Observations On The Six

Crack

2009-03-16T21:25:00.003-04:00

There is a woman on the E train this morning who is cracked out.

Growing up in the white-collar suburbs we always used to throw around the term " He's on crack!" or " What are you- on crack or something?" But now, being in big bad New York City I really do see real live people actually on crack occasionally. This particular woman this morning has wild wild curly black hair, all messy and crazy. She is muttering to herself.

Her eyes have a dull, glazed over stare as we roll along downtown. It is a stare that I really cannot describe other than "the crack stare."

The Armpit of Midtown

2009-02-26T22:06:00.005-05:00

The area around the Port Authority is one of my least favorite parts of the city. It is located close enough to Times Square to still be annoyingly crowded with tourists yet far enough away that it is not bright and exciting-only dirty. In the shadow of the Lincoln Tunnel exists really a soulless place, magnified by the ever-present blanket of exhaust from the continuous stream of buses 24 hours a day.

From the ramp where the 20T deposits me every morning I am treated to a view consisting of a crumbling building that calls itself a Baptist Church and the World of DVD Shop. “Female Peep Show! Male Peep Show!” I didn’t even know that was allowed anymore. It is a glimpse of a bygone era of 1970s Times Square seediness that I have only had the opportunity to read about in magazines.

The air is tinged with the scent of stale donuts and pollution.

Personal Space

2009-02-18T23:06:00.001-05:00

The man sitting on the bus next to me is definitely taking up much more than his share of the seat. I am sure he is asleep but his leg keeps uncomfortably pressing against mine. I know he is quite a bit bigger than I but why can’t he just spew into the aisle instead of into me?

I guess awkward stranger body to body contact is something you just have to get used to commuting with the masses into a place like Manhattan every morning.

I close my eyes and attempt to sleep, trying to pretend the offending leg is just my boyfriend’s or something along those lines….

Stone-Washed

2009-02-12T23:26:00.000-05:00

This morning on the E a man is wearing jeans made of stone-washed khaki denim. Something I have not seen since 1993. To add to insult they are those jeans that are tight and bunchy around the ankles not because they are trendy skinny jeans but just because they are awkward.

Oh how I do wish how beige-colored denim would come back in style! I fully expect to be alone in this opinion.

Embroidery Capital of the World

2009-02-10T21:02:00.002-05:00

My first impressions of the bus are not so good. This afternoon for example, the 5:50 express is absolutely packed and miserable. People have to stand. My seat is broken meaning whenever I try to lean back it pushes all the way down into the lap of the person behind me. I have to perch awkwardly forward on the edge of my seat the entire ride. The businessman across the aisle is not-so-discreetly trying to look down my jacket.

You sure can’t beat that view of the twinkling Manhattan skyline as we emerge from the depths of the Lincoln Tunnel though. A sign on the highway overpass reads “Welcome to North New Jersey- the Embroidery Capital of the World ."

Oh Jersey. Ever the optimist.

Her Life Sucks?

2009-02-05T21:25:00.002-05:00

This afternoon I get that much sought-after seat on the E train during rush hour. This victory is short lived. A girl about my own age stumbles into the car. She is kind of butch and tough looking, dressed in tomboy gangsta-like clothes. This is not really of note but the fact is that she is absolutely hysterical. She is rambling incoherently and crying. Actually I think the more appropriate word is wailing. She is wailing.

From what I can make out is that "her life sucks". Why does every thing go wrong? Won’t no one help her? Why will nobody help her? She doesn’t care about the new year because she probably won’t even live until the new year. (It is February). She is obviously borderline insane and very very scary. She sits down right next me. There is nothing I can do, no place I can go. The car is packed. I don't want to get up because she would obviously know it is because of her. I have learned that it is best not to insult the mentally ill.

She continues to carry on and then starts to touch my arm. Yes, she touches me.

Miss, miss excuse me miss.

I freeze. I want to make a run for it but really there is no place to go and and I don’t want to piss her off and have her come after me. She looks me right in the eyes and is about to say more. I brace myself.

