It was groggy morning, and I'd already spent half an hour on the subway, transferring, walking, waiting for a seat, you know the drill. There was probably 20 minutes left of my morning commute (minus walking), and I'd just found a seat. The subway was above ground at this point, so I knew I was in the home-stretch. I was content, ready to half-sleep/half-people watch for the rest of the ride.
Finally, after a few minutes had passed, the train got less crowded and a young woman, who must have been in her very early twenties, sat down right next to me. She was sniffling. At first, it didn't really shock me - either she had allergies or she was yet another person having a bad morning. I'd already had to fish toothpaste out of my eye and scavenge for weather appropriate clothing, so I didn't have much in the way of sympathy.
After a moment, though, it hit me that this woman was really crying. Weeping, in fact. Some people were staring, some people were pretending not to notice, and others were probably jealous of the attention she was getting. I thought to maybe give her an encouraging smile, or a pat on the back - something. Like clockwork, as soon as I looked her way, she spoke to me. She wasn't looking at me, but I knew she was talking to me because there was no one else sitting near her on this train, and it wasn't like anyone had bothered to say, "hello" or acknowledge her.
"Oh, thank God you're around."
... Me?
"I really need someone to talk to."
I'd never seen this woman before in my life. I knew it. Either that, or it wasn't early enough for this kind of social amnesia to be acceptable, and I was overcome with guilt. I decided that it wouldn't hurt if I just responded.
"What happened?"
And then, like a bullet, she went off. She told me her entire, tragic story. Her boyfriend cheated on her, she hates her school, and she feels worthless.
It was a lot to handle, and at this point, a lot of people were watching. It was all on me - I had to respond. I could have chickened out. I could have said it was my stop and gotten off, but I suddenly had a flashback to an image of myself on the subway, earlier that year, crying my eyes out about similar circumstances. I might as well have done for her for her what I wished someone had done for me back then.
I'd watched Dr. Phil enough to know how to configure a make-shift pep-talk. I said what you might expect, stuff about how breakups are learning experiences and can present knew opportunities, I preached to her about things getting better, and I concluded with a nice sermon on the importance of recognizing one's inner beauty. I even complimented her dress and-
Mid-advice session, she stood up and started waiting in front of one of the subway doors.
This confirmed my worst fears. Maybe she finally realized we didn't know each other, and was so embarrassed that she had to bolt upwards, or maybe I said something to offend her.
She turned around as the subway doors slid open, and then I saw it.
Her bluetooth.
She'd been on her phone the entire time. She had no idea that I had even responded to her, and clearly someone on the other end of the telephone was engaging in the advice session.
The entire train seemed to realize this at the same time, and this one teenage boy started laughing hysterically in the background. I laughed, nervously, and decided to begin a staring contest with my shoes. By now, she'd gotten off the train and was off in the world, completely unaware of what had just happened.
I was stunned into silence. Humiliated, really. Still, I was slightly impressed by the speech I had given... but I was mostly humiliated. The boy who was laughing in the background was no help, either. Thankfully, my stop was next and I got off the train. Before I could head out of the subway station, though, a young mother, toting a 7 (or so) year old girl put a hand on my shoulder and stopped me:
"You gave her excellent advice," she said, "I bet someone on that train took it to heart."
In truth, that's all I needed to hear.
