1.24.2012

I'm fairly certain I watched a woman discover a mole with irregular borders on the metro last night...

And it's fucking with my mind.

So, I went to The Container Store in Tenleytown yesterday to get an August-August calendar/organizer as part of my Meg's-getting-her-shit-together-which-really-just-means-she-naps-slightly-less-and-does-a-crunch-every-now-and-then-when-she's-not-too-high-and/or-watching-Hoarders-on-Netflix...thing...that I'm doing, and I took the metro back to Dupont at around 5:30pm. First and foremost: mistake. Mistake, mistake, mistake. Because (and I'm fully aware of how obnoxious this is going to sound) I completely forgot how God-awful the metro is during rush hour. My psychiatrist asked me last week if I ever worry about running out of material for the blog, and I said no, because if I do, I just have to take the metro somewhere during rush hour and we're back in business. Although I said that as a joke to move the conversation along because at that point I would have shaved my upper-thighs with a cheese grater if it meant we could stop talking about my "career" and move on to the part where he throws a few bottles of pills at me and says, "See you in six months", I still think it's a valid point. Because last night, three noteworthy things happened to me in the span of one metro ride:

1.) The title of this post, which we'll come back to.

2.) While I was waiting for my train on the Tenleytown platform, this goddamn frizzy-haired mouth-breather of a woman waddled up and, despite having ample room to stand next to me, she stood right in front of me. Like, her back was separated from my front by a matter of a few erotic inches. I can understand this happening when the platform is packed and it's like, well where else do you want me to go, guy?, but, again, I had at least five-feet of space on either side of me. I could have comfortably grapevined in either direction and in no way had to alter the size of my jazz movements. I don't know why she chose to stand directly in front of me, but all I could think was that this was the physical manifestation of those assholes on the The Price is Right who wait until everyone else has bid, and then bid one-dollar more than the highest bidder. Those people are the fucking worst. Because how hard is it to come up with the retail price of some asinine home product out of thin air? Pretty goddamn hard. How hard is it to tack a dollar onto that amount, turn around, and throw your arms up in victory at your fellow Arizona State Sigma Chi's in the audience? Not that hard. But they always win! And it's like, what's a bro in the desert going to do with a Jaclyn Smith Heritage dinette set? You just know he's going to sell it on eBay to buy tickets to a Jack Johnson concert or some shit, when it really should have gone to the Latina woman at the end of the row with a hutch to do it some justice, God bless her. So, then, not only was I pissed off that there was an asshole standing in front of me, I was also becoming increasingly more agitated thinking about the unspoken moral code and bidding strategies of The Price is Right's contestant's row, and I was just standing there silently fuming to the point where thank God the train came, because I was 30-seconds away from shoving a bottle of Garlique down that bitch's throat and smashing her head in with a grandfather clock. Had I had any of the necessary tools.

3.) Things were even more infuriating going from Dupont to Tenley. I know I'm a writer and I just applied to a bunch of fancy MFA programs and I should take my "craft" seriously and blah blah blah, but I truly struggle with describing seating on the metro, so I'm just going to draw the situation I found myself in instead:
OK? Get it? So my objective was to get from the aisle to the free seat on the far side of the two-seater, kitty-corner to the handicap seats. You know? Look, if you're still confused, just fucking call me. I don't have the talent or the gumption to tackle describing seating arrangements right now. Let's just leave it at that.