Suddenly, an almost as crazy homeless guy comes through the car ranting about something. He is nearly as bad as this girl. She is distracted by him for a moment and fortunately takes her attentions off of me.

At the next stop some people get off and I move over to the back of the car. Safe. However Wailing Girl now gets up and starts making her way toward me, ranting about her temper. Am I going to be knifed on the E train at 5:30pm in front of all these people? Oh oh oh no. But she simply brushes past me. There is a middle-aged businessman reading the Wall Street Journal standing across from me. She shoves him hard. She shoves him again. Then she goes out those doors that separate the cars and into the next one.

Observations On The E

2009-02-04T12:46:00.006-05:00

So I guess this shall be my first post from the perspective of the E train. I get into the Port Authority around 7:45 after nearly an hour on the bus then ride the E all the way downtown where I get off at the World Trade Center. Or more accurately, the construction pit that was the World Trade center. I then have to cross the pedestrian bridge that goes over Ground Zero and the West Side Highway and into the Financial Center.

This is will be my routine every morning now. The E trains are older and crappier than the 6 train cars. All I can really do to sum it up is say that the E is like the 6's ugly little sister who got stood up every Saturday night in high school.

Even though it would be more approriate now I refuse to rename this blog "Observations on the E". It sounds like some kind of drug that is best reserved for one's early years of college.

Jeresy Girl

2009-02-02T20:04:00.006-05:00

Due to some unfortunate circumstances with our apartment lease that can only happen in a place such as Manhattan as well as my own personal economic recession we have upped and moved into Boyfriend's parents house in suburban New Jersey. Yes suburbs. Yes New Jersey. Home of big hair and guady McMansions.

This now means I will be joining the masses of the super commuters who make the long trek out of their sleepy homes before dawn and stuff themselves into NJ Transit buses for the bumpy ride into the Manhattan Port Authority. I will still be taking the NYC subway every day, only now the E train downtown from the bus station and not the 6.

We shall see how this plays out. My commute will now be an hour and half each way. Hopefully this is temporary. But really, what can one do in times such as these?

Now if you will excuse me it's time for my spray tan....

Freak Show

2009-01-27T12:40:00.009-05:00

Today I find myself sitting across from perhaps the scariest of specimens I have seen on the New York subway so far.

This man or maybe boy (I have no idea- it was impossible to even tell which decade he was born in) has the longest, most giant dreadlocks I have ever seen. They form a gnarly cascade long past his knees- incredible. And this is just the beginning. His ENTIRE face- every inch of flesh I could see is tattooed. With what design? I can't tell. He also has multiple facial piercings, including this gigantic grotesque nose plug and cheek studs. The perhaps more ghoulish part of him is his ears. He has those gauge holes only they are the largest most extreme ones you could ever witness. His earlobes are like an elephant's, stretched out to down below his shoulders. The wide gaping holes you could see through are only slightly smaller than a baseball.

He has a lady companion with him-a slight, silent Asian girl. She is freaky too, with dreadlocks that almost match her boyfriend's. Not to generalize, but have you ever seen an Asian girl with dreads? You haven't right?

My friend that I am traveling with swears he sees them take drugs right on the train. I miss it as I am trying my hardest not to look at the spectacle that is this couple.

The Gap

2009-01-26T20:10:00.006-05:00

At the Union Square station there is a gap between the platform and where the 5 train pulls in. Every morning this is scary to me. Of course it is not a very large gap, maybe about 6-8 inches wide- definitely not large enough for me to realistically fall through. I'm sure if it was remotely possible for even a small child to slip through one would of certainly have by now and there would be many public lawsuits we would all know about.

Irrationally though, this thought still does not calm my obsession with the gap. The sight of the dark wretchedness of the tracks below as I carefully step over always manages to shake my stomach slightly. I'm sure I look awkward as sin as I straddle slowly into the car while never taking my eyes off my feet.

