Commuting With A Zit Picker

The morning commute is more times than not a routine hustle and bustle of folks making their way to work, school, court, or wherever. Once on the train (or bus) you are more times than not surrounded by the usual suspects. You have folks talking on the phone, reading (a newspaper, magazine, work or school report, summons or whatever), there are folks playing with various devices, the sit and stare crowd, or the slump and sleep group.

Now and again you are graced with the zit picker.

This morning’s zit picker proved herself on a mission. It was clear from her ministrations that it was not only her zit that nagged her psyche. She went from picking at the zit to scratching her head then back to the zit. She rubbed her cheek (zit was on chin) then back to the zit. Her hand went to her nose and I thought, “oh noooo, not a nose picker too!” but no, she just rubbed, scratched her nose, then back to the zit.

This morning’s zit picker even went under her coat and down into her shirt to scratch her breast or tug her nipple, not sure which, then back to picking the zit. A mission.

Once permanently distracted from my own reading material and the music streaming into my ears, I began to work up a horror tale of the zit being picked to the point of popping. The popping prompted the spewing of zit juice. The zit juice spewed on and on, until the car started filling. People startled awake and alert. There was screaming. There was general panic and total mayhem. We all nearly drowned.

Then it was time for me to get off the train.