So, Seat #1 was occupied by this horrible girl who looked like a Hill staffer (my apologies if you are a Hill staffer, I'm just trying to paint a picture), sitting there with her perfect posture in her sensible flats and khaki pants and low bun, reading what I can only assume was Eat, Love, Pray on her Kindle. For those of you unfamiliar with the DC metro system, the L set-up illustrated above is a tight squeeze for all parties involved. Therefore, when someone is seated in Seat #1 and the seat next to them frees up, it's common courtesy to scooch over to make it easier for the next rider to sit down. Hill Staffer, however, did not scooch at all. Instead, she ignored me when I asked her to move over or swing her legs out into the aisle so I could get by. She just flat-out ignored me. And it's not like she was lost in the whimsical world of books and didn't realize that I was trying to sit next to her; she clearly locked eyes with me when I asked her to move and just chose not to. So then I had to do these Cirque Du Soleil-like acrobatics to climb over her and everyone else and squeeze myself into the seat next to her, which was as tiring as it was infuriating. But here's the best part: she did it again when I had to get off the train. As we approached Dupont, I said, "Excuse me, this is my stop", and she glanced up at me, glanced back down, and didn't do a goddamn thing. It was mind-boggling. But, I figured if it was a lap dance she wanted, then it was a lap dance she was going to get—I climbed over, straddled, and grinded that skinny bitch like it was the last dance of the night and I was $20 short of making my meth habit. She didn't have a dick, but I was still going to get it hard. I was grinding with that kind of tenacity. Because be an ass to me once, shame on you; be an ass to me twice, I'm going to get you fucking pregnant.

But back to 1.) I'm fairly certain I saw a woman discover a mole with irregular borders. I was sitting in my awkward little corner seat, fuming and absentmindedly watching the woman sitting in the handicap seat nearest to me switch her heavy coat for a light cardigan. She was an older woman, probably in her late 50's, and looked normal enough. The entire situation wasn't that interesting until she starting folding up the sleeves of said cardigan. She folded up her left sleeve with no issue, but then three folds up the right, she (and I) noticed something on her forearm. She looked at it quizzically and leaned in closer to inspect it. She licked her thumb and rubbed it, but it didn't budge. Now I'm just a simple blogger/graphic designer/unemployed Matt Paxton enthusiast, but that was 100% a mole with irregular borders. I've seen enough ZOINKS! DEEZ 'AINT RIGHT! mole posters at various dermatologist's office to know what one looks like and that, madam, zoinks—dat don't look right. 

The woman looked concerned for about a fraction of a second, shrugged, and then rolled both of her sleeves down. At this point, I honestly didn't know if I should have said something or not. Because on one hand, I'm not a doctor, it's none of my business and what the fuck do I know? But on the other—IT WAS A MOLE WITH IRREGULAR BORDERS. She needs to go to the dermatologist and get it checked out immediately. Need a dermatologist? Marisa Braun at Braun Dermatology Associates on F and 21st. I'm obsessed. I have an oddly specific balance of $10.87, but feel free to tell her Meg sent you. This woman just looked like she had a nice family at home and you always hear stories about people who don't get little things like this checked out and six months later it's metastasized into Stage 4 cancer and it's this big, traumatic life lesson about the importance of yearly full body mole scans. I mean, despite venturing into the sun only occasionally to get a $5 footlong, I convince myself that I have skin cancer at least three times a year. I rarely go to the dermatologist and get it checked out, mind you; I mostly just ask everyone I interact with to look at it and tell me if they think it looks weird. I've made quite a few happy hours awkward this way, but, hell, it's cheaper than a co-pay. Thank God I'm not a man because I can just see myself 40 years from now being someone's Uncle Mort who shows up to dinner all, "My left testicle is inflamed, but feh."

So, now I'm completely invested in this woman's livelihood. I didn't end up saying anything to her and I'm convinced that she's going to die and it's going to be my fault. I've actually considered putting the following missed connection on Craigslist:

Kind-Looking Older Woman in Smart Cardigan (Redline towards Shady Grove)

YES, THAT MOLE DID HAVE IRREGULAR BORDERS. I was the surly-looking 20-something with giant hooters sitting kitty-corner to you on the metro last night, and as someone who took biology in college instead of the considerably easier "Ocean Studies", it is my expert opinion that you need to get that mole checked out as soon as humanly possible. If the only thing that's stopping you is someone to go with you and hold your hand, here—take mine. We're going to get through this. TOGETHER.

(Email me back with "SKIN TAG" in the subject line so I know you're not a bot.)