Being Wierd in Public Places

2009-01-20T21:50:00.002-05:00

This afternoon the platform at the Wall Street station is extremely crowded by the time the train finally rolls in. I go into auto mode as I push my way onto the train. I don’t know if it is my newly developed aggressive instincts or simply inattention but I only vaguely notice that I cut off another woman trying to get on.

She grunts at me in an extremely serious tone. Stop being such a weirdo!

This catches my attention and sticks with me as I shuffle into the back of the car. Whether you have ever really thought about it or not, isn’t it everyone’s worse fear to be thought as of a “weirdo” in a public place? Try to go with the flow, fit in, be anonymous- I feel that this is most people's true nature. To actually be called out on public weirdness shakes me slightly.

On another note, it does seem like quite a surprising choice of insult to someone stepping in front of you on the subway platform.

Clam Chowder

2009-01-14T20:44:00.005-05:00

There is a man sitting next to me on the 6 this afternoon who smells. Though there is a stench, it is not bad enough for me to give up my hard-won seat on the crowed train. He is one of those characters that is simply hard to read. He is dressed in dirty, baggy clothes with a backpack but doesn’t seem mentally ill. One of those in between people you can’t quite classify as homeless or as normal. After a minute of trying to figure him out I give up and start reading my new February issue of Elle magazine.

At 14^th street a bum gets on the train and starts begging for money. He wanders around the car, calling out for donations. I see this at least once a week and am not the only one who is used to this-nobody gives him a second glance. We all just focus a little bit harder on our rumpled and folded copies of the Wall Street Journal. The bum realizes this crowd is useless to him and starts to mutter aimlessly in defeat.

The smelly guy next to me finally speaks out. Everyone looks up at him- what is he going to do?

Hey man, you hungry? I got some clam chowder in my bag. Want it?

Oh yeh, sure I’ll take it. The bum outstretches his hands.

Now this guy has the car’s full attention as he rumbles through his sack of weirdness. We all are watching to see what he actually is going to pull out of his backpack and if the this guy is actually going to take it. Uneventfully, he pulls out a container that very well looks like it could be soup. The bum thanks him and gets off at the next stop.

Rain Rain Go Away

2009-01-07T18:47:00.002-05:00

Today is a rainy day. A nasty, should-be-snowing-it’s-so-cold, blowing awful rainy day. One phenomenon I have noticed that with unfortunate weather comes umbrella stands outside each subway station. I do not know where they magically appear from.

Sometimes bad weather is clearly in the forecast, giving these mystery peddlers ample time to prepare. But even sudden rainstorms bring out the umbrellas in full force. Do the sellers wait in the nooks and crannies of the city for the first drop of rain? Do these umbrella genies sell other things when it is not raining? What could they possibly be doing that they are able to drop whatever to provide you with rain protection at a cloud’s notice?

Another thing to analyze- how much money can actually be made by selling umbrellas? I am sure if one is lucky/aggressive enough to get a primo tourist spot in Times Square they can make a chunk but what about the ones outside the 69th and Lex station that I emerge from this evening? It is all neighborhood people and chances are they already have an umbrella. Can the occasional absent minder that didn’t look out the window at the weather and left their gear at home really sustain a whole stand?

This is the $3.00 question.

The Blind

2009-01-06T22:27:00.006-05:00

This afternoon I see a blind man on the subway platform. He is poking around with one of those skinny white sticks. I have seen several blind people around before and each time I am completely amazed. The city can be scary enough on occasion even with all five senses- one can only begin to comprehend not being able to see anything.

As he shuffles around me I wonder just how he manages not to walk right off the edge of the platform and fall into the tracks below. I worry about myself doing that and I have full vision. How does he know he is even getting on the right train? The 6 train and not the E train? How does he know he is going uptown and not downtown? Well I guess sometimes they announce it but even if you can make out what is being said you are already committed to being on your way.

It is another one of those mysteries of survival.

