Am I doomed to make the same mistakes over and over again, caught indefinitely in an unfunny version of Groundhogs Day? At this point, my heart is made entirely out of scar tissue.

The ride home:
An older man with a cane sits next to me at West Oakland station. “Now why would a girl like you look as upset as all that?”
“Men,” I say, as if that were even the tip of the iceberg.

>>The pilot replied: "Why not? WHY don't you like Jews?"
"The Jews sank the Titanic."
The pilot tried to correct him: "NO, NO !! The JEWS didn't sink the Titanic,
It was an ICEBERG !"
"Iceberg, Goldberg, Rosenberg .. no matter ... ALL THE SAME !!"<<

Later, I transfer to a Muni. A very tall, better than average looking fellow whose been staring at me follows me to an empty side of the train. I of course figure that he’s been staring at me because I’m not dressed appropriately or he’s crazy. But I don’t really care. I’m preoccupied with keeping my sunglasses on to cover swollen eyes and testing how long I can hold my breath without getting dizzy. After I sit, he sits right next to me and looks me in the eye. I start to get the idea that he doesn’t speak English. Russian? I try to appear that I’m really interested in the baby in the seat in front of me who is also staring at me, but she’s also singing and eating cookies. The fellow continues to stare at me, so I turn around and look him right in the eye, hoping to give him the opportunity to launch into whatever disturbing stranger-exchange he’s been working on in whatever language. But he doesn’t. He just stares. I do the only rational thing I know how to do…I start laughing. It works. He starts laughing too. But then he stops. And then I stop. I look out the window. He puts his hand on my leg. I can’t believe in this day and age that anyone would ever take such a chance at being slapped/arrested/kick-boxed/sued. While I run through my possibilities (get up and move, lecture him on appropriate behavior, scream rape, cry, deck him one, apologize, ask for his phone number, stab his hand with the pen in my pocket), I sit motionless, looking down at his hand. Castro Street station arrives, which gives me the courage to say, “Excuse you” and then I exit quickly.