Porta Potty

This afternoon on the 6 the entire car smells TERRIBLE. As in cross
between porta potty and something-just-died terrible. There is a
homeless man sprawled out, relaxing across the seats. He can do this
because nobody, I mean nobody wants to be near him. In fact, given
this rush hour crowd he provokes an unusual phenomenon. Every single
person is squished into either the front or the back of the car,
clustered away from him. This leaves a big, gaping space surrounding
this guy in the middle of the car. Yes, everyone always tries to keep
away from the smelly person in a subway car but this is the most
extreme I have ever seen it. The guy is lounging, aware of the space
he has created and is clearly enjoying it.

The stench is so overpowering that at the very next stop I hop out,
brave the crush of people on the platform and switch cars. It is not
until I am seated that I notice this new car smells exactly the same!
Group think blamed the homeless man but clearly it was instead
something brought on by the MTA themselves!

I should have known, I think I have mentioned this porta potty smell
before. It must be the chemical the MTA uses to clean with. It is not
just me that is clearly fazed by it. Even in this new car people are
reacting, as nearly everyone has their hand or scarf in front of their
face to prevent them from inhaling these brain-rotting fumes.

The Slow Descent into Insanity

I can sense the bus driver of the x90 slowly starting to crack. This is the same driver that I have discussed in a previous post several weeks ago who accidentally went the wrong direction and nearly flipped over the whole bus.

Ever since that day he has not been the same. He is now sullen and bleary-eyed nearly every afternoon. He is also silent, whereas he used to engage in robust conversations with whoever was lucky (or unlucky enough) to occupy the front two seats. More alarmingly, he has grown increasingly erratic. The x90 now blows through the tail end of yellow lights, brakes jerkily on the FDR, and sometimes completely misses stops.

I am sure he has a family. Tucked away in some one-bedroom apartment in a remote neighborhood in Queens. He hates what he is doing but has to get by in this city. His job is slowly dragging him down into a bottomless pit, but at least he has a job. Just like the rest of us.

My commute lately has been a pretty even mix of the x90 bus or the 6 train, whichever suits me that day. Maybe I’ll just stick to the 6 now. However, I read in the Daily News the other day that the subway is now at a more heightened terrorist threat for the holidays. Which is a greater risk of causing my demise? Having the x90 driver veer off the FDR into the swollen East River or getting blown up in the subway? Oh the decisions we make.

There is rumor of a possible transit strike in mid-January so maybe I will have neither option…

Beast of a Woman

This afternoon the 5 train is miserably packed like a cattle car. Not that this is out of the norm, however a horrid woman is insisting she get on even though there is obviously not a space for her. She is semi-middle aged, has caramel-colored skin and a graying funky afro. Tall and broad, she has the authoritative presence of a cover model of a 1980s feminist magazine. She decides to body slam her way in, leaving not even a millimeter of space now for anyone to breath.

To make matters worse, as we start to move Power Afro insists there is some space in the middle of the car and tries to tell everyone to move in so she won’t be squished against the door. No one even looks at her because there is clearly no place to move to. She announces she is taking matters into her own hands and tries to plow her way to where there is supposedly more room. Of course she doesn’t get more than a body or two deep. Power Afro ends up jammed next to me, squishing my rib cage until I can barely breath. I push against her because well I am not pushing against the person on the other side of me when this whole mess her fault. Power Afro tightens her body and pushes back at me. We stand against each other ass cheek to ass cheek. Thank god it is not summer as we are semi-protected by our winter coats. We are now digging up against each other in a silent power struggle. Who does she think she is? If I ever had a homicidal tendency it would be now. I really did want to rip this woman up.

She wins however as I abandon ship and squeeze off at Union Square, a stop before I really have to change over to the 6. Another day of defeat.

A Different Commute

Today instead of either taking the x90 bus or the 6 train home I have to go to suburban New Jeresy for mundane reasons not worth going into. This means that I have to take the E train to the Port Authority to catch a NJ Transit bus. To get to the E train from the World Financial center I have to go down Vesey street which is a flat, straight and only for pedestrians. The majority of the rush hour crowd is walking against me, trying to reach the PATH train that runs underneath the building. From my viewpoint I could see the enormousness of hundreds and hundreds of fellow white collar workers as one. A sea of bodies all wearing black overcoats that match their black umbrellas, all with identical looks of determination only the true New York commuter can have.

