Above: iPhone 3G we conveniently borrowed from Purplelime’s photostream on Flickr.

So I’m sitting in L’Enfant Plaza Metro Station playing some random game on my iPhone while waiting for my train.  Not long after my game completely seizes my attention, some idiot-boy calls out from somewhere above, “Aye yo? Aye son? Aye dawg? Aye slim? Aye? Aye? Aye?”

At first, I wasn’t certain he was calling out to me.  Doubt quickly turns into me hoping, wishing he isn’t talking to me.  And then he calls out again, and I have no choice but to assume it’s me he wants.

Unfortunately for him, I do not respond to, “Aye yo?” or any of it’s counterparts so I filled my head with thoughts of him going and fucking off in some dark pit of the world where Pterodactyls still exist.

Finally, some lady taps me and says, “I think he is trying to attract your attention.”  I shoot her a look and force my head to glance up at him standing at the climax of some escalator.

I peer through my suspiciously black shades just long enough for him to blurt out, “Aye? You tryn’ sell dah?”  ”Dah” being my iPhone and “Dah?” being my response.

WTF is “Dah” and WTF is wrong with these people?  Have they no reflection in the mirror to see what they look like?  No ears to hear what they sound like?  Thank God Steve Jobs gave us “An deez too”.  ”An deez too” being iPhone headphones!

Above, Pharrell Williams of The Neptunes and N.E.R.D — a much more fabulous bag lady than the one mentioned below.

So the dance music is blasting so forcefully into my ears that I’m almost certain my $99 v-moda headphones are causing irreversible damage.   The beats continue yet they are still unable to assuage and mask the deranged conversation some lunatic-Slavic woman is seemingly having with herself.

She seems as though she is ready to topple over from the amount of bags she has with her.  She is a bag lady and her bags threaten to consumer her.

She is boisterous and frightening.   Her hair looks like someone decided it would be cute to microwave it on high and then let it simmer in the oven on Regulo 2.  She is frantically screaming at some unseen person who–from the looks and sounds of it–she believes has confused her itinerary.

She is carrying, hoisting, rolling many large bags that would surely scare even a customs officer at an Air Jamaica terminal.   She abandons the bags to quickly run over to a bus timetable to check times.   Appearing to be disappointed by the information she then flies out in front of a bus that had every intent to keep on going but was probably afraid of touching the garish and horribly dry Brillo Pad atop her head.

She steps up into the bus like a mad woman and has a short confab with the driver (probably about a Tickle Me Elmo doll and if trees really grow upside down on Mars).   Seconds later she steps off the bus and reunites with her army of bags (photo).   She crams each over, under her arms and her person and wheels the large one away while screaming back at that invisible person who, like everything else, is proceeding very quickly in her opposite direction.