I just made it onto the 7:57PM train out of Grand Central. This was an express train which means that it looks a lot like the picture here except that not a lot of folks wear hats like this anymore. If you look toward the back, however, you’ll see the vestibule area where latecomers like me are relegated to stand for the short forty-minute ride to the first stop in Southern Westchester.

I didn’t notice it at first, leaning against one of the glass walls that separate us from those who actually had seats. I was doing my normal thing now of flipping through my Blackberry catching up on e-mails. I just saw a young guy in khakis, a button-down long-sleeved white shirt with light blue checks and holding his greenish tweed jacket in between his knees as he read a copy of The Economist. I looked over and saw he was reading an article on corporate bankruptcy and he seemed deeply engaged in what he was reading.

Then it happened. He reached down, bent forward slightly and tugged at his crotch, adjusting what was obviously an anatomical protrusion that he was having difficulty dealing with. Now this gesture wasn’t subtle or coy or hidden. He was down there for a good five seconds which is an eternity. Think about it, one one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand, five one thousand. Now release your hand. As far as I’m concerned, after five seconds you either deserve an engagement ring or need to leave money on the end table.

I was stunned. I looked around and was more surprised that with all of these people standing around us, I seemed to be the only one who noticed. He read on.

Finishing that article, he shifted both the page and his body position. “Give me your Scientists”, reach down, tug and adjust. “Physiognomy and Money Lending” tug and adjust, “Resisting the Immigration of Highly Skilled Workers” Tug and Adjust.

The more he read, the more excited he seemed to become and the more he felt the need to reach down and fix his situation.  I looked around to see if there were any unbelievable attractive women behind me, nope, just a guy wearing a leather jacket and a Ducati backpack, another woman wearing Puma shoes, a skirt over her blue jeans and a black jacket, and yet another guy about six foot eight with a Mr. Robinson sweater and a black down coat. Let’s face it, New York commuters are not exactly the best looking folks around. Hey, I’m one of them so I should know. It didn’t matter anyway, because he never looked up, never, not once.

I looked over the magazine again, to see if he had somehow hidden some porn magazine inside to be discreet. Nope. He kept reading. “The Bees are back In Town”, Tug. Adjust. “Bearing it All, The Fall of Bear Stearns.” Tug. Adjust.

OK, maybe these provocative titles were somehow stimulating to him, after all, they did include phrases about bearing it all and bees, although I read the Economist and I can tell you that it doesn’t have quite the same effect on me. “Just Click to Park”. Tug. Adjust.

Even his constant gum chewing made his actions seem that much more casual and almost normal. Tug. Adjust. Switch his magazine from his right hand to his left. Tug. Adjust. I looked around again and still nobody seemed to notice, not one person. I felt like I’d entered the Twilight Zone, except that instead of a man on the wing of the plane, I was across from an intellectually curious pervert that was only visible to me. “Hillary Clinton In The Middle East: All Charm and Smiles.” Tug. Adjust.

OK, maybe that one I get.