During my ride on the E train, and in the bustling Port Authority I take note of the sheer volume of people. I do my same commute day in and day out without really thinking about how many hundreds of other different commutes there are into office buildings all across Manhattan. And each of those hundreds of different commutes- whether it be the Port Authority buses to the suburbs, the PATH train from Hoboken, the ferry from Staten Island, the Long Island Rail, etc- there are literally thousands of people doing each of these commutes. It is truly mind boggling.

As I sit in the darkened NJ transit bus I look around me and notice everyone sunken in their seat, exhausted. These are the people who have way worse commutes then mine. Every day in and day out they leave their house with backyard and their children at the depths of dawn, drive to the bus station, and wait for the bus. They get on their crowded buses, maybe have to stand for the hour plus it takes to Port Authority, get on a crappy subway line such as the E to finally take them to their careers. And yet they do it day in and day out. We all do. Every day.

What is it we are all working for? Damned if I have figured it out....

Statue of Liberty

This morning as the x90 bus passes by Battery Park I notice one of the Statue of Liberty impersonators already out and about at this early hour.

These performers congregate daily around where the ferry to the actual statue docks. They parade around in long gray costumes on very high crazy stilts and charge tourists to take their picture with them. I actually read a piece devoted to these very people in the Times once -they are usually Colombian immigrants and are apparently extremely competitive over their turf.

Anyways, this particular lady liberty only had his costume half on. Standing there in the morning sunshine he was peeing in some bushes in the middle of the park.

It is not every day you see the Statue of Liberty herself half-drunk and taking a piss.

A Ham and Salami on White Please

So it is an annoyance of mine when people eat on the subway. I believe I am so grossed out because eating is a messy and often smelly habit to begin with that is now multiplied when we are all packed in so closely. The egg salad sandwich of the person standing next to you now becomes your egg salad sandwich. Only you don’t get to eat any of it, nor would you want to. Also, with people from all ends of the spectrum ethnicity and hygiene wise you never really know what anyone is really shoving in their mouths. I am not alone on this- it is against the rules and you are supposed to get fined for eating on the train

The 6 is packed as usual in the evening rush hour but luckily I get a seat. As I squish myself between two people, the women who I had the luck of sitting next to pulls a Subway sandwich out of a paper bag. I am actually going to label said person as a he/she. Although I originally judge her as a women the more I study I realize he/she is clearly of an ambiguous kind. He/she is dressed in the most horribly gender neutral clothes possible with a classic she-man haircut (see early post.)

I try not to pay attention to the chewing and gobbling that is going on a few inches away from my face. Honey mustard is spewing out of the sandwich and dripping all down his/her hands and arms. Since there is no room to inch away I try to pretend I am in another place. This person then does something impossible to block out. Once finished, he/she stuffs all the Subway wrappings back into the bag and begins to start LICKING the mustard off herself. And not just a little cleaning of the fingertips like many people sometimes do in the privacy of their homes. I am talking tongue going everywhere, even licking all the way down his/her arm. Like a giraffe cleaning her young.

Really?

Orange and Crispy

This morning on the subway I see a mother and baby. I notice the mother right away- she would definitely fit the definition of a “MILF". Young (or at least “young-looking”), long blond hair, and dressed flawlessly- your typical new Manhattan mother. She even had the requisite 3.25 carat engagement ring glittering away on the hand holding her child to her chest.

The reason she stands out is because she has a slightly unusually shaped head and is extremely orange. The head shape is irrelevant in comparison to her alien tan. When I say orange I mean way to orange for New York. In December. Maybe in south Florida would her degree of faux bronze be acceptable. MAYBE. She is radiating, even worse than the typical Staten Island girl shade of tanning booth (no offense to my readers from this very fine borough!)

The issue that is really compelling though is her infant. It too is orange!!!! Just like mom. What- did she take the baby tanning too? Or maybe she passed down her day-glo hue via womb.

I know I have a subway starting problem, I know I do.

A Fork in the Road

Tonight on the x90 bus ride home I sit up in the very front seat by the driver because I have to get off at the first stop to run an errand. The afternoon bus driver is always a very chatty guy and although I am not really the type that randomly talks to everyone somehow we get into a discussion about the economy.

All of a sudden someone on the bus shouts “Where are you going!” There is a fork in the West Side Highway right after we leave the World Financial Center- one way goes down into the rest of financial district and one that leads into the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel. The driver who I guess had been distracted by our conversation was starting to go into the tunnel! He slams on his breaks.