Porta Potty

2008-12-30T21:21:00.001-05:00

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

2008-12-18T22:21:00.005-05:00

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

2008-12-16T21:36:00.009-05:00

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

2008-12-11T19:54:00.006-05:00

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

2008-12-05T21:47:00.004-05:00

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

2008-12-03T22:10:00.008-05:00

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

2008-12-01T21:59:00.001-05:00

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

2008-11-21T21:24:00.008-05:00

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.

$$$$

2008-11-19T18:44:00.000-05:00

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

2008-11-17T22:33:00.002-05:00

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

2008-11-12T20:33:00.003-05:00

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

2008-11-10T20:38:00.005-05:00

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

2008-11-06T22:19:00.000-05:00

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

2008-11-05T21:30:00.000-05:00

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

2008-11-04T19:09:00.005-05:00

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

2008-10-30T23:58:00.000-04:00

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

2008-10-29T22:00:00.002-04:00

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?

2008-10-28T21:14:00.001-04:00

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

2008-10-24T21:10:00.003-04:00

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

2008-10-23T22:53:00.003-04:00

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(?)

2008-10-22T18:51:00.004-04:00

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

2008-10-20T22:49:00.001-04:00

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.

I'll Take A 6 Train With a Side of Tits

2008-10-16T22:07:00.002-04:00

On the 6 train home this afternoon there is a girl seated in front of where I am standing. What I notice right away is that her breasts are completely busting out of her shirt. She is not particularly slutty looking, or even has THAT gigantic of boobs. They are simply just hanging out.

Ladies and Gentleman tits are on the menu tonight on the 6 train buffet.

Big and white they are really just spilling everywhere. Her boyfriend, sitting next to her sees me staring straight down at them. He is either a) creeped out because I am a stranger and I am staring b) disgusted and feeling that I am violating his girlfriend by looking there or c) excited by the this fact. However I just can’t stop gazing intently. When she finally stands up and gets off at 59th street nearly every man in the car tries not to look at her breasts- bouncing and rolling with every step.

Only some are successful.

Magazine

2008-10-14T18:33:00.002-04:00

I notice this afternoon that the three people standing in front of me as I sit on the 5 train are all reading the exact same thing- New York Magazine’s 40^th Anniversary edition. The same magazine I too was reading all last week on the subway and finally finished this morning. I also notice someone else seated across from me reading the identical New York Times Sunday Magazine from two weekends ago that I am currently flipping through now. Everyone likes to say New York is so diverse and we like to think we are such individuals. But really we are all the same.

Oh Tranny...No?

2008-10-13T18:01:00.013-04:00

This afternoon on the six I take notice of a youngish woman seated across from me. What catches my eye right away is her mustache. Dark and foreboding it crusts around her mouth in ways I have only seen on the most mountain of men. What takes it over the top is that she also has facial stubble- a full blown five o'clock shadow...only it is four o'clock (I got out early today due to the bank holiday). Everything else about her is feminine enough- dark skinny jeans and black ballet flats, the fall uniform of nearly every 24-year old girl here in the city.

Now unfortunately being half-Italian I know first hand of having to remove body hair that is a little...darker. I can also understand when old wrinkly ladies have some runaway stays on their face. But this woman has a very long way to go until her golden years. I try not to look but I really have never seen anything like this.

The thought crosses my mind that she is really actually a man...however after almost a year in this city my tran-dar is quite developed and accurate. Despite the facial hair, she is no guy. This is a different kind of being that I have not been able to classify yet. Not a man, not a woman, not a man trying to be a woman, not a woman trying to be a man...

hmmm

Disfigured

2008-10-10T18:05:00.001-04:00

This morning I see a woman that I sometimes see on the 4 train during my commute. She has short styled gray hair, is always in a business suit and appears to be in her 50s maybe. The reason I keep noticing her is that she has a disfigured face. If I were perhaps more talented I could describe it to you in great detail but I simply can’t. I just can’t. I try not to look but I cannot help it- I think I am just trying to make sense of it, trying to make myself feel better about a stranger with a horrific face. Everyone knows you shouldn’t stare at people with a disability or deformation. I feel like it would be much worse though to never have anyone make ever make eye contact with you because they are too afraid to look.

