Seats Taken

There’s nothing more jarring than getting on a subway car that has only one rider. I’m not talking about subway cars with a very smelly person or with a lack of air conditioning, There is a massive reason only one person is on that car.

I’m talking about a perfectly acceptable car at regular daylight hours containing only one person. It’s like entering the residence of a complete stranger. There’s the instant stare of disbelief from the other rider as if “how dare you choose this car.” And it’s even more disconcerning if it comes from the complete other side of the car. It’s like laser beams down the aisle.

The only obvious response is a look back that says “I didn’t choose the car. It chose me.” Only then there’s a pang of embarrassment after realizing you are now conducting an argument in your head with a complete stranger.

A completely empty car is way easier to handle. Brand new space. All open seats. The privacy. Initially, it can seem daunting but once you settled in on those hard plastic seats, any which you would like, you realize that you should relish it because it will probably only last a stop or two. Then, some indecent human being will have the audacity to trespass onto your car and your only recourse will be to shoot them a look that says “how dare you?” as you commence a new argument in your head.

Usually, hopefully, this only lasts til the next stop when someone else gets in. It’s amazing how a packed subway car feels more comfortable than one with only one other solitary rider. New York makes personal space issues so complicated!

Check Mate!

I like to take note of what other people are reading. Usually it gives some sort of clue as to what’s popular. Like I’ve been seeing a lot of “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.” But sometimes it just fascinates me. Like the guy on the L train reading “Practical Chess Exercises.”

Of course the first thing that popped into my head was weight lifting with two rooks or maybe two pawns with more reps. Or maybe an aerobics class incorporating the king and queen pieces and the timer. It could just be a set of arm isolation exercises that consist of forward/backward movements when you move your knight to D5 or as you knock down your king for “checkmate.”

It was probably a book on much more intelligent, brain exercises than that but that made me wonder what “impractical chess exercises” would be. Would playing checkers be impractical? Surely a game of checkers would have some benefit. The board is very similar and the pieces more difficult to pick up. And any piece can become king; it’s very democratic.

Playing a chess game on the subway would definitely be an impractical exercise. Your king would be in jeopardy all the time. All those jolts and turns. Plus you’d most likely have to get on at the first stop and ride it to the last to finish your game.

By the time I finished contemplating all that, I had missed my stop. Impractical Subway Exercise I guess…

I Love Love

I watched love blossom on a train once.

A young woman was playing Solitaire on her phone when a young man sitting beside her took out his headphones and to ask her a question about getting free apps.

What a line. Sly dog.

What followed was a vivid conversation with hand gestures and smiles, small laughs and nods of agreement. I couldn’t hear much because they weren’t that close and the noise of the train coupled with the obvious subway musician deafened me to most of it. But I did catch the first lull.

“No!” I cried in my head. I was cheering him on with my mind. It was my own private romantic comedy now. They looked like they should already be a couple, like they belonged together. He couldn’t give up that easy!

Luckily, he was a persistent one.

“How far are you going?”

“14^th”

“Me too!”

Good show! My heart even fluttered a little.

A few questions about what she’s doing in NY and her responses. Then, another lull. But 14^th is so close! Don’t give up! Wait – Yes! Another question!

Wait…is he reaching for the headphones?? Don’t put them in!

Oh thank God, around your neck. Yes.

She’s smiling! Yes!

14^th Street! Still smiling! They exit together.

Oh this is good. It looks like he’s made some clever remark about the platform. She laughs.

Ah love.

I imagine their lives to be filled with fancy dinners, Broadway shows, movie nights at home.

God, I hope he doesn’t turn out to be a psycho.

Baby Got Back

I saw this woman on the subway the other day with a baby strapped to her back. Now I don't have kids and don't really consider myself the motherly type which is why I wonder if I would forget that I had a baby there and think it was a regular backpack.

Like, here I go, running to catch a subway, I just slip on and oops! Backpack stuck in the car doors. Is my backpack crying? That's weird...

Or: Man, I'm so tired. I'm just going to sit down with my backpack on and lean all the way back...

The front pack isn't much better, though I guess it'd be easier to remember it was a child and not just a pack because you'd be staring into their face a lot. Plus, I usually fall forward so that's no good. And what about quick turns near wall corners? That's a good bang on the head.

