Subway Moments: The Mumbly Guy and the Zombie Apocalypse

My commute this morning was longer than the usual 25 minute ride due to some malfunction between 72nd and 59th Streets. So for 20 minutes we sat there waiting in the darkened tunnel for something, anything, to happen. Most of this time I spent reading Kathy Griffin's book but part of my mind was paying attention to the mumbly man sitting next to me.

Since 168th Street he had been sitting next to me quietly talking to himself and seemingly very engaged in some sort of argument with one of, what could have been, many voices in his head. He'd fidget back and forth, his dirty North Face coat bumping me slightly as his disagreement continued on unintelligibly.

The only five words that I was able to ascertain from his garbled diatribe were:

1. subway
2. vibrations
3. happy
4. zombie
5. apocalypse

The first three seemed to go together, which is disconcerting enough and might explain his squirming back and forth. The last two were said together and seemed to instill him with abject fear... which got me to thinking:

If a zombie apocalypse were to happen I would definitely not want to be stuck underground in a subway car!

Let's imagine for a moment that you are trapped in a subway car, deep inside a tunnel, the power has probably gone out because, for whatever reason, zombies seem to be able to cut the power whenever they appear in movies. So it is dark, your surrounded by other people who are going to panic, and the doors are probably locked shut since there's no power to crank them open again.

Now, let's say a zombie gets on the train and, in the ensuing chaos, bites someone. This is going to happen... it's just too likely that someone is going to be idiotic enough to get caught by one of these slowly moving monstrosities (I'm assuming of course that the zombies will be like those in a Roger Corman film and not the super-sonic runners in modern takes like 28 Days Later).


As Hollywood has taught us, being bitten by a zombie is a sure way to become a zombie yourself. So now there are two zombies. And those two zombies will bite people as they crawl through the car and eventually make their way through this horrifying smörgåsbord to you.

Rationally, if a zombie got in the car you could get out. They aren't smart enough (in theory) to unlock a door, open it and lock it behind them, so in theory you could leave the same way they got in. But that's assuming you could get past them. But even if you got out of the car you'd then be in a dark tunnel and have no sense of who might be right next to you. There's very little light down there when a train isn't barreling through the passage so it is quite possible that millions of zombies have fallen down into the tracks and are ready to devour you. Unless you have some super-human skills or are as clever scripted as the Hollywood action hero... you're probably going to be either a zombie or zombie food if you're stuck in the tunnel.

All of this ridiculous worry rushed through my head in a matter of seconds and all because of the mumbly man next to me who spoke, albeit briefly and incoherently, about a zombie apocalypse while I was riding the subway with him. This might be a form of hypochondria so that I took on some of his "crazy" as another person might assume they had a cold because the person next to them sneezed.

So here's hoping we avoid a zombie apocalypse completely... and if we do someday I pray I'm not on the train. Just seems like a bad idea all over.

Dawn of the Disaster... and then some

Let's cut to the