Observations on the X90

2008-10-09T22:14:00.001-04:00

So for some mundane reasons I won’t get into here a few mornings a week I shall be taking the express bus to work in place of the subway. The express bus is a million times better than the subway. A million. The biggest advantage is I don’t have to walk almost a mile to get to it- it picks me up right outside my apartment and drops me right off outside my office.

It is not a normal dirty crowded city bus either- it is a coach bus with big plush reclining seats with only a few other riders on- this morning I got two whole seats to myself! There is no chance of any perverted/weird/angry or smelly people on it. It is just normal office workers going straight to the financial district. It is also whisper quiet and I get to watch the sunrise over the East River and Brooklyn Bridge the whole way as we roll by peacefully along the FDR highway. It is, may I sound like a diva here, FABOLOUS. Couldn’t get better service if I was a big-time Wall Street executive with a private driver!

Why do you say have I not been taking the bus the whole time? Because it is more expensive (it is a tough economy out there!) and takes longer to get to work (time is of the essence when commuting!).

Even though the bus is incredibly boring with observations for this blog, have no fear I will still be riding the subway as well and will still record every stinky detail. Just be warned you may see an observation from the bus every once in a while slipped in….if there is ever anything interesting to write about that is….

A Crowded Subway is No Excuse for an Improper Touch

2008-10-08T18:37:00.005-04:00

So I think I shall start including links to New York subway-related news stories of interest occasionally. Apparently a new anti-sexual harassment advertising campaign has just been unveiled on the subway. I actually saw the first ad this weekend. Gaudy and yellow next to the posters for cheesy bankruptcy lawyers it screams in big bold letters “Sexual Harassment Is A Crime On The Subway-too. Below in smaller letters it reads: “A Crowded Subway is No Excuse for an Improper Touch” Funny right? First of all, the heading isn’t even grammatically correct. Oh MTA. They could hire me any day to come up with more innovative sexual harassment signs than that.

Anyways this article in the New York Daily News about it states that 63% of the people polled said they have experienced one of the following while riding on the subway: “unwelcome sexual advances, requests for sexual favors, flashing, groping, fondling and public masturbation.”

ICK. So far I have not been unlucky enough to be a victim to any of this….actually I really can’t confidently say that. The 5 is so crowded in the morning that in reality I probably would have no idea if someone tried to violate me. As unfortunate and disturbing as this fact is I think I would rather just not know if I were being groped. I would prefer to just ride on with my Led Zeppelin blaring through my iPod headphones.

Of course I always have that fantasy of some guy just trying to slip something funny. In this fantasy I turn around, fearless with fire in my eyes, pull off one my black stilettos heels and beat him across the face with it. The perv would run away in fear as the crowd of onlookers cheer me on. I would be a hero for New York woman everywhere. A subway urban legend. Please give me my wonder woman cape right now please. Preferably with a giant green 6 emblem on the back.

Obviously it would never play out like this.

Bring on the Big Mac (hold the poop please)

2008-10-06T18:10:00.000-04:00

This afternoon the 4 smells strongly of Porta Potty. Not like an old crusty crap smell but of that dreadfully strong chemical that they use to clean the toilets. Everyone must know what I am talking about -it is remarkably unmistakable.

The man across from me has a red plastic bag which is filled with kumquats. He is sitting there pulling them methodically off their stems. Wait a minute- scratch that- I don’t even know what a kumquat really looks like. Maybe they are crab apples?

A girl sitting next to me is eating a big steamy bag of McDonalds. I normally get irritated when people eat on the subway but it smells so unbelievable that it actually takes the edge off the porta-potty scent a little bit. People who say they don’t love or don’t eat fast food are either lying or certifiably crazy. After a long day of number-crunching and watching the Dow sink lower and lower I am nearly rabid for it.

Where are the Men?

