Crack

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Slow Descent into Insanity

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

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

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

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

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

Beast of a Woman

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

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

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

A Different Commute

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

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

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

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

Statue of Liberty

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

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

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

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

A Ham and Salami on White Please

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

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

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

Really?