For those readers who’ve been following my Metro travels, you know I coin a new term for each odd Metro-goer that I run across. But there are some that simply defy description. I will call those randomius strangeus. They are the strange and random people that suddenly pop in your life, do something EXTREMELY STRANGE and then pop out.

This happened to me the other day. I was sitting, of course, on the Orange/Blue Line towards New Carollton/Largo. In front of me, right smack dab in the center of the pole area (where there are no seats) stood a portly older man. If I had to pick an animal to describe him, it would be a mother hen.

His brood? A humongous pile of bags. At least 20 plastic bags, along with a couple pieces of luggage and a few paper bags thrown in for good measure. Now, I know you are imagining a sea of white fluttery plastic bags. But no. It was a harmonic ocean of multicolored and diverse plastic. Brands: you name it, Safeway, Giant, blank, ornate designs, no designs, lots of holes…

Now, this portly man — the randomius strangeus man — was mothering his huge pile of bags. One would fall over, and he would swoop in and turn it back up only to have another bag fall somewhere else, spilling its contents. This postively Sisyiphean task of keeping his brood of bags contained was so fascinating I couldn’t tear my eyes away — nor could other passengers.

Now, another interesting thing were the contents of his brood of bags. They ranged from the mundane (food) to the odd (straight-out trash). It was such a random hodgepodge of pure and utter — for lack of a better word — crap, that one immediately wondered why he was bothering to carry so much with him. Of course, the next thought is whether he was homeless, but judging by his demeanor, attire, and apparent use of luggage, he was a tourist. The clincher was the humongous and very heavy professional camera he had around his neck, which did not make attending to his children very easy as it would swing around and generally get in the way.

Every once in a while, he would check the Metro map anxiously, gauging time and distances until his next apparent stop. As we neared the busy Metro Center stop, his glancing and fiddling took frantic proportions, as he tried to prepare for the messy disembark. After watching him go through the motions of trying to grasp as many bags as he could (while, of course, spilling other bags) he turned to the nearest few people (who were, of course, watching fascinated) and asked for help.

When the train stopped at Metro Center, a corps of Metro riders quickly formed around the man, grabbed a bunch of bags apiece, and helped ferry him off. Then they quickly ducked back in, giving each other amused looks.

On the remainder of the trip, I couldn’t help but sit back and think at the strangeness of the situation. I wonder how the man is doing these days, and if he still has his brood of bags with him, fluttering along.