The Ecotopian at the train ticket window simply wouldn’t tolerate being spoken to in my usual way—he asked me what I thought he was, a ticket-dispensing machine? In fact, he won’t give you the ticket unless you deal with him as a real person, and he insists on dealing with you—asking questions, making remarks to which he expects a sincere reaction, and shouting if he doesn’t get it. But most of such sound and fury seems to signify nothing. There may be dangerous lunatics among the harmless ones, but I haven’t seen any yet. Just hope I can preserve my own sanity.