But, you know, that's "weird". So, on the off chance that you, ma'am, are a 2birds1blog reader, I truly believe that your mole has irregular borders. I've done some light Googling, I've done the comparison, and I think it would behoove you to get it checked out. And if you're not a 2birds1blog reader, as I assume you're not because you had kind eyes and I just talked about hate-fucking a stranger because they were slightly rude to me on the metro—I'm sorry I killed you. 

FULL. BODY. MOLE SCANS. PEOPLE.

35 comments:

rachelann said...

"I could have comfortably grapevined in either direction and in no way had to alter the size of my jazz movements... Because be an ass to me once, shame on you; be an ass to me twice, I'm going to get you fucking pregnant."

I'm so glad you're here for me on Mondays.

Anonymous said...

Seriously, best. Post. Ever!!!!1!! When I read your blog, I imagine you as an amaglamated version of my potty-mouthed best friend and overbearing, rude but amazing hairdresser.

emilie sarah said...

okay, this is going to make ME sound like such an asshole, but #2 happens on Paris metros ALL THE TIME. space on either side of me, minutes (because the sign tells you) until the train comes, with no telling where the doors will be when it comes to a complete stop and someone (usually a - to borrow a word - surly-looking arab man in a puffy jacket and long and dirty fingernails) will stand RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME.

Anonymous said...

This speaks to me so hard. I love this post.

A) It's one thing if you're a Metro platform wanderer, and it's hard to figure out where to stand and keep an appropriate distance...it's another if, like me, you pick a spot on the platform and NEVER move until the train comes. If you stand in front of me when there's room elsewhere, and shit will get real. (Also, I hate, hate, hate the stupid-ass couples that not only stand waaaay to close to me, but then decide that the middle of a Metro platform is the best place to make-out and dry hump. I'm looking at you Gallery Place.)

B) This is why I carry a backpack or messenger bag on metro - it's a fucking battering ram. Won't move clear of the doors so I can get on/off? Meet a bag full of hardcover books and uncapped pens. Won't move over so I can sit? I hope you like getting hit in the face with a 10-pound laptop.

C) Sadly, I have so many moles I've lost count of them. Being fair-skinned with a family history of skin cancer, it freaks me out that someday a cancerous one will show up, but I'll never see it because of all the mole white-noise. Not that I'd go to the Dr. anyway. But it's nice to know what exactly it is that's slowly sucking your life away.

Love this post.

*NotablyNeurotic said...

"Because be an ass to me once, shame on you; be an ass to me twice, I'm going to get you fucking pregnant."

I about DIED laughing from reading that. I think that little gem should show up in a Craiglist missed connection.

Oh Meg ...

That is all.

electricdaisy said...

As a recent U of Arizona grad and a connoisseur of fine morning television, I appreciate the combination PIR Truth Bomb/ASU smack talk. (As well as the rest of this post...comedy gold, my friend).

Anonymous said...

I'm crying from laughing so hard. This is brilliant.

Anonymous said...

what is with those pretentious bitches who haven't grasped the concept of being "considerate"? if she was a true WASP, she wouldn't be on metro at all. meg, i'm glad some one is out there teaching them a lesson.

E said...

god i hate metro. and i'd say i love the bus, but i don't. it's terrible too, and it takes you twice as long to get anywhere.

also, for most of the post i thought you were talking about a mole, the animal, and i didn't understand what irregular borders could POSSIBLY MEAN and oh god this is taking me back to 9th grade when we talked about how ancient Syrians put seals on pots and I thought they made little flippered seals out of clay and stuck them on the tops of pots as decoration i'm not high or drunk i'm so terribly sober at work i'm the dumbest

Flight Attendant Extraordinaire said...

Thank you for making me laugh out loud. I too have very specific Public Transit Etiquette Guidelines and it infuriates me when people do not follow them. But then, I am the asshole who hauls her suitcase onto the bus & train, so I probably infuriate others as well.

Emily said...

This. Was. Amazing

Anonymous said...