OH SH*T! He squeals. The look on his face is pure panic. The bus is now completely stopped in middle of the road, cars whizzing all around us. I can tell the bus driver realizes he is completely screwed. This is a big deal. It is not like he could just keep going and then turn around somewhere. The tunnel will take you all the way under the river deep into the depths of Brooklyn. It would take forever to go all the way through, then try to get back into Manhattan. Plus the Financial Center is the very first pick-up, there are still all the people waiting at the rest of the financial district stops. The whole schedule of x90 buses now would be completely messed up.

The driver decides there is no way he can go into that tunnel. He suddenly takes a leap of faith and does something none of us expect. He starts to drive up onto the median to try to return back to the right side of the road. Only it is not just one of those sidewalk medians- it is like a really big cobblestone median with plants and such that is at least a foot off the ground.

Of course the bus does not clear this easily and it gets stuck. Everyone on the bus gasps as horrible noises ensue from underneath and the bus lists dangerously to the side. I throw myself flat on my seat thinking that the bus is going to flip over and we are going to be pancaked all over the West Side highway.

And then…..he makes it over. The bus finally clears the giant median and we are once again on steady asphalt and heading the right direction into the financial district. I am sure the bus is not okay but we are.

The driver is visibly shaken up.

I can’t believe I did that. I even took a two hour nap today. Man oh man.

He is muttering under his breath. I see the look of despair on his face and feel it in the pit of my stomach. I want to say to him “ It’s okay I mess up real bad in my job every day too.” But since I feel like the whole fiasco was partially my fault I keep my mouth shut and don’t say anything. There is nothing to say.

$$$$

Today on my way out of the office I take a shortcut through an unmarked alley in the financial district to get to the Wall Street stop. Out of the corner of my eye I spy something magnificent on the sidewalk- cash!! On the ground! And not just a single- it was a ten! Faster than you can blink I swoop down and snatch it up. Never mind the kinds of germs and nastiness of something picked up off the street in Manhattan. This is the recession baby!

The Mysterious Stain

This afternoon I face a dilemma on the subway. I have both my large purse and my laptop weighing down on my shoulders and notice one seat open on the 5 train. Just one. As I dash my way over something makes me stop short. Directly under the seat is an ambiguous large sticky spot/puddle. In order to squeeze my way onto the seat my feet would have to directly straddle the stain. Just how bad do I want to that seat? Pretty bad. However, I do know never to trust anything remotely stain-like in a subway car. I decide to take a risk and go for it. The woman standing across from me gives a skeptical “You are much braver than I“ look. I bury my face into my jacket just in case the stain had a smell. Now that would just make things much worse and probably would be a deciding factor against sitting down.

As with many things on the subway, I just would rather not know.

Ken

This afternoon I immediately notice a certain man on the six train. He is dressed for success in a crisp navy Hugo Boss suit with silver cuff links and a daringly bright pink tie. His hair is a wavy but short golden blond (very shiny) and his skin (also very shiny) is tanned like he just got back from Grand Bahama. I keep staring at him as I feel like I recognize him from somewhere. Is he somebody famous? A sitcom actor? Maybe a politician? I am notoriously bad at identifying celebrities on the street.

I think long and hard as the train barrels through the various stations on my way home. The man doesn’t notice me staring; all he is focusing on is not making eye contact with the two homeless guys belting out show tunes (quite well I might add) for handouts in the middle of the car.

I ponder him as I run my fingers over and over the “100% Cashmere” scarf I had just bought for $5.00 from a street vendor minutes before. I know I have seen this man before. It is not until he gets off at 59th street that I get it. KEN! As in Barbie and Ken! If the Ken doll was human he would look EXACTLY like this man. A precise personification. If I could revert magically back to my eight-year old self I'm sure I probably would’ve peed myself with excitement.

Now tomorrow I will just need to find his Barbie.

Emergency Brake

Today I am on the 6 train when someone pulls the emergency brake. Let me start off by saying I do not know how you actually even pull the emergency brake. It must be some lever or button I sure have never noticed before. According to some of my coworkers though who have been born and raised here, pulling the e-brake used to apparently a lot easier to do.

Anyways we are speeding along our merry way and suddenly the whole car shudders violently and lurches forward. The car only being moderately crowded, everyone goes flying forward. Bodies in wool business coats, briefcases, everything goes sprawling. There is a big unsettling thud on the tracks below us.

