“Come on down! You’re the next contestant on the Price is Right!” –announcer to contestant, from my all-time favorite TV game show, The Price is Right

I don’t wanna play today. I just wanna go home, man. 5:30 pm and the big board shows a bevy of departures over the next 30 minutes or so. One for Rye, another for Mt. Vernon. One is conspicuously blank, of course: mine. The departure is scheduled for 5:41 pm, and this ever-increasing throng and I are now standing here like cattle anticipating the track number, watching the big board with increasing fervor. I’ve played this game before, unfortunately, and it ain’t fun. As soon as the slot lights up with the track number the great rush will be on. The prize? A preferred seat on the train and, if positioned right, avoidance of the ensuing traffic jam through the bottlenecked gate. Games are supposed to be fun, this one’s just dumb. Here’s how I’m gonna play:

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“You don’t say ‘ham’, say ‘Spam'” –stupid Spam commercial from way-back-when

No, I’m not talking about your grocery-variety Spam, but rather the yucky kind that pollutes email inboxes all over cyberspace. Everyone’s been accosted by it. It’s not surprising it exists considering regular mail is (increasingly) full of it (junk mail, anyone?).

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