The Eloi and Me

This morning I ran into a friend of mine climbing out of her car in the parking lot. Since starting tomorrow I will be joining the vehicular ranks, I said something really intelligent like, "So, you drove?"

To my surprise, she rushed to assure me that in fact she always has ridden the train before, today was just a one-time thing, she'll be back on the train tomorrow but was running late and anyway even though she is paying the parking lot fee she took the free highway instead of the tollway -- all in all, that she wasn't one of "those" people.

Who knew these kinds of subtle social distinctions were being made? Driving and paying the exorbitant parking lot fees means you are one of the privileged elite -- to be envied, perhaps, but also secretly reviled as spoilt and lazy. And those who ride the train, well, we are the salt of the earth. Our hardscrabble lives have made us street-smart and savvy. We arrive each morning a little worse for wear, encased in a layer of train-filth that we bear proudly as the tangible manifestation of our triumph over adversity.

Indeed, upon closer observation the truth was unavoidable. The parking lot did boast an unusual proportion of gleaming late-model luxury cars, out of which materialized a tanned and toned and blond contingent every bit as polished as the Lexuses they drove.

Maybe I should have something really deep and philosophical to say about this phenomenon. But who cares, because NO MORE TRAIN FOR ME! See ya around, Morlocks.