Don't Just Mind The Gap

Last week, a most horrendous turn of events led me to be ever more cautious in the wake of a coming subway. A woman, apparently in an effort to rescue the bag she had dropped down into the tracks, jumped down to retrieve it and was crushed by an oncoming train.

Now I generally play it super cool in the subway. I peer ever so cautiously down the track for oncoming trains, not out of fear but impatience. And I step behind the yellow caution line when the train barrels up. The one time I did happen to drop something into the track (my house key while I was living in Washington, DC), I notified the station staff and was able to pick it up on my way home that evening. It didn't even occur to me to jump down into the hole with the live third rail and active vermin.

So I'm amazed that anyone would put themselves at risk this way - apparently, according to some reports, merely to save her workout clothes and deodorant.

Not really worth it. I'm just saying.

I was mindful of this cautionary tale a few days later, though, when a hurried commuter ran past me as I was adjusting my iPhone, jettisoning it to the edge of the track just as a train came crashing through. With visions of crushed appendages dancing in my head, I stood still, completely at attention, waiting for the train to rumble by. For those few moments I was lost, disconnected from my phone, my music, my world. But I didn't want to make it permanent, so I played it safe, waiting until the train came to a complete stop to retrieve my blessed extension.

How (not) To Wait Out A Snowstorm

A couple of weeks ago, I mocked the city's response to an impending snow storm. Schools were closed. My company told us to stay home if we could. I cheerfully worked at home that Snow Day, watching the pristine flakes fall all day long, accumulating about 10 inches in the city. However, it was hardly the storm of the century. I didn't get a chance to play in the snow, but ventured out for a movie that evening. Pretty tame stuff, even for someone like me who's still only experienced snow about a dozen times.

Fast forward two weeks and another impending snow storm. The response this time was more measured. The city didn't cancel school until the morning after the worst of it hit, but most of my co-workers were prepared to stay home again. This time, that was indeed the right choice. The city was ultimately covered in18 inches of snow.

After putting in a series of 14-hour days for a Friday deadline, I didn't have the choice of staying home. I tromped through a foot of pristine powder at 6:30 am to ensure I arrived at work in time for an 8 am meeting with the Grand Poobah. I passed a cross-country skier taking advantage of the relatively deserted sidewalks. It was just he and I and the swoosh swoosh of passing skis. I expertly navigated the cross-town trek from the subway to my office, past the World Trade Center site which was also ambling to life despite the treacherous weather.

It continued to snow all day, I noticed, as I watched it's frenetic descent in the windy enclave of downtown Manhattan. At lunchtime, I shared a social moment with a nearby table as we watched, incredulous, as a jogger outside loped by in shorts and no shirt.

I hoped to leave the office before it was dark, before the temperature dropped and the powdery snow turned to ice. Instead, I worked until almost 9 pm. When I left, the city was quiet. The streets and sidewalks were clear. The snow had stopped and I headed home. It was as if the snowstorm never happened. I was just another workaday career girl in waterproof boots making her way to the subway and the long trip home.

Photo by me.

Head Over Heels

Well, it finally happened. After more than three years of living in New York, I took a tumble on a busy public street. I was crossing Broadway in Soho and came across the 'black ice.' It wasn't near the curb or helpfully marked by police tape and cones. Oh no. It was just there, lying in wait for the toe of my sleek over the knee boot to strike. Then ass over teakettle I flew, bags flying, arms flailing. Flat. On. My. Back. I was a piece of performance art, my shopping bags artfully arranged around my flaccid form like flower petals.

And oh was there a large audience for my performance! Tourists in leather pants, their tiny guidebooks their talisman. Tightly coifed ladies in mink coats. Gum smackers from New Jersey. Covens of stroller moms. But it was a man with a crutch who helped me up. Yes, it took a handicapped person to alight me from the ground. The irony burned.

