Get Your Sullied Flossing Apparatus Away From Me, Hipster Scallywag!

Yesterday evening, as I was racing from Job 1 to Job 2 in a torrential downpour (and no umbrella, love these surprise summer thunderstorms!), I made my way to the Metro and ran like a jackass to catch the last car as the doors closed. Soaked through, I managed to finagle a seat and somewhat hide my thoroughly drenched crotch from the masses. Wiping the torrents of rain still leaking from my freshly ‘showered’ hair off my face, I was definitely a hott (not) mess as I sat there, trying not to think about how gross my thin grey pants felt plastered to my thighs.

Feeling self-conscious about the mascara running down my face and the inevitable 70’s picked-out fro my hair was rapidly morphing into, I did what any normal (not) person would do. I judged the people around me in a shallow attempt to make myself feel better. And DC’s world of public transportation did not disappoint…

Standing by the door was a classic case of manpris. I counted six pairs of Crocs (I’m currently trying to pass legislation that anyone over the age of 12 caught wearing these in public can be shot on sight), a middle-aged touristy couple rocking huarache sandals with mid-calf white socks, and a 350 pound woman baking bread in her shoes (dear god, what would we do without Urban Dictionary?). Then, of course, there were the everyday (yet always disappointing) Dockers/boat shoes/polo combos, successfully making conceivably attractive young men look profoundly douchey, and if-only-I-could-give-her-a-makeover-Clueless-style! young women appear as prematurely aged frumpsters.

All of this I am used to, although it did make me feel a little better. What happened next, however, caught even me by surprise. At Metro Center, two exceptionally tall and lanky hipster guys got on; their toenails were painted (matching) bright blue, many leather bracelets were involved, and they were dressed as though they’d love to tell you how they discovered Marvin at U and 14^th “before the masses came in and took over.” (I’m not saying it’s not true, just that they would love to tell you about it.)

I didn’t notice at first, but apparently the Hipsters had just come from linner, because Hipster 1 was fiddling in his mouth with what I thought was a toothpick. That is, I thought it was a toothpick until he threw it on the ground at my feet, and I realized it was not a toothpick at all, but a PLACKER. A PLACKER, PEOPLE. A Micro Mint one, to be exact.

If you do not know what this is, it’s a sort of one-sie dental flosser that, presumably, one might keep a stash of at work for post-lunch teeth cleanings. In the bathroom. Away from polite society. It is most definitely NOT an appropriate accessory, hipster devil-may-care persona or no, for riding the Red Line elbow-to-elbow during rush hour on a Thursday.

After I threw up a little in my mouth, I took solace in the fact that he and his hipster bromance counterpart would probably continue to live their lives in the oppressive shadow of unrequited love, never admitting their true heart-of-hearts’ desire to be together.

But for serious… EWW-Y, no?? Social grace at its finest.

I just thank the lord his sullied flossing apparatus did not actually touch my adorably pedicured toes. (Because I would have had to cut him, you see, and then I would have been late for work and all. Although at least maybe I would have a new scar to tell stories about…)