evening. It was a new phase in is life of 30-something years.