People Who Go Between Cars

I have decided that only sketchy sketchy weirdoes go from car to car while the train is still moving. For those who are not familiar with the subway, there is a door on each end of the car that opens up to a little bridge into the next car that is out in the open. You are never supposed to open those doors unless (and I quote the fuzzy mysterious subway loudspeaker voice “In an emergency or else directed by the train’s conductor.”


I mean it is against the rules, it is dangerous and it looks like it would be scary. Yet I see people do it all the time. There is just simply no explainable reason to. And the people who do it are always creepy and mysterious looking. Why would one car be better than another? The only answer to that would be if one car is extremely crowded and the next one is not. But when does that happen? If your car is crowded you can bet that that one next to you will be just as packed if not more. Maybe if someone smells really bad in the car? I have smelled a lot of bad bad human odor on a subway car before but it isn’t usually so terrible it can’t be fixed by going to the other side of the car.

A Stock Market Panic and Melon Man

Due to all the drama that is going on with the economy right now it is always an intense scene outside the Wall Street subway stop when I go home in the afternoon. Even though most of the financial firms in the city aren’t even located on Wall Street anymore the media seems to like to camp out there, probably so they can get the“Wall Street” street sign in their news shot. Every afternoon lately the news trucks with their towering antennas are lined up one by one, white and boxy along the curb waiting for more excitement to happen. I think they fully expect office workers to come jumping out their windows as the Dow plunges lower and lower. You also have your scattering of run of the mill anti-Bush, anti-corporations, anti-rich people, anti-everything nutcase protesters milling about. Today was no different, only magnified because of the historical fall of the markets today. I see people with “Die Greedy Wall Street Bastards” signs, staring down us everyday workers who are simply trying to get home in time for this evening’s back to back Jeopardy/Wheel of Fortune.

Today, being a day of extremes, I notice an even larger crowd standing around at the intersection of Wall Street and Broadway. As I try to elbow my way to the subway stairs I notice what they are all paying attention to. I pause for a New York minute (oh cliché!). A middle-age black man is standing up on a box in the center of the circle, shouting rants about the state of the economy. Not that unusual. But what catches my eye is the fact that he is wearing a black top hat with a giant half-eaten watermelon on top. Is it stuck there by glue? Is it balancing? We don’t know.

And so goes another day.

The She-Man Hair Cut

On the way home this afternoon I observe two women standing on the 6-dressed in denim carpi's and sneakers with their Le Sport bags diagonally across their shoulders, tourists of course. Both of their identical dark hair is cut in that she-man style that unfortunately is way too popular among aging housewives in the Midwest. Not to insult anyone aging, a housewife (surprisingly my ultimate goal in life) or from the Midwest but you know what I mean. I guess I do mean to insult the haircut however- no one should have it- e-v-e-r. I mean the only reason I can see, actually never mind I can 't really think of a reason at all. Many ladies keep their hair very short- this is fine, however there are dozens of suitable styles to choose from that are not the she-man. I look at the two women trying to determine if they are sisters with matching haircuts or lesbians. Though if it were the latter I don’t know who would be the man in the relationship.



This is a shallow post. I make no apologies.

Just Another Afternoon....

On the commute home I rush down the stairs at the Wall Street stop only to be slowed by a woman wearing a ridiculous pastel pink dress that looks cross between African tribal leader and Pretty Pretty Princess. She has her hair all done up in little crazy braids that circle her forehead. Her intricate dress is so long it is dragging everywhere on the ground and getting dirty in the subway nastiness. She is going down the steps in front of me, dress slowly pulling behind her. I could so easily step on it and she would wipe out completely. Isn’t she nervous about that?

It is one of those afternoons that you have to literally fight your way onto the train. The 4 is slow coming into the Wall Street stop and as I wait the crowd of men in suits starts to grow until it finally a big gray mob. It is hot, it is smelly and everyone wants to go home. When the train finally comes it's already packed to the brim like a cattle car but everyone sees the small opportunity for a few people to squeeze in. When the doors creak open the struggle begins, elbows flying and shoulders pushing. Normally I would avoid this mess and just wait for the next train to come; however I had to be somewhere and am running late. I nudge my way on, ribs crushing against the gigantic women in front of me.

