Category: Train Rides

Getting Off The Train At Canal Street During Busytime On A New York Morning

4/20/2009

Something both simple and bizarre happened on my way to work this morning. As I got off at the Canal Street stop, a surge of people got off with (or amongst (or around)) me. This was not bizarre. And, though that is simple, it's not the simple moment I am writing about. It was when the surge of us moved to the turnstiles that I was simply amazed.

Someone had pushed open the emergency gate, setting of its alarm. And that is a simple act, but not necessarily a bizarre one. People often will open the emergency gate amidst a surge of others. It's an offensive tactic that gets you to work or to shopping or to being in a hurry faster than those waiting for the turnstile. The bizarre element kicked in when I realized that, even though they were in perfect working order, not a single person was using any of the three turnstiles.

Instead, everyone bottlenecked together until it was their turn for the crowd to push/nudge them through the blaring emergency gate. I don't know why. Maybe everyone was curious to know why everyone else was waiting to get pushed/nudged through the clogged and screaching emergency gate and not the clear lanes of the three functioning turnstiles. After all, that's why I waited my turn to get pushed/nudged through the emergency gate.

And, you know what? Beyond getting to the other side of the gate, nothing happened. And I have to assume nothing happened to any of the other bottlenecked members of the crowd either. We all just bottlenecked back together again and pushed/nudged our way up the stairs to empty onto the sidewalk.

What a curious bunch of lemmings we are.

Originally Posted On Facebook.

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A Delay A Day

5/9/2008

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A delay was waiting for me as I got to the train platform. A delay that I arrived in the middle of, but was made aware of by those that were there for its untimely birth. There were clenched fists and gritting teeth and angry eyes that seemed to try to melt metal. And, still the delay ticked on. The PA would occasionally click on with helpful, muffled news that all waiting already knew, helping only to clench fists tighter, to grit teeth harder, and make angry eyes angrier-if that were possible.

When the PA finally admitted that the Red Line was not coming, that all should pack onto the Brown Line-oh the looks that were thrown! If things were there to punch besides fellow annoyed passengers (the camraderie was palpable), oh the punches that would have been thrown. But, there were not, so the punches were saved for later, stored inside for the creation of hernias and aneurysms ten to twenty years down the road.

And we all shuffled stiffly onto the Brown Line, headed far past our stop, where we could find a Red Line going the opposite direction and backtrack to our desired stop. The train, of course, was packed-with people as well as tension.

One stop passed and the Brown Line train's PA belched forth more helpful advice. That the Red Line was now running, that we all could happily get off at the next stop, board an oncoming Red Line, and get to the stop where we so desperately needed to be. There was also an apology for inconvenience-an apology that mattered little to the crowd that would have surely crucified the PA, if only a PA could feel pain.

But, the stop came. We unboarded at the next stop to await the Red Line. We unboarded and waited and waited. And once more, the fists clenched and teeth gritted and eyes burned holes. And this time, the annoyance of our already familiar delay was perpetuated by the constant high pitched pounding of a drill into steel rails. A pounding that seemed pointless, but surely had some semblance of a reason (or perhaps these were mad men in hard hats pounding-hellbent on keeping us uninformed). A pounding that only stopped long enough to let the PA say, "Attention Red line riders," before it cut back in and drowned out all unannoying sounds.

And, it was at this point, that I smiled. You have to. Because the whole thing was ridiculous. There was a fear of standing too close to someone, especially when word finally leaked from the PA through the noise of the drill on steel that the Red Line was indeed coming, but that it was indeed running express, and therefore it would indeed be bypassing most of the stops we all wanted to get to, but that a following Red Line train would soon arrive shortly after-twenty minutes shortly after. Oh, the clenching, oh the gritting, the angry looks. You could feel the ravenous desire to turn towards someone near you and sink your teeth into their forehead.

It was madness. Sheer ridiculous madness. And I had to smile. Because I had somehow found a place to stand directly underneath a mad man pounding on rails with a high powered drill. How ridiculous it all was really-like we were all Atlas-that punching in to work was holding the world up-that if we were twenty minutes late, ten minutes late, five minutes late, or one minute late the world would fall. When, in all reality perhaps a phone wouldn't be answered, perhaps a number wouldn't be added, perhaps a hamburger wouldn't be made. How important it all was.

How ridiculous the comedy. Even the fact that we could be fired for this was funny. A dark comedy, to be sure. But, a comedy just the same. As if we had control over the situation. I have left fifteen minutes early and have arrived fifteen minutes late and conversely have left fifteen minutes late and arrived fifteen minutes early. As if we were paid enough that we could actually afford more than a two dollar train ride. Oh, the comedy. You have to laugh. This whole thing is ridiculous. If it's not conditional, our idea of being on time is just ridiculous. And if time is indeed money, I sincerely think that money is ridiculous as well.

Originally Posted On Facebook.

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Getting Off The Train At Canal Street During Busytime On A New York Morning

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