EDIT: Here it is!
With the most attractive video-still you ever did see.
So I wanted to tell you guys about my morning.
First of all, I wake up at 7:30 to get ready and eat, and leave at 8:30 for the start of my one-hour commute (about thirty-five minutes on foot, twenty-five on or in-between trains), and every morning I'm tired as poop because I never go to bed when I plan to:
And after I finally escape the suffocating grip of the internet:
So, every night is a battle.
Anyway during my one hour commute I'm really not in the mood for...people. Or things. Or anything, really. Life. So I stick in my earphones and go on with my morning routine.
As I'm transferring trains this morning, I'm waiting patiently for my train to come, leaning against a pillar, when I hear something over the sound of my music. Very slowly, cautiously, I turn my head to the left.
Maybe if I walk to the next cue for the next train car...farther...farther away...then I won't...
But they come closer. 25 pairs of tiny eyes underneath bright yellow hats, with 25 energetic mouths, and two exhausted-looking teachers.
I shove my hands in my pockets as the train pulls up and I get inside as fast as I can, thinking surely they'll take the train car closest to them.
I walk as far as I can into the train so that I'm facing the opposite sets of doors, and peek over my shoulder.
25 children of about 5 years of age and their teachers come barreling into the train, the former screaming excitedly and pushing against each other and other passengers as they recklessly find standing space. Let it be known that trains are uncomfortable full without school groups on a good day, so suddenly there was no room even to breathe.
I'd managed to squeeze myself into a corner between the train doors and the side of the seats (being really close to other people on a train freaks me out a bit, so I was lucky today), and I tried to focus on my music and laughed a little at the situation I had found myself in.
Now, I've talked about how much I love Japanese kids before, and I still think they're cute. When there's one of them. And not 25. At 8 30 in the morning. And it turns out I wasn't the only one, because the minute all the kids were piled in and the doors were closed and the train started to move, an older man who was sitting down was overwhelmed by the waves of the kids, and he just quit immediately; got up and moved to the next car. Lucky for him, he was close enough to where the cars were connected that he was free to do so.
The train sped up and jerked; all the kids tipped to one side as though they weren't accustomed to the sudden turns of the train, and roars of screeches and laughter rivaled the sound of the train roaring through the tunnel.
The girl to the right of me stared hard at her reflection in the train doors; the boy next to her looked as though he were willing himself to go to a happy place, squeezing his eyes shut and resting his head against the doors; and a guy trapped in the middle of the sea of children looked like he was done twenty minutes ago, before they even boarded the train.
And so today I learned that nobody is a kid-person at 8 30 in the morning. But I know it's possible to be a dog-person full-time, so take that to heart. If you think I'm telling you that dogs are better than kids, then you are correct, that is exactly what I'm saying.
So that was my kind-of-annoying, but-I-still-laughed morning.
Also on my way home, I ran into them all again. Lucky, lucky, lucky.