The car is so packed that I get off two stops later at Brooklyn Bridge to change to the 6 because of how unbearable it is. As I sprint across the platform into the cool openness that is the 6 train I look back at car of the 4 train I had just left. It is such a squishy mass of bodies that I am very surprised I had come out of there in one piece.

Pregnant or Fat? Pregnant or Fat?

This afternoon a seat finally opens up at 14^th street on the packed 4 train. I leap into it, victorious! I look up and see a woman directly in front of me staring me down- she had wanted this seat too. Too bad. But as I observe her I notice she appears to be pregnant. Oh no- I am that asshole. Of course I would give up my seat to a pregnant woman. However the more I look up at her, the more unsure I am on whether she is actually pregnant or not. She is wearing one of those billowy loose tops that actually make most women look pregnant if they weigh over 105 pounds. I would definitely give her my seat- pregnancy confirmed or not but then I don’t want to insult her by implying I am giving her my seat because she is pregnant if she actually isn’t! Isn’t that the cardinal sin of…everything? Think a woman is expecting when she is just chubby? Do you see my dilemma?

Boozey At Best

This evening I start my commute home quite a bit later than normal due to the time spent at the bar after work with my coworkers. It is an interesting phenomenon, the Wall Street subway station after 8 o'clock on a Friday night. There are two kinds of straggling professionals left waiting for the train-the one who has stayed one drink too long at happy hour like myself or the one who really is just getting out of work this late and is exhausted from his 80 hour work week. The expression on every single face I see is the same though- disheveled, tired and with shiny glass eyes. Another week in the books.


Once in the train I sit next to a man who smells like cigarettes and basement in slouchy elastic pants with a pile of scratch tickets, methodically rubbing down each one with a penny. I try to watch out of the corner of my eye to see if he is winning. The car lurches forward and I drop my library book on the floor. I bend down to pick it up but in my fogginess nearly fall over face first into the floor. Not would've of that been interesting?

Women With Gigantic Engagement Rings

Today on the 6 train home I have too much time to study the large engagement ring of a woman sitting next to me. I find I do this often on the afternoon commute- practically in regards to “stand out” diamonds. It always blows my mind the size of some people’s rings. This woman’s center stone, not even including the rest of the ring had to be at least five carats. I ponder what it would be like to wear such a behemoth on your finger. I have decided even if I marry an extremely rich man I will never, ever wear something that tacky.

I always wonder just how rich these women are. Not rich enough to never have to take the subway apparently. Or maybe they are extremely wealthy like most people in Manhattan and take the subway for its convenience in rush hour midtown traffic. Maybe the woman is just an major diva-type who made her police-officer husband who makes $45,000 take out a loan to buy an engagement ring like that. Or maybe the ring is, gasp- not a real diamond!

One can never know unless you ask. But of course it is never okay to ask a stranger how much their jewelry actually cost and what their life is like. Not on the subway. Not anywhere.

The M6

This morning after I get off the subway I ponder the buses that whiz by dangerously close to the curb as I wait to cross Church Street. Row after row they pass, delivering commuters from all ends of the earth. All it would take was one overzealous stranger to accidently bump me into their path- certain death for sure. Or I could simply not be paying attention and step one foot onto the street before I realize it is too late. I look around at the people packed on all sides of me, all waiting just like myself in their skirts and suits, Blackberries in hand, to cross the street. I wonder just how many of them standing at that curb with me ponder just stepping in front of that M6 bus that speeds by. Just step in front of it rather than spend one more day in their cubicles high up in the glossy towers of the World Financial Center that looms in front of us.

How Many Licks?

This Saturday afternoon, while heading downtown on the 6 train I find myself sitting in the end of the car with a group of three Latino youths. They are talking animatedly about last night’s adventure in their Brooklyn neighborhood and keep referring to each other as “nigga“ in almost every sentence. They are dressed in a trendy 1990s-ghetto-superstar sort of way, with over-sized baseball hats, high-top sneakers with jeans tucked in and bright beaded necklaces. They are not intimidating or even annoying, just interesting. I realize I am wearing a skirt and remember to close my legs. Two of them (along with myself) are completely enthralled in the third’s account of his arrest the previous night and the punishment he received from his ma.

