Train of Thought

How a simple social interaction can get off-track

I was heading home from work the other day, descending into the Metro, minding my own business, when an intense, silent 20-second psychodrama unfolded. I am reconstructing it here exactly as it occurred, thanks to the gracious cooperation of the other principal player in the drama. Her only condition is that I keep her identity a secret so as to avoid embarrassment, a condition I immediately agreed to because I am such a sweet, sensitive guy.

Therefore, I would like to state, for the record, that this other person was not Amy Lago, comics editor of The Washington Post Writers Group, a professional colleague who happens to edit this column for syndication. Let's call the other person in this silent psychodrama "Mildred." Mildred is a professional, um, hairstylist of my acquaintance.

I swiped my card and step-ped off the bottom of the escalator, onto the train platform. I was moving a little tentatively because, having just returned from a journey into a wilderness area, I was still wearing an old, dispensable pair of eyeglasses with a too-weak prescription. The platform was crowded with commuters.

Mildred: Oh, there's Gene! (Smiles.)

Me: A woman is smiling at me.

Mildred: Gene's not smiling back.

Me: (Getting closer.) It's an attractive woman. Attractive women do not smile at me. She must be smiling at someone behind me.

Mildred: Why is he not smiling back?

Me: (Getting closer.) Wait, she looks familiar.

Mildred: Hold on, those don't look like Gene's glasses.

Me: (Getting closer.) Hmm, is that . . . Mildred?

Mildred: The glasses are ALL WRONG! And he's still not smiling back! It must not be Gene! I'm giving this big, goofy smile to some strange guy!