2008-10-03T18:16:00.009-04:00

This morning on the 6 I am in deep observance of the men around me. Well I always am always in deep observance of men in general but even more so this morning. What has happened to the way men dress? I notice that the man sitting across from me, very attractive, you might even say “strapping” is wearing a pink tie with little blue whales. Little blue whales. Really? When did that become okay? I notice another man a few seats down. He is wearing a light purple dress shirt with white cuffs and a darker purple tie. I mean obviously gay men are entitled to a get-out-of-jail-free fashion pass but these men are clearly not homosexual by the way they both stare down a brunette woman with gigantic breasts heaving out of her blazer who has just stepped into the car.

I know this is New York but I really just miss men being men. Leave the creative fashion expression to the ladies of this city- they got it plenty covered.

On another note...I had a few inquires yesterday to what happened to the "sick passenger" on the E train. Truth is, I don't know. They had them cleared away by the time I finally made it to the platform. Usually though, if someone is killed by being hit by a train it mentioned in at least one of the local newspapers, buried deep in the local section. There was nothing this morning.

A Sick Passenger

2008-10-02T20:09:00.003-04:00

Yesterday it is 3:30pm and I have to go to a very important appointment/meeting in midtown at 4. I know everyone in New York thinks what they are doing is always incredibly important but this really was, I swear. It is the kind of thing you absolutely cannot be late to. I hop on the E train to take up to 34th street. First let’s start off saying just how much I hate the E train. Well I guess hate is a strong word, one that is much more appropriate for later in the story. Okay, so I strongly dislike the E train. I always have to transfer to the E anytime I want to get over the west side from my apartment. Not only do you have to go up and back down a million stairs to transfer (which always makes me grumpy) but the E is always late and always smells like pee.

Everything is going smoothly until somewhere in the tunnel no mans land between the 23rd and 34th street stations the subway slows to a halt. I glance at my watch 3:45- great. But the subway stopping briefly for mysterious reasons happens almost every day and since these delays are only a minute or two, I don’t really think much of it.

After about five minutes though I start to wonder what is going on and begin to get a little anxious. I only have 10 minutes now to get off the subway and to my destination. I begin to feel flush and jittery. It is when the conductor completely shuts down the motor of the train that I realize this is not good.

We sit there as the minutes creep by. I keep looking at my watch then my Blackberry, watch then Blackberry, hoping that time would stop moving or that the train would start to. I keep waiting to hear an announcement from the conductor explaining the problem but all that comes out from above is static because the loudspeaker is broken (of course crappy E train). As the time inches past 4 o’clock I really start to panic, my suit pants clinging to my legs with sweat because the air conditioning has been shut off. I feel the tears sting in the back of my eyes (yes I am sometimes a crier). I along with about the other 50 people in the car just sit and wait. The lights even go out for a time, and we are all in the silent darkness together. Surprisingly I am not worried about this fact- the tunnels could be erupting around us and I wouldn’t care because I am too upset about where I was supposed to be ten minutes ago at 4 o’clock. I can’t believe of the hundreds of times I have ridden the subway this is the day that this fiasco happens. THIS DAY. I am never late to anything, anything at all, especially important things and here I am trapped, trapped underground with no cell phone signal and no information on when the end of this awfulness was in sight.

Normally I respond to daily inconveniences on the subway calmly and well. I consider it the price we have to pay for not ever having to worry about rising gas prices. But I have never experienced anything like this. I am now in a complete irrational frenzy about my appointment, muttering expletives to myself and rocking back and forth.

Finally after over 40 minutes the train’s loudspeaker has mysteriously found its voice. We are delayed due to a “sick passenger ahead.” I have heard about this ambiguous announcement before. It usually means (so I’ve been told) that either someone has collapsed in one of the cars or someone has been hit by the train.

I feel enraged. Angry at the conductor, the MTA, the city itself. I know it is not the MTA’s fault if someone is pancaked all over the tracks. But someone tell me why today? If the MTA was one tangible object, a person or perhaps a creature I would slay it right now without thinking twice.

Apparently the very front car in the train is close enough to the 34th street platform and we are instructed to all walk through all the cars up to the front. Ironically I think to my blog entry Tuesday about people who walk between cars. It is a weird experience. You never realize just how long a subway train is until you are stranded in the last car and have to walk through all of them with several hundred other people.

