Drama on the evening commute

My family should be feeling warm fuzzies. It was my eagerness to get home that made me do it . . .

Every night I ride what has to be one of the most crowded trains in the whole transit system. Tonight, the train pulled into the station and the doors opened to reveal about 6 inches of extra space inside. I stepped forward with the waiting crowd, saw the 6 inches, and paused. For a split second I weighed the alternatives: press my way onto the train, or get home 5 or 10 minutes later. At the last moment I made a break for it and jumped on--a half-second too late. The sliding doors closed, trapping me neatly between them, half of me inside the train and half of me outside. Somebody gasped.

I wiggled. Nothing happened. Time stood still for a moment as I pictured myself traveling through train tunnels at high speed in this position, half of me inside the train and half of me flapping along outside. Nope, I thought, can't do that. I braced my back against one door and pushed against the other door, hard. The doors slid open. I squeezed my way onto the train and got a scolding from the automated voice. Please stand clear of the doors. Thank you.

I glanced up and met the gaze of some guy at the far end of the train car. I wondered if he thought I was brave, or stupid, or both.

I confess, I was chuckling to myself half the way home.