I guess it is quite the convenient way to carry your child though. I was always told that a backpack was the best way to proportion out the weight of whatever you were carrying. And whenever I see people carrying strollers up and down subways steps, I feel for them. I’m always scared to ask them if they need help because I’m always falling myself, without carrying another human being. It could be bad news. Is that protected under the Good Samaritan law?

Anyway, the backpack is probably better than the side carry I do with my nephew and niece. No wonder my back is a little wonky.

It's probably best that nieces and nephews are as far as I go where children are involved. I think I'd either be too lax or too paranoid a parent - I doubt I'd be one of those nice, calm in between ones. And I definitely would never wear them like a backpack. I mean, if they’re there, where would I put my AMNY?

Ah, Rats

As I stood staring at the opposite platform I saw a quick flash of black scamper behind a pillar. Before I explain what happened next, let me just say that certain things that would otherwise seem odd become commonplace after riding the subway as much as I do. Tourists, train delays, rats.

Ah rats.

Obviously, my first reaction was that it was a massive rat. Luckily, on the other platform. I thought of warning the opposite riders but there wasn’t anyone around it. I figured it would either quickly scatter away or find the nearby dumpster, bothering no one. I was just thankful it was on the other platform.

So as I watched where I saw the massive rat, a man emerged from the other side of the pillar. How did he not see it? Oh God! It must be following him! Well now I have to say something.

As I’m about to scream out my greatest “There’s a rat behind you!” I realize he is pulling something. He is pulling something massive and black. He’s pulling the rat on a leash! Who do I alert? See something, say something right?? That is so weird! That is so -

Wait. He’s pulling his luggage.

The black mass that I originally believed to be a living breathing rodent is nothing more than a rolling carrying case for clothing and other like items. Imagine my relief at not having screamed out anything. And my disappointment at not having seen a man who had a rat as a pet. This is the kind of thinking that riding the subway has reduced me to.

Isolated T-Storms

Summers in New York have a heat and humidity that are pretty close to unbearable. And it just quadruples in the subway. Which is why I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw a woman in the subway wearing a stone washed jean jacket, track pants, and rain boots all topped with a hat. Aside from the fact that I wanted to tell her the 80’s called and wanted their outfit back, I couldn’t fathom how she could be comfortable in that get up. I was sweaty just looking at her and I was in a skirt and t-shirt.

Sure there were isolated T-storms; you could argue the necessity for the boots. However, I think in situations such as this, you must weigh the pros and cons.

Pro: My feet will be dry.

Con: I will die of heat exhaustion and my obituary will consist of the naming of an MTA line and a description of my terrible outfit.

Come to think of it, her feet were probably soaked anyway…with sweat! Gross.

There are some sturdy flip-flops that handle the rain. Or even mini rain booties. I’ve seen them. They exist. And they are the perfect alternative. While we’re at it, let’s loose the jacket too.

Look, I understand that New York allows for fashion explorations. But if anyone tries to convince me that this getup proves fashionable, I will terminate our friendship…on Facebook…

In hindsight, I wish I would’ve snapped a picture as an immortal keepsake but perhaps it’s better I didn’t for all of our sakes. If you’re out there rain boot jean jacketed girl, think twice next time. Please?

Late Night

A portly fellow who was obviously on some sort of recreational substance was sitting opposite M and me on a late night train. Usually, I’m quick to ignore and hope for the best but this gentleman was wearing a lei as a crown crown, pink Crocs and checking himself out in a mini Clinique mirror; all in addition to talking to himself, of course.

The other “normal” people on the train were laughing and even I stifled a chuckle. But I became really impressed by the shock on this man’s face when he almost missed his stop. That late at night, with that much substance? And still that aware? Well, that slightly aware? Good show, my man.

Of course this whole spectacle ended with some relatable comments amongst us “normal” folks. But seated next to me was a woman who didn’t quite understand this concept. As we all gave each other a community nod and laugh, she was making assertations about other people on the train.

“That guy’s from New York because he got off the train at his stop but this guy wasn’t cause he almost missed it.”

I’m sorry. Did you just compare Mr. Cokehead to Mild Mannered Commuter? Truth is, they were probably both from New York but that was beside the point! Didn’t she see they were obviously on two different reality planes? Well, of course I had to at least attempt to lead her back to the real core of the situation.

“Well he’s definitely not from anywhere around here.” (Meaning, outer space, maybe?)

“No,” she said. “He looked Hawaiian.”

And that, my friends, was the end of that.