RELAXING IN PUBLIC CAN SOMETIMES bring unexpected consequences.
Seated in the Walnut Creek BART station in the spring of 1980, I was reading my well-thumbed copy of 1984. So engrossed was I in Orwell’s pessimistic prose that I didn’t hear the man approach.
“You’re only reading this NOW!?” he demanded in an outraged bellow.
His intensity belied his nonchalant appearance: mid-30s, cleanshaven, plaid shirt, blue jeans, loafers. Although he seemed a normal human (for some values of the words “normal” and “human”), it also seemed best not to provoke him.
“No,” I replied with calm sincerity. “I’ve read it a couple of times.”
His blue eyes speared mine with an emphatic glare.
“Good!” he declared, and stalked off toward the escalator.
I guess it pays to be polite.