Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world.

Special Treat – Ricky Fico

January 28, 2007

I am happy to announce another new writer for Storytime Tapestry.  Ricky Fico becomes writer # 401. Please email him and welcome her to the fold

The Train Ride
By: Ricky J. Fico

I took the train yesterday into the suburbs and I don't know if things had drastically changed since the last time or I was just too high then on some foreign substance not to notice the crazy shenanigans of train travel. If I wouldn't have known better, I swear I got on the same station as Benny Hill. Or perhaps this particular train was actually destined for a cast calling of The All Night Freak Show- a new reality show I heard about but never had the temerity to fully investigate. I'll wait until it comes on the tube and competes with my other favorites, "Bringing Up a Bonded Duce" and "Ah See, I Was Born" Show- you know, the one about an aging rocker and his pet poodle.

            The man across from me, resembling a cross between a young Clark Gable and an old Henny Youngman looks around, then surreptitiously inserts a Chesterfield in the side of his mouth nearest the window. The conductor, who had recently been assigned a generous 20-20 by an impatient optometrist, bamboozles his way down the aisle and quickly espouses his authority.

            "Sir, no smoking on this train."

            The reflective grimace of the man attests not only his consternation but also the quick extinguishment of his craving. He spits the Chesterfield out of his mouth and with enough velocity to propel a warhead to Planet Doom the cigarette hits its target--an unintended target possibly but a target nonetheless. It's the big lady in the first row. She erupts out of her seat.

            "Now, what point was that?" she says, surveying the rest of us passengers, trying to discern the perpetrator. At this time, the conductor is shaking his head. 

            "By the way," he says, "was that one of those expensive Cuban Cigars?"

            With that soft question comes the hard evidence and the big lady adorned in a habit comes rushing down the aisle, pulling from her satchel a yardstick. Oh no, I think. I know what this means. My feeble memory had not forgotten the corporal punishment inflicted upon my skinny ass for coming late to the Catechism classes. No fault of my own, of course.

Nervously, the Gable guy tries to affect an apology but has a hard time annunciating his words. So instead, he looks up to the conductor and says, "Who is that woman?" The conductor, with no time for small talk, spits out a wad of gum, Wrigley's Spearmint I think, and sternly looks the Gable guy in the eye and says,

"Nun of your business."

Having enough of this and not wanting to bear witness to the yardstick spanking-- for fear it might trigger off a few suppressed emotions-- and I certainly don't want to be accused of faking an orgasm on a train, I decided it best if I move to another car. 

            I get up; the conductor looks at me like I'm a traitor and begrudgingly tries to block my passage. "Excuse me, sir." He won't move. "Please, can I get by?"

"Hey listen, if I can get by on this measly conductor pay then I am sure you can get by with whatever you do. What do you do?"

"I'm a writer," I say, thinking he'd feel sorry for me. He steps aside.

"Hey, you got any gum?"

Ricky Fico

Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world.

Special Treat – Ricky Fico

January 28, 2007

I am happy to announce another new writer for Storytime Tapestry.  Ricky Fico becomes writer # 401. Please email him and welcome her to the fold

The Train Ride
By: Ricky J. Fico

I took the train yesterday into the suburbs and I don't know if things had drastically changed since the last time or I was just too high then on some foreign substance not to notice the crazy shenanigans of train travel. If I wouldn't have known better, I swear I got on the same station as Benny Hill. Or perhaps this particular train was actually destined for a cast calling of The All Night Freak Show- a new reality show I heard about but never had the temerity to fully investigate. I'll wait until it comes on the tube and competes with my other favorites, "Bringing Up a Bonded Duce" and "Ah See, I Was Born" Show- you know, the one about an aging rocker and his pet poodle.

            The man across from me, resembling a cross between a young Clark Gable and an old Henny Youngman looks around, then surreptitiously inserts a Chesterfield in the side of his mouth nearest the window. The conductor, who had recently been assigned a generous 20-20 by an impatient optometrist, bamboozles his way down the aisle and quickly espouses his authority.

            "Sir, no smoking on this train."

            The reflective grimace of the man attests not only his consternation but also the quick extinguishment of his craving. He spits the Chesterfield out of his mouth and with enough velocity to propel a warhead to Planet Doom the cigarette hits its target--an unintended target possibly but a target nonetheless. It's the big lady in the first row. She erupts out of her seat.

            "Now, what point was that?" she says, surveying the rest of us passengers, trying to discern the perpetrator. At this time, the conductor is shaking his head. 

            "By the way," he says, "was that one of those expensive Cuban Cigars?"

            With that soft question comes the hard evidence and the big lady adorned in a habit comes rushing down the aisle, pulling from her satchel a yardstick. Oh no, I think. I know what this means. My feeble memory had not forgotten the corporal punishment inflicted upon my skinny ass for coming late to the Catechism classes. No fault of my own, of course.

Nervously, the Gable guy tries to affect an apology but has a hard time annunciating his words. So instead, he looks up to the conductor and says, "Who is that woman?" The conductor, with no time for small talk, spits out a wad of gum, Wrigley's Spearmint I think, and sternly looks the Gable guy in the eye and says,

"Nun of your business."

Having enough of this and not wanting to bear witness to the yardstick spanking-- for fear it might trigger off a few suppressed emotions-- and I certainly don't want to be accused of faking an orgasm on a train, I decided it best if I move to another car. 

            I get up; the conductor looks at me like I'm a traitor and begrudgingly tries to block my passage. "Excuse me, sir." He won't move. "Please, can I get by?"

"Hey listen, if I can get by on this measly conductor pay then I am sure you can get by with whatever you do. What do you do?"

"I'm a writer," I say, thinking he'd feel sorry for me. He steps aside.

"Hey, you got any gum?"

Ricky Fico

RICKYJFICO@comcast.net

www.tri-umphs.com

www.tri-umphs.com