I walked away with a sore wrist, a bruised butt, and a major case of embarrassment. But it wasn't as bad as the travails suffered by the West Side Beauty. It's supposed to snow again this week. Let's hope we can both keep our feet on the ground!

Pursed Off

It was one of those packed subway days where I was lucky to get my preferred commute location - standing in front of the doors on the non-open side for the express commute. This is the best location. You don't have to hold onto a pole, you are out of the high-traffic areas, and you can spread out to read your paper. Well, usually you can. Last week my primo location was compromised when a giant-purse-wielding hussy wedged her way into my consciousness.

So as I understand it, the polite thing to do when entering the subway with a giant purse, backpack or baby in a stroller is to fold them up and rest them on the floor (the babies especially love this.) Put another way, if anything you are holding has the potential to poke someone in the eye or sack them like a quarterback, you should remove it from your shoulder and find a less dangerous place to store it during the duration of the subway ride. Apparently this bristly gal didn't get the memo. Her giant purse had me cornered. I gave up reading my paper altogether. And when her sleuth moves threatened to fill the tiny gap between us, I balked! I asked her (somewhat politely) if she could move her bag. "It's got me cornered here," I said, good naturedly as I pretended to be boxed in.

She snarled. "You're on a subway. Get over it." She didn't move her bag.

Not to be outdone, I mumbled, hand on hip, eyes full of disdain, "The polite thing to do would have been to move your bag." Thanks for stating the obvious. What a comeback. It was one of those moments where you want to be pithy and precise, but just. Can't.

Anyway, the moral of this story is, I bought a smaller bag. I don't want to be a purse whacker or a bag bully. I just want to stand in my corner and read my paper.

Poo, on you

So I guess the universe was listening yesterday when I railed on people who overuse cabs. I guess the universe believes in punishing judgementalism. 

This morning on the subway, it smelled like poo. I mean REALLY. It smelled very bad. And it didn't dissipate at any point during the ride. I am pretty certain there was a little pile of poo somewhere in the car. I even kept checking my shoes, you know, like you do when you're walking through grass and you smell something foul. Anyway, I never did find out for sure what was causing the smell. I just left the car. I think that was the best course of action, all things considered. I didn't take a cab though.  Take a little poke in the eye, universe!

Obnoxious Commuting

In these more thrifty times, I have recently heard something that horrified me! Several of my co-workers, even those who live far uptown from our office, sometimes or even daily take cabs to work. Cabs! In this era of layoffs and economic meltdowns and mortgage foreclosures. Just to give you some perspective, it probably costs at least $18 one way to take a cab downtown to my office. That's with no traffic! That's almost $40 a day both ways! $200 a week! That adds up to more than you people in Texas are paying for gas in a month. 

Now I admit to taking a cab from time to time, especially after an evening of rambunctious frivolity. But to get to work? Whatever it's faults, the subway system in New York beats sitting i traffic any day, is better for the environment, and is CHEAPER at about $2 per ride (even less if you have a monthly pass). I like to spend money just as much as the next manhattan goddess (just ask The Boy if you need confirmation), but cabbing it to work from uptown just strikes me as lazy and economically moronic.

Subway Altercation

I was involved in an A-1, blogilicious subway altercation today. It was about 10 after 8 this morning. A subway rolled up to a large crowd of commuters, and against my better judgement, I crowded in alongside them, my body twisted unnaturally against half a dozen strangers. Even after the next stop the car was still bursting. We were like strands of straw haphazardly bundled up in a bale of hay. No one wanted to be there, but one guy - a bulky, meaty dude with a little turd of a ponytail - began fussing at the tall, preppy guy next to him. The meaty guy was pretty scary looking, all shoulders and biceps. But he was really going off and it irritated me. He was telling the guy to give him some room, that he was crowding him. The preppy guy was trying to explain that there was nowhere to go, but the meaty guy just kept on fussing. Here we all were, all in the same boat as him, nowhere to go, and he was acting like he was the only one whose personal space was being violated. So even though it goes against the New York code of conduct, I spoke up.