A muffled chorus rings out as everyone starts mumbling apologies to those around them for accidentally body slamming each other. Five minutes pass as people continue to brush themselves off and look about. Then the train starts again, without incident. I actually was very surprised how short we were stopped for. For all of the millions of times I have been delayed on the subway for seemingly no reason, something actually happens and finally things are handled efficiently.

Glam in Boots

This afternoon a very glittering Boy George-type young man is sitting across from me on the 6. I study him all the way from 14th street until 59th. He is wearing chunky very high suede boots with silky fur trim and a black and silver studded belt keeps his distressed dark denim skinny jeans from hanging of his bony backside. He has a spiky gelled hair that is just a little bit Mohawk and giant silver sparkly flower stud earrings. His loose fitting long sleeve black v-neck is very chic. He is one of those people you cannot tell how old they are. He could be 19, he could be 35. Who knows. As he gets off at his stop he sees me staring and winks.

Good bye my glamorous lady-boy.

Untitled

Today in the afternoon rush the crowd waiting for the subway at Wall Street is several people deep as the train is running slow. It is obvious as the train finally pulls into the station that not everyone can get on. As people jostle for position a women with a small child desperately tries to get in front of the pack. Her success is brief as once the doors open she still cannot manage to get into the car. She is fights with a business man’s giant gym bag, embroidered with the name of his investment bank. When she is defeated she yanks her kid back onto the platform and begins a tirade about how the world is unfair to blacks and Hispanics to all us unlucky enough not make it into the packed car.

And so it goes

Halloween

Though most of my blog entries are in the present day, I am going out on a limb and writing about Halloween which obviously was a few days ago. So rewind a little to 11pm Friday night. I am taking the 6 train downtown from 110th street in Spanish Harlem. This is my first Halloween living here in the city and I can not believe how completely wild things are. First of all the subway is completely packed. Like worse-than-rush-hour-body-to-body crammed. At 11 o’clock at night. Also, instead of the usually diverse commuter mix there is only one kind of person on this train- young, costumed and very drunk. All of us girls are wearing next to nothing, dressed as the sexed up versions of nurses, cops and cowgirls. It is truly a carnival car of porn.

The most incredible thing about it is since everyone is disguised as something else we are all now on a truly level playing field which is never the case here in Manhattan. This means everyone is fair game to interact with- something that is the complete opposite of the norm in the land of the subway. Everyone is singing, cheering for no reason, shouting out to each others costumes. It is really a circus. A guy in a giant blowup fat suit tries to get on at 51st street but the car is so jammed he just can’t fit. This doesn’t mean he doesn’t try. Everyone is laughing and then booing as the doors keep closing on his costume then opening back up again, stopping the train from getting going again. He finally deflates his costume and squeezes on.

Also there are a few exhausted-looking investment bankers in not-costume suits that are really just getting out of work at this hour. Sucks for them.

Upskirt

As I have mentioned before I have been taking the express bus now to work as a substitute to the subway some mornings a week. These buses are pretty high off the ground and when they stop to let you on the driver usually lowers the bus so you can climb up the stairs. “Kneeling Buses” is what they are called. I’ve noticed that this one bus driver on X90 conveniently does not do this whenever I am wearing a skirt. Because of this I have to hoist myself up on to the bus leaving a good view for all to see. I am 99% positive he does this on purpose.

Nice.

Rules of being a Pedestrian in NYC

After living and commuting here in New York for almost a year I have learned some rules of travel that I would like to pass on to whoever may decide to visit the Big Apple.

1. Never walk two across down any sort of narrow stairway. Ever.

2. Do not walk two across on constricted or very busy sidewalks. An example of “very busy” would be the Financial District during rush hour or Herald Square just about anytime a day. On a regular, moderately crowded sidewalk it is acceptable to walk two across but never ever three or more.

3. ALWAYS look where you are walking. If you do not you will walk into something, someone, be hit by a moving vehicle or possibly a piece of construction debris.

4. If you must stop to look at something, go over to the side of the sidewalk, street, subway station-wherever- just get out of the way. Examples of places not to stop to look at your map, check out the scene or talk to somebody include as follows:

The middle of a sidewalk
Any sort of intersection
The edge of curb when you have the walk signal
The stairs or entrance of the subway (!!!!)
In front of a subway turnstile

5. This last one is a more advanced skill that has taken me almost this whole year to cultivate. There is a certain level of aggressiveness that is expected and appropriate on the subway. However this is a fine line. If one is too passive, you yourself and also the people behind you will never get anywhere. At all. Everyone secretly or not-so-secretly will hate you. However if you are too pushy you will just be that self-absorbed asshole that everyone hates and wishes to be hit by the train. Or at least get caught and dragged (just a little!) in the closing doors.

