Manhattan Minus a Million (or Two)

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

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

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

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

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

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.

The Prophet

This morning both the 4 train and the 6 train are not very crowded. Again I get a seat on both. On the 4 train there is a man sitting next to me with a homeless person cart. Homeless people always have a cart of some sort, stuffed to the brim with all of their belongings as well as various articles of garbage. However he was very clean-cut, wearing khakis and a blazer and did not smell. Perplexed that the pieces didn’t add up, I studied him for a bit. Then I realized he was reading one of those bible/religious/sermon/who-knows-what pamphlets very intently. He must be one of those Mormons or other people who goes around spreading the Lord’s word. He doesn’t try to spread anything to me. I turn my attention away from his book back to my own.


On this week’s commute I have been reading a collection of short stories by Miranda July. I have to admit I only bought the book because we share the same first name. I figured anyone else named Miranda has to be at least somewhat smart and interesting. The book is not good though. It is the kind of thing that intellectual literary critic-types probably go ape shit for however I apparently am not brilliant enough to get it.