"If you don't like being crowded, then don't take the subway," I said. "We're all crowded."

So he said, "Shut up, BITCH! Mind your own business. No one wants to hear your problems."

So I said, "That's right. So why don't you shut up."

He said, "Suck my DICK!"

I said, "No, thank you."  I said it serious too. Even though I was quaking in my shoes a little, I kept my snark going.

He said, "I bet you would like it. It's really big."

"I doubt it," I said, snorting.

"Do you want me to take it out right here and show you?" he asked, threateningly.

I thrust my nose into the air. "Absolutely not."

Then we rode in awkward silence until I got off the train, 3 stops later.

No one jumped in or made eye contact. New York style.

Later, I felt kind of bad. Clearly he was having a bad day and was acting out. Perhaps I should have given him a hug and drawn a unicorn on his wrist. Or a butterfly. I'm sure that would have helped.

Ratta-ewwie

Two vermin-related stories for you kids today. First, a memorable first date for one of The Boy's co-workers. He was on a date in Madison Square Park, home of the venerable Shake Shack. The couple was sitting on a park bench, below a tree in the middle of conversation, when a rat fell THWACK! right in the girls' lap! Despite this auspicious beginning, the two continue to date.

The second story begins below ground in the subway tunnels, home to hundreds (maybe thousands?) of rats. A friend of mine was waiting for the F train at the 23rd street station. She noticed that a rat had boldly moved from the subway tracks, where they usually scurry around disconnected from the human passers by, onto the platform, realm of the two legged. My friend and the other people in the station steered clear of the interloper. They began to talk among themselves, pointing and laughing skittishly.  A man told my friend that rats on the platform were common at this station, and that they had an even more startling habit. He said he had seen rats on the platform crawl into the subway car when it arrived and ride away. And in fact, when the subway pulled up, my friend watched it twitch it's nose as it stepped into the last car. Perhaps it was meeting someone at the next stop.

Gas Prices Hit Home

The Boy and I have been reveling in the fact that our move to New York has reduced our carbon footprint and removed the necessity to spend $$$ to fill up the tank of my SUV each week. So while we've noticed the increase in the prices for food and other things, the gas price crunch hadn't really affected us personally until yesterday.

I was traveling to Penn Station to catch a train to Boston. I grabbed a cab outside our apartment to get there. After a harrowing ride with no AC in sweltering weather, we finally arrived at the station. When I paid the fare, I gave the cabbie a dollar tip. In an ballsy move previously unprecedented, even for cab drivers, the cabbie stopped and begged for an additional dollar of tip because of gas prices, etc etc.

Now I know there are some discussions going on with the cab union to determine if taxi patrons should be paying a fuel surcharge. Some people say yes, in order to cover the cost of extra fuel. Others say no, afraid that the increase in price will deter customers. I guess this guy made up his mind. He's soliciting that fee after every fare.

That Stinks

My friend La Bitcha from Houston works for Aramark. Looks like her brethren here in NYC are skeeved about something. They've been on strike for at least a month, lorded over by a giant inflatable skunk. I walk by them each morning on my way to work. They always have 2 foil serving platters full of breakfast. I wonder who is providing the catering. Surely not Aramark?

Seen on the commute home

Adventures in Powerlessness

The universe had something to say today. Time can't be controlled, it said - not by me and not by the chick with the jingly hair who shared the subway with me from 125th street. This was after the subway we were on passed up the stop we were supposed to make. Instead of stopping at 96th street, it went on, passing 103rd street, 110th street, 116th street, finally stopping at 125th. The jingly-haired girl and I were both relieved. We weren't any more in control of our destiny at that point. But as we waited assuredly for the next train downtown, we pretended we were.