Controlled Chaos- or Uncontrolled?

This afternoon there are delays everywhere on the subway. No particular disaster or anything, just one of those afternoons. When the train finally comes rolling into to the Wall Street platform the rush to squeeze on is more beastly than usual. Although I say it usually is a tough fit to get in the car (with elbows and minor grunting) USUALLY most people are pretty civilized. This is not the case today. People are freaking out in frustration while they force other commuters with their bodies.

Hey Man can you move in? C’mon just f*cking make room.

You just need to chill out- CHILL OUT we are ALL trying to get on.

Stop pushing me b*tch!!

It is even worse when I transfer over to the 6 at Grand Central. I actually see a woman physically shove another woman across the platform. I have never seen anything like it. Even more outstanding is she just keeps right on walking, doesn’t even turn around to see who her aggressor may be. Although the subway is always crowded during rush hour with cranky and tired people, the air today just has an aggressive edge to it that I have never quite seen come out before.

Beautiful Women and a Girl with a Staring Problem

This afternoon on the 5 train home I study an exceptionally stunning girl. Thin but not skinny, tan but not orange and waxy, symmetrical face, long long dark hair, big eyes and small turned up nose that all the celebrities go to their plastic surgeons to get. I find I stare constantly and probably a bit creepily at attractive women on the subway. Does this make me a little bit of a lesbian? Maybe... I just like to look at nice things, especially when surrounded by a lot of not-nice things, like a subway tunnel. I see a lot of models. Not like big-time Gisele Bundchens but plenty of runway models, and B-list print ones. I can always tell right away- always tall, always striking, always dressed in a way that quite hasn’t come into mainstream fashion yet, and usually with a bored, slightly coked-out expression.


I also see women that are definitely beautiful enough to be models yet are simply just too smart. Dressed up in perfectly tailored business suits they look like they have fun, sexy sounding jobs in public relations, media communications, or publishing. Jobs that either their good looks or their well-connected daddies got them but their intelligence allows them to be successful at. I guess I stare at them too.

Thursday is the Best Day

In the mornings now since it is fall again there are unfortunately school children on the subway. I do not believe the subway, actually most of Manhattan is a place for children. That’s just a personal opinion. Anyways, I was eavesdropping on a conversation that a group of young boys were having, chaperoned by one of their nannies.

Thursday is my favorite day.

No hey dawg, Wednesday is MY favorite day.

No WAY. Thursday is best because we have a long gym block.

Well Wednesday we have art AND social studies…

And so it went.

I long to be back in school when some days of the week were actually different than others. Now every day is exactly the same now in terms of bestness and worstness. I suppose Friday is better. But really it is only the end of Friday that makes any difference. No matter what city you live in I am sure you can empathize. Sigh.

VIP and VP(?)

Since I have been taking the bus sometimes in the morning I have been noticing a beautiful brick row house on Sutton Place and 57th street that we always pass. I’ve started to observe that every morning there is a man in suit standing outside the front door. He has a wire and earpiece- a secret service agent. He is always standing next to a black BMW with tinted windows with a government license plate. There is also another car, a giant scary-looking security SUV with a driver waiting inside. WHO is staying there? Who ARE you? Every morning I try to catch a glimpse of this uber special person but so far no luck. Mr. Super Important remains elusive. I must say I get much more excited about government figures and big business heads than I do about trashy celebrities any day.


Also this morning while on the bus I notice a new high-rise being built across the river in Brooklyn. A gigantic sign on the partially constructed building reads “SARAH PALIN LIVE HERE. SEE WALL STREET.” I am not sure what that even means or the significance of it. It is so big I can easily read it from my bus, speeding along the highway all the way across the East River.

Breathing in the Fresh Air of the West Side Highway Exhaust

This morning as I get off the subway and walk across Liberty Plaza I pause for a minute on the top of the stairs, in front of the Brooks Brothers store. The crisp October wind whips my hair all crazy as I look out over the scene from my elevated viewpoint. Since there is a gaping space where the world trade center once stood I can see fragmented pieces of the distant skies over the Hudson, tinged with pink and yellow. A new morning, a new Monday, a new week in New York. The steady pulse of jackhammers drilling away at Ground Zero scream in the foreground.

This isn’t so bad, I think to myself.