The Yawn Master strikes again...

On the train

When I go to Chicago I always take the train from O’Hare International into town. It’s part of what living in the city enables you to do. You can get around without owning a car. I’ve never been a ‘city dweller’ really. So the things I notice are probably old hat to many of the seasoned urbanites.

Chicago has some old commuter cars in the “L” fleet. Somewhat like the older cars on the Paris Metro there are sections of seating that allow one to choose (if not crowded) which direction they may sit while hurtling through the blurred urban flotsam. I don’t especially like going backwards so always choose to see where a future instant death may await.

As you get closer to town the train cars become more populated. This was the case today. I was at the very front of the ‘looking towards instant death” section. Several folks, stop by stop, toddled into the “hurtling backwards” section and thus we all faced each other, all players in the boring experience of strangers riding together.

So this one guy yawns. A wide, gaping yawn, telling of his day and lack of sleep prior. Well, sonofabitch, there I went, yawning in response. And I thought, what the hell makes us do this? Someone yawns and it’s like some sort of suggestive tuberculosis spread rapidly throughout the area of influence.

Then I had an idea. Here I am, facing a small group of the most bored expressionless people one could hope to meet, almost like a choirmaster sitting at the head of the class. I will have an experiment. I mustered a really expressive, fly-in-the-mouth yawn.

It was magic. In turn, about half of the folks facing me yawned. So after another stop I bellowed out another world-class yawn. My choir responded and nobody had a clue they were now being manipulated by a harsh yawn-master who controlled all. A couple more times just to amuse. What fun. What sick fun. And now you know the confessions of a yawn-master.