In Search of The Real

The Boy and I went to see Passing Strange on Broadway Saturday night. I totally love love loved it, but The Boy was a little more non-plussed. Nevertheless, the real show was on the subway after. A homeless guy who deconstructed a meat on a stick, then threw the hunks of meat onto the seat next to him, and then picked at them as if they were a bowl of peanuts at a cocktail party. Then there were the hispanic teenagers who kept bending over and inadvertantly showing off their purple and orange grany panties hanging out the top of their low slung jeans. Finallly there was a pimp wannabe in a gray suit, red shirt and aviator sunglasses primping his reflection in the subway car windows, who, ultimately, gave us a little dancing with the stars action, tripping the light fantastic to his own personal soundtrack. Or perhaps just tripping.

Safe Sex

On the way home tonight on the subway, The Boy and I spotted a condom jammed under the seat in front of us. I tried to get a photo, but some people sat down, and I felt kind of like a jackass to ask them to move so I could take a picture of a condom. So I didn't. Then I was going to "reenact the scene" once we got home, but as old married people, we don't have ready access to condoms. So you'll just have to take my word for it. We saw an unleashed condom on the subway. Made me wonder - how did it get there? Did someone think it was funny to leave the little guy behind, or was someone (two someone's I guess) getting it on during a late night Risky Business reenactment of their own? The Boy posited that it hitched a ride into the subway car stuck to someone's shoe. Whatever the reason, I've got just one word for it. Yucky.

Please Don't Hurt Me

What is going on? Isn't the holiday season supposed to bring out the best in folks? Yesterday, two women on my subway sparred verbally for 10 minutes. "You don't TOUCH me, honey." If one of them hadn't finally exited the train, I think they might have wrestled on the floor, pulling hair and spitting. Then today, I crossed my legs as I was watching Mad Men on my Ipod Nano, and then I heard it. A low growl eminating from the woman next to me. "Don't. You. Ever. Touch. Me. Again," she clipped. Her eyes looked crazy. Apparently I had grazed her knee with my foot when I changed positions. I mean BARELY grazed. I didn't even feel it! But I said I was sorry. What i really wanted to say was, "If you don't like being jostled around by humanity on your way to work, maybe you should buy a car and drive in." Instead, I moved to a different seat at the next stop, and gave her a look of huffy defiance. Like she cared. But if she had had a fork, I'm pretty sure she would have stabbed me with it.

Dealbreaker?

Seen on the Subway: Man wearing surgical gloves. Why? Is he a germophobe? A surgeon in a hurry? A serial killer? If you got set up on a blind date and the guy showed up wearing surgical gloves, would that be a dealbreaker?

The Gross Whisperer

Walking to the subway after work today, a guy passed me. As he did so, he whispered "sexy lady." Wha?

Tuck and Roll

Our moms recently paid us a visit. We spent several action packed days acting like tourists - visiting the Statue of Liberty, Canal Street, Times Square and such. It's times like that when you really come to appreciate public transportation and the tranquil adventure of exploring the city on foot.

Of course, it also has its drawbacks - ill-fitting shoes can make even a short trip a painful one. And if you aren't used to it, sheer exhaustion simply takes over. The optimistic assurance from the leader, "It's just a few more blocks!" might make you cry. During our first months here, The Boy and I fought exhaustion each and every night. After our mobile commute, we had no additional energy left over.

But the commute can be fraught with other dangers. The West Side Beauty recently found this out when we were walking along the West Side Highway running/jogging/biking path on our way to the gym. An oncoming cyclist zigged and zagged, yelled something incomprehensible, and FWUMP! He took out The West Side Beauty and they both came crashing to the ground.

He, without a helmet, no less, began to berate her. Unapologetic and indignent, he tore into her as she struggled to get off the ground. Unapologetic and indignent, I tore back. "YOU are responsible for controlling your bike around pedestrians! YOU are responsible for keeping your line! It was your fault you ran into her. Now get out of here! And next time, wear a helmet!"

