I have never fully understood what the big fuss is over New Year’s, which is probably why on New Year’s Eve I found myself with absolutely no plans. It wasn’t until Preethi said it’d be a shame not to do something (since we got the next day off work) did I feel any motivation to do anything. We decided we’d either meet in the City for dinner and drinks at Beretta, where we would continue drinking until the new year came, or go to a nearby bar.

With this in mind, Alan and I waited at the Caltrain station for the 6:55 pm train to take us to our destination. At 6:50 pm, a woman’s monotonous voice came over the intercom to inform us that “due to a fatality on the tracks that occurred at 6:11 pm, all trains would be delayed for 60-90 minutes.” The fatality could have been due to any number of reasons, but standing on the platform that night, everyone seemed to be in agreement on the cause of death. While we were all waiting — bright-faced and cheery — to celebrate an upcoming year of renewal and second chances, someone else had been waiting for the train for a very different reason — to help him never celebrate anything ever again. I couldn’t help but wonder, What could have driven someone to end it this way, on this particular night that bears so much meaning to so many other people? What could have been so bad that made jumping in front of a train seem like the best solution?

By the time we got to the City (now 60-90 minutes delayed), dinner was out of the question, but we did manage to have a nice New Year’s at a small dancy bar and I forgot all about the reason for our tardiness.

After dancing and New Year’s hugs and kisses, we walked back to the station to make one of the last trains heading home for the night. Bundled up, seated and toasty warm from the evening’s libations, I fell asleep as soon as the train pulled away. It wasn’t until I was rudely awakened from a very loud, bothersome conversation that I remembered the person (I’m assuming it’s a guy) who had jumped in front of the train tonight (also, another assumption).

Every other word in the conversation was a curse word. A loud curse word. Directed at whomever happened to be in the speaker’s line of vision. The girl in the conversation spoke in a shrill voice, that increased in shrillness when she talked about how excited she was to go home and “eat some motherfucking chips and fucking salsa, motherfucker.” To which the boy in the conversation responded, “I just want me some Taco Bell.” And then he added, “Or some Doritos. I want a bag of Doritos and to fucking sleep.”

After their discussion of what fine dining awaited them at their respective homes, they then started harassing some poor man who asked to get by them for the bathroom. I will spare you the details of this delightful part of the conversation. Just know that at this point my ears were bleeding and I wondered if lightning might strike down upon me to put me out of my misery. It almost made me want to… to jump in front of a train. That was when I realized I might have reached the answer to the question I asked earlier in the night — what could be so bad as to drive someone to ending it all? I would bet money the jumper was caught on a train with these splendid, stimulating individuals when his ears started to bleed. That had to be it. There could be nothing worse than listening to these two.