On train to Walnut Creek after the BART delay, I took a seat one row in front of two affected looking teen boys with smart phones and tight jeans. As we approached Lafayette, the following was overhead:
1: Dude, what do you think about Megan?
2: I don't know man, she's not my type. She just makes out with any random guy, man.
[pause]
2: [as he stands to leave] I just wish I could find a bitch I can date.
I felt the urge to turn around and say, "Excuse me?" Or: "What the fuck are you thinking?" Or: "You live in Lafayette and are either about to get picked up by a parent or drive yourselves home to a household with a median income in the neighborhood of $125,000, and this combined with the misogyny you let fly over the lack of a high school hook-up indicates that you are blind to the sheltered life of privilege you lead, and this infuriates me." As it turned out, I failed (failed!) to act on my impulse, but turned to look at the woman sitting next to me. We were on the same page. Teenagers.
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