I know what you are thinking. Someone has either had a massive heart attack on the way to Penn Station or committed suicide by leaping in front of the train. How could I be so upset about my stupid appointment? Well it is obvious I am not in a rational state of mind as this all plays out.

I could’ve used this time to take some good observations of this event- how my fellow passengers were responding to this mess, what it looks like in the darkness deep inside of the tunnel when you are outside the car. However I am too consumed by my own panic about the fact that is now almost 4:30 to really notice anything.

By the time I finally get through and escape onto the platform and I am like a crazed animal.

People Who Go Between Cars

2008-09-30T22:50:00.002-04:00

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

2008-09-29T19:09:00.003-04:00

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

2008-09-24T21:13:00.001-04:00

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....

2008-09-23T21:27:00.003-04:00

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?

2008-09-22T19:09:00.001-04:00

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

2008-09-19T21:45:00.004-04:00

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

2008-09-18T21:59:00.003-04:00

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

2008-09-16T18:03:00.002-04:00

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?

2008-09-15T18:02:00.004-04:00

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

2008-09-11T18:15:00.001-04:00

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

2008-09-10T18:30:00.002-04:00

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

2008-09-09T18:07:00.003-04:00

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

2008-09-08T18:02:00.003-04:00

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.

Manhattan Minus a Million (or Two)

2008-08-29T21:22:00.000-04:00

Today the subways are much less crowded than normal. I notice it especially in the morning, when I get on the 6 there are but a few people comfortably sharing my car with me. It is because today is the day before the holiday weekend and everyone is out of town. Also, fall is in the air as it is comfortably cool in the morning instead of a sweltering 100 degrees on the subway platform. I come into my office this morning and am not a hot mess of stickiness. I have decided New York would be a much better place with about half as many people and comfortable temperatures year round.

On another note, there will be no entries next week as I am escaping the city and taking a week long vacation at the beach. 9 days- no subway.

Untitled

2008-08-28T18:57:00.003-04:00

Not too much to report today. This morning I took particular notice to a well-dressed woman in a suit standing across from me on the 5. I only noticed her because she seemed to be staring at me intently (which means she probably was just aimlessly looking at nothing). She was in her early 50s and looked like an executive, clutching her laptop case and blackberry. You know how some people just have that powerful look and you can just tell that they are very important wherever they may work.

Several minutes later I looked at her again and noticed that her eyes were all puffy and she was in fact crying. I wonder how her day could be so bad at only 7:45 in the morning. Maybe she didn’t want to go to work even more than I didn’t want to go to my own job.

This afternoon the same sticky substance that was on the floor of the 6 train a few days ago showed its face again. I wish I knew what it was. Since the spill is way too expansive and to sticky to be soda I have no idea what it even could be. Another 6 train mystery I guess.

The Interns

2008-08-27T18:13:00.002-04:00

It always amazes me that I sometimes see the same people over and over again during my commute. I guess it makes sense since most people that work 8 -5 jobs have the same routine every day but I still just can’t figure out that with all of the thousands of people that ride the subway every morning what are the chances we constantly end up on the exact same train in the exact same car. And what are the odds that I even notice?

One of the “regulars” I often see is actually a trio of interns that get on the 5 at 14th street when I do. Two girls and one guy you can tell they were the lucky (or just had well-connected parents) college kids who got the “good” summer jobs at the best banks. One of the girls is not fat by any means but her suit skirts are like two sizes too small and make her look much chubbier than she actually is. The other girl is very petite and pretty but has one of the most annoying voices I have ever heard. One of those little princess ditsy baby voices that is only tolerable under the age of 6. A voice, whenever you hear it you just want to turn around and slap her in the face. And she always talks the entire time from 14th street until I get off at Fulton. I don’t even know what she talks about (I try to block much of it out) but even if she were discussing nuclear physics it wouldn’t matter because of her voice. The guy that is always with them I guess I have no judgments on, however I label him in the “Annoying” category by association.

