Riding into work this morning on the subway, a tall blonde got on board.
The car was full so she grabbed a strap and hung on for the ride into the city.
I suspected this was her preferred mode anyway even if the car had been empty.
She was dressed in torn, filthy beige overalls. Her parka had layers of grime on it. Her backpack was vintage muck.
Construction tools spilled out of every pocket. Spiral bound notebooks, too. A pencil.
She was one crazy contrast.
I was intrigued.
I got off at my stop and noticed she did, too. We got in line for the escalator. She was in front of me.
I couldn’t resist.
“What kind of work do you do?” I asked from behind.
She looked down, removed her earbuds. “Are you asking me?”
“Yes, I’m curious.”
“I’m an electrician,” she said.
“Oh,” I said.
She smiled. “I know,” she said looking at her clothes.
“Do you like it?”
“I love it!” she said with gusto. “I can get dirty everyday while working on fancy new buildings.”
“How do the others treat you, being you’re in a man’s world?” I asked.
“Fine. Most of them are wimps. They’re all babies, you know.”
We reached the top and said good-bye to each other. She smiled.
Babies. I think she gave herself away.