He didn't say another word as he rolled away. Unfortunately for The West Side Beauty, the road took another bite out of her a couple of weeks later. On her way to work, fresh and looking lovely, her shoe got caught in the cuff of her pants as she descended the stairs that cross the West Side Highway to our office. Ass over teakettle she flew, and this time the road won. Hobbled and bleeding, she strode into work. It was no way to start the day.

So yes, whiling away the time strolling through Greenwich Village is great. Just remember to tuck and roll if you make a mistep.

An Inconvenient Commute

Dear Al Gore,

As you know, The Boy and I are doing our part to decrease our footprint - we sold our large consumptive house (you should consider this), we sold one of our cars (The Boy's beloved Mercedes SLK convertible with heated seats and an air scarf), and we rely predominantly on public transportation to get around.

I am happy to do this, you know, for the Earth and all. But today was really trying. Today it took me two hours to get to work AND I had to spend one of those hours standing outside in the pouring rain, in the cold, with a malfunctioning umbrella. See, for some reason, the Path train that I usually take to cross under the Hudson river to get to work was malfunctioning. So at the last stop before we go under water, we were unceremoniously kicked off the train and told to go find the ferry. Or whatever. Frankly, they didn't really care. And Al, I know how you hate that!

Most of us had never taken the ferry and didn't know where it was. I followed the crowd outside, into the rain with my sad umbrella. Thankfully I had on my galoshes! (Now I know, Al, they are made of Earth-unfriendly plastic, but they were really a god-send from the water, until my feet started to go numb from the cold, of course.)

So we waited in line to buy tickets for the ferry. Yes! I couldn't beleive it either! After we were so rudely kicked off the train with no other recourse but to stand in line outside for an hour, pelted by the river spray and the side-swiping precipitation, we had to buy another ticket for the ferry! They were not honoring our path tickets! And to add insult to injury, the ferry ticket was $4.50, cash only! Well, I don't have to tell you what a fluke it was that I had any cash on me.

Anyway, I finally arrived to work at 10:30, sodden, shaken and hungry. I know I'm doing it for the world and humanity and all, to be able to breathe air and what have you. But I gotta tell you, Al, today, I would have rather weathered this storm in the comfort of my gas guzzling SUV. Please don't take it personnally.

Well, gotta run. Tell Tipper I said, "Hey."

See ya,
shanda

The Blow Job

Many of you who know me understand that I'm a little bit of a germ-o-phobe. Not in a terribly obsessive way, but enough that The Boy teases me about it quite a bit. I do appreciate bathroom doors that can be pushed with a covered shoulder rather than opened by a handle that's been abused by the non-hand-washers. And I like the dual functionality of mittens in the wintertime as both a warming device and anti-bacterial shield (at least in my mind they are).

So, as you might expect, riding the subway is a little bit of a gross-out sometimes. I don't like people touching me, especially my hand, and obviously, of course, my butt or boobs. But the worst, germ wise, has got to be the coughers and snot-slingers. You can just feel the germs alighting on your person after espaping the mucousy prison of their previous host. Yuck!

But today I met another germ offender. It was more subtle, but gave me a good dose of the germ-e-jeebies.

He was, oh, what to call it? He wasn't sniffing. It was an anti-sniff, really. Unsniffing. I guess technically, he was blowing. And this blow job didn't have a tissue.

I guess he wasn't trying to express a lot of . . . fluid. He just must have had a tinge and was trying to flush it out, if you will. Unfortunately for me, he was doing so in close proximity to me, within earshot as we were walking. With each step it was

Un-sniff. . . . Un-sniff . . . . Unsniff . . . . Unsniff

I couldn't get away! I was envisioning all the germs flying toward me with great abandon with every snortling step he took. Ack! Save me!

I tried to maneuver away, but just as I would think I had succeeded in evading him, I would hear it again in my hearing periphery - Unsnif . . . . Unsnif!

Finally I succeeded in putting some distance between us, then thankfully lost him in the crowd.

When I got to work, the first thing I did was wash my hands. Of the whole thing.