That is some DOPE sh*t mannnn!
Nigga is youse for realz?

I then watch intently as one of them takes his IPhone out of his pocket and starts to lick it.


The youths only pause their conversation when a beggar comes through the doors between the cars. Only super sketch people come through between the cars while the train is moving (stay tuned for more on this subject in a future post). The homeless man announces himself to everyone in the typical manner.

Ladies and Gentleman can I kindly request a moment of your time today, you see I am just
looking for something to eat…..

Blah blah blah. He had a stroke that damaged his liver and kidneys. He can’t work. He has no one to care for him. He isn’t angry or bitter about his situation just hungry and tired. Wouldn’t you please mind helping him?

Out of the corner of my eye I see him go stand next to my boyfriend, who is leaning up against the other side of the car, and stand uncomfortably close to him. My boyfriend squirms slightly but keeps a stone-straight face.

Although he is a bit more loud and piercing than most, I don’t look up. Nobody looks up. Everyone pretends to be reading the advertisement above their seats, a poster with the upcoming fall schedule of an ESL school in Queens.

Parka Man

Lately I have been seeing the same guy in my neighborhood on both my morning and evening commutes. I never see him just standing around- he is always walking, going someplace. He doesn’t look homeless or weird in any way except he is always wearing the exact same thing- a yellow, green and red ski parka and a gigantic fur hat. Like the kind that you think raccoon trappers in 1800s Quebec would wear. Even more incredible is that this is early September I am talking about, with highs near 80 most afternoons.


I do not see him every day, but enough times a week to wonder….Parka Man- WHO ARE YOU?

Two Left Feet

This morning out of the corner of my eye I see a man, in a dress shirt and slacks, moving awkwardly on the 6. He is standing on the other side of the car but I notice him right away. He is swaying and jerking slightly but constantly. Does he have tourettes? Sheltered as I probably am, I have not actually ever seen someone with tourettes in real life. I try not to look but I am nervous and a little intrigued. When is he going to start screaming expletives? Maybe he doesn’t have actually tourettes but is just a crazy person. Or maybe he is on some kind of drug that I definitely don’t know about.


It is only when the train stops and the crowd shifts that I get a better view of him and notice he is wearing an IPod. There is nothing wrong with him after all. He had simply been dancing, slightly swaying in his own little world of mp3.


With moves like that, I certainly feel sorry for his wife.

The Rat

This morning I am approaching the stairs up out of the Fulton Street stop when suddenly there is a commotion in front of me. There is a crazed shuffle, and the people on the stairs start jumping and screaming. Only on the first stair, I instinctively leap off and cover my face. Although I have not encountered something like this before, I know that screaming on the subways stairs is never, ever a good thing. Was somebody getting knifed or something? Although the subways are reassuringly safe now I think back to what I’ve heard New York was like in the 90s.

Just as quickly as it started though, the disturbance stops. I turn next to me to a guy around my own age who looks just as perplexed as I am.


What just happened? I ask.


You didn’t see it? A rat (He holds his hands about 2 feet apart) THIS big, just ran down the stairs.


I don’t know if he is exaggerating on the size or not but the thing had to of been monstrous. Grown-up men in suits don’t scream like that, unless it is something extremely scary. I know it had to be right around my feet, I just didn’t see it because I was covering my face.

Looks like today nearly fulfilled my worst rat fear of a couple posts ago.

Back in Town

This morning it is back to work after a week away. This was the longest I have been without the subway since I started commuting. Predictably nothing is changed. Life in all corners of the city goes on with or without one being present.

This morning after I get off the subway there is a gigantic construction crane backing into Ground Zero that blocks the entrance of the pedestrian bridge into the World Financial Center. I stand there waiting as the mob of fellow commuters around me swells bigger and bigger. I wonder why they chose rush hour on a Monday morning to back this incredibly slow crane into the construction site - moments before the whole world has to be at their desks. Sometimes you forget just how many people work in lower Manhattan until there is a five minute delay somewhere. In a blink everything backs up, a crowd forms and chaos is just seconds away.