Meg, random question about Keith and the Girl! I subscribed to the show on iTunes, but do you think subscribing to the VIP thing is worth it? How far back should I go? What's your favorite show? OK, I'm done asking 4,000 questions :)

Anonymous said...

HILARIOUS. one of your best posts in recent memory, seriously.

TD said...

Not to downplay the awesomeness that was this post (because hearing you describe awkward personal interactions in public areas is the essential core comedic strength of this blog) but tonight would have been a perfect opportunity to post a Meg/Chris certified state of the union address drinking game. It has been years since we have seen a drinking game post.

Laura said...

So I was eating dinner while reading this (hot wings and pizza, if anyone is interested) and I was about to take a sip of my Diet Coke when I got to the line about you lap dancing the cunt and started laughing so hard I had to set my glass down, then I tried to drink again and still was shaking to hard to get the glass to my lips. Finally, on the third try I was able to get a hold of myself enough to take a drink. The reason I'm sharing this is that I just realized that I came thisclose to drinking then laughing and spitting Diet Coke all over my desk and, probably choking a little. So, thank you for almost, but not quite, making me laugh so hard I choked. But didn't.
It's the little victories in life.

Also, ASU frat rats are the worst, right?

Anonymous said...

You've posted about metro douches and their relation to price of right douches before.

2b1b: The sardonic voice of 20-somethings everywhere, Monday through Friday. said...

When I read your blog, I imagine you as an amaglamated version of my potty-mouthed best friend and overbearing, rude but amazing hairdresser.
That's inaccurate, but fair.

Not to downplay the awesomeness that was this post (because hearing you describe awkward personal interactions in public areas is the essential core comedic strength of this blog) but tonight would have been a perfect opportunity to post a Meg/Chris certified state of the union address drinking game. It has been years since we have seen a drinking game post.
HAHA! You know about my vagina! Yeah, tonight would have been a good opportunity for that, and we blew it. And that's not me being sassy, by the way; I'm 100% agreeing with you.


Also, ASU frat rats are the worst, right?
I dated one in New York! Worst!

You've posted about metro douches and their relation to price of right douches before.
Have I? I genuinely couldn't remember and was too lazy to Google it. Nice catch.

Brett Minor said...

I have only lived in the country and small towns so I have never experienced public transit, but every story I hear sounds miserable. Happy to be a country boy if that's what you have to put up with.

Anonymous said...

you legitimately told the same story about the price is right/the metro in an earlier post. am not a stalker -- googled after Anonymous 10:22...

http://www.2birds1blog.com/2010/12/thoughts-i-couldnt-flesh-out-into-full.html

molly said...

am i the only one COMPLETELY thrown off by the phrase "kitty-corner"?? i live in the south and it has been "catty-corner" my whole. life.

Anonymous said...

let it go molly, this was a great post

Mayle said...

Lets elope. Im for realz.

LAT said...

I go to Braun dermatology too! They are the shiz-nit!

Anonymous said...

I went to Marisa Braun, as well as her brother Marty. For many visits (I'll spare you the details!) I liked both of them, as well as their assistants.

But I disagree that the girl was supposed to move in for you. The corner spot sucks. I'd rather stand than sit there and if you had asked me to move over to that spot I'd probably be telling my friends about the bitch who thought she was so special that I had to move to the corner spot for her.If you need to sit that badly, you take that spot.

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What about suicide or substance abuse or cancer? Are those not upsetting things people suffer from best essays canada The trouble is that when we try to dictate what is "sensitive" we usually only pick what is sensitive to us and leave everyone else out in the cold...

Dominic Young said...

This has no colour and does not come from a mole, it is just a bump on the skin, it is killing my husband and the doctor thought it was a dermal fibroid and would not send it for analysis, only when it came back and we went to another doctor did we find out. It is particularly dangerous as it is bellow the skin and radiates out in a spiral so is difficult to cut all of it out.This site helps me to write my essays on this theme. Few people even know of this type of deadly melanoma, how about a bit of publicity on it?

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