Even though I am only 2 years out of school I feel so much older. I guess I will not be seeing them much more because the summer is slowly coming to an end.

Michael Jackson

2008-08-26T19:06:00.003-04:00

This morning on my way to the subway I see her at the corner of 1st and 72nd. I am trying to powerwalk in my heels while staring at the sidewalk, focusing on nothing when I suddenly look up and see her. It is in fact, Michael Jackson.

My boyfriend and I often walk up to Carl Schurz Park on 83rd street in the evenings and though we don’t have a pet, go to the dog run. Made just for small dogs, we enjoy standing on the outside and watching all the puppies run and play. We often see the same dogs and owners and we often see Michael Jackson.

Michael Jackson doesn’t have a dog, yet she lets herself inside the fence at the dog park. My boyfriend and I always stay on the outside because there is a large sign that says “No dogs without people, no people without dogs.” She is not homeless but definitely really weird in a creepy-has-problems sort of way. This is unusual for this Upper East Side park, as nearly everyone is yuppie professionals with either babies or puppies. She is always dressed in really bizarre droopy clothes and a giant wig of long black Howard-Stern-like hair. She has odd pale makeup on and her face looks like she has had about 1,000 bad facelifts. In other words she resembles the pop superstar exactly.

She always shuffles aimlessly around the dog run picking up stranger’s toy poodles and Boston terriers. Everyone at the dog run knows her and they all look extremely nervous whenever she appears. These looks turn into borderline panic when she turns herself toward one of their little precious purebreds. When she sits down on the benches everyone around her moves away and when she actually tries to touch someone’s dog you hear the owner announce awkwardly, “Okay Bitsy, you’ve had enough fun with your doggie friends today- time to get going.” The owner doesn’t make eye contact but in a swift motion scoops his pup out of harms way and hurries home, cutting their visit to the park short.

It really throws me off seeing Michael Jackson on my morning commute. Easily the scariest character in the neighborhood, I have gotten used to seeing her at the park- her focus always on the dogs. In my mind she does not exist anywhere else. There she is though, shuffling down 1st avenue, with a Gristedes bag in one hand at 7:45 in the morning. She is going about her daily business like everyone else is- whatever that may be.

The Newspaper Fold

2008-08-25T19:03:00.002-04:00

I still have not mastered how to correctly read a newspaper in a crowded train car. I get the Sunday New York Times every weekend and because of its massive size it takes me nearly all week to read on my commute each morning. I am always a mess of crumply papers flopping everywhere, trying desperately not to hit the person seated next to me in the face. I don’t know how some people can just neatly fold it and have everything come out fine. Is this a cliché metaphor for my life?

Just maybe…

The Almost-Fight

2008-08-21T18:14:00.004-04:00

This afternoon there is nearly a fight on the 4. It is extremely crowded and right as the doors are about to close a young man, tough looking but dressed in office wear, squeezes on. There is another man standing in front of the door, around the same age but very scary and gangster-ghetto looking. Apparently he is not happy about being crowded. He starts to hassle the man and the other starts to hassle him back. They began shouting about one pushing the other. They keep telling each other to calm down and keep referring to the other as “dawg”.

F*cking say excuse me dawg!
Just cool it dawg!
I AM cool- YOU need to f*cking relax dawg!

I never realized people even still use that slang word. I, like the fellow commuters squeezed in around me watch this unfold not only in fear but also in amusement and anticipation. I don’t know what would happen if they actually start to punch each other. Since there is no place to move we would all be in the line of attack. Yet at the same time everyone likes some rush-hour entertainment now and then. I look at the faces of the people next to me. Everyone is nervous, watching the conflict escalate. Then right at the point where it looks like there is no return we are finally at the Union Square stop and one of the men gets off. It is over as quickly as the whole thing began.

I am actually surprised this is the first “fight” I have witnessed. With everyone always crowded so closely and so many different egos I am surprised people aren’t killing each other every day during rush hour.