the finer dandy

I think I have this irrational phobia of eating my own food in public. And when I say my “own food” I mean food that I bring from my pantry at home and stuff in my bag to eat in public - like on BART or in Union Square or walking through Hayes Valley or at Barnes & Noble while I am acting like I am reading a book but in actuality I am people watching and silently judging everyone around me - or just checking out someone that can potentially be my life partner.

I hate that term - “life partner.” It seems so new age. I might as well just collect a bunch of gems and stones and rely on the sun, moon and stars instead of a calendar to track time.

Anyway, back to my food-in-public phobia. It makes no sense. I mean, for me to actual think people are staring at me because I am stuffing trail mix into my mouth while sitting in a stank-ass BART car is ludicrous.

But to me, I feel like people would think, “Awww…look at that poor Filipino boy. He’s so cute eating his little snack.” I might as well have a juice box or a soda wrapped in aluminum foil.

The other day I was on my way to SF and I was REALLY hungry. I knew I had a bag of almonds and pretzel sticks in my bag. I like to refer to this healthy mix as my mid-morning snack. Yes, it is kind of lame, but usually I have a piece of fruit to go along with it like a crisp pear or a nice yellow banana.

Yeah…it’s still boring.

Anyways, I was really hungry and was worried that the crinkling of my ziploc bag of snacks would cause a commotion, making everyone stare at me and point and laugh, “Look at that boy eating almonds! What a weirdo!”

I threw caution to the wind and dug into my almonds and sticks. It gave me the much needed nutrients for the 45 minute BART ride. Plus, it’s technically against the rules to have food and beverages on the train. So I was also scared that someone would turn me in for eating my snack, throwing me off the train and making me fend for myself in West Oakland.

But none of that happened. I just enjoyed my snack, slowly breaking down the barriers of my irrational phobia. It was like a breath of fresh air. I felt like I accomplished something. Something major. Like solving half of the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle. Or paying more than the minimum on my monthly credit card bill. It’s all about baby steps.

So as I sat there enjoying my breakthrough, we stopped at the Fruitvale station and a young gentleman sat behind me. When the train began to move I heard an incessant smacking. It was very incessant. It was like listening to greased up thighs rub together. Just by listening to his smacking, I pictured the grotesque mastication of whatever food he was gnawing on in his 19-year-old facial orifice. It was like he was an animal in the wild devouring his latest prey of antelope.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

As he continued to soften his food, a scent arose from his general area. A mix of onion, mustard and some sort of mysterious lowbrow culinary delight started infesting the car. It was really strong. Really strong.

That, combined with his mush mouth in motion caused me to almost dry heave. I was praying that he would get off at the next stop. I prayed and prayed and prayed and prayed and prayed….and then he off boarded.

As I finally sighed to rid myself of any remnants of dry vomit in my mouth, a girl sat in the seat that was inhabited by the loud masticator. She let out a silent “ugh” and then got up to change seats. Apparently, his scent embedded itself into the stained upholstery of the BART seat.

I hope she didn’t think that stink was coming from me. Oh God. She probably did. I am never eating in public. Never.