An Open Letter to The Bitch in The Seat Behind us on the Train.

Dear Bitch,

First off, kudos on your hair. It's so rare to see hair the exact color and consistency of scrambled eggs that we were truly blown away by it every time we turned around to scowl at you. Coupled with the pink lipstick, you were a veritable Moons Over My Hammy from the neck up.

Second, our sympathies. When our first train was canceled and then our next train required a 3-hour wait and then THAT train was over an hour late, causing us to RUN LIKE WIDE-EYED MANIACS, barking and sniping at each other as we dragged our uncooperative luggage behind us through Penn Station to catch our connecting train which was leaving in THREE MINUTES only to have THAT one sit on the tracks for another 40 minutes to - I don't know, throw off potential terrorists?

The point is, after all THAT, we only had to sit in our seats and fight quietly, out of the side of our mouths (and after 11 years together, we've got that skill down cold), but it appears that you were required to call every single person you've ever known to give them an update on where you were and what time you thought you were getting in. And to top it off, you apparently teach at a school for the deaf or perhaps all of your friends were gathered at a construction site or possibly some sort of mining operation, which required said updates to be delivered VERY LOUDLY.

Darling, how awful for you. It must be exhausting to be so terribly important that dozens of deaf children and miners are waiting to hear at any moment where you are and where you expect to be an hour from now, as well as what the temperature is and what you had to eat that day. We don't know how you handle the pressure, but judging by your ensemble, retail therapy doesn't enter into it.

May we make some suggestions? Oh, we wouldn't normally be so forward, but after 2 and a half hours of listening to practically every detail of your current life situation being repeated loudly to what we like to picture as a room full of wide-eyed ragamuffins with hearing aids signing excitedly to each other "She's going to talk about the weather where she is! Turn up your volume!" we feel like we've come to know you as a special person in our lives.

First? The denim mini with the "gold" chains hanging off the belt loops? Rethink. Pronto. You're probably wearing that for your construction worker and miner friends, but darling, deaf children need fashion role models too and you're not helping them by dressing for a Whitesnake video.

Second? Perhaps text-messaging would be more convenient for you. God knows, WE certainly loved hearing your voice get raspier as our interminable train ride went on, but we couldn't help wanting to shove a mentholyptus lozenge in your mouth. Or a rolled-up issue of Vanity Fair. Or a carry-on bag. At any rate, you were clearly suffering by the time we disembarked and we felt just awful that we couldn't add to it in some small way.

Third, and most importantly, perhaps it would be best for all involved - you, us, the deaf children, the miners, Amtrak, the criminal justice system - if you gave up traveling altogether. Clearly, there are far too many people hanging on your every word for you to be so callous as to leave their sides. Stay with them, darling. They obviously love and miss you terribly. You can use the money you save to purchase some age(not to mention decade)-appropriate clothing and hair color that doesn't come from a box on a drugstore shelf.

With Love and Concern,
The passengers of Amtrak 167, 9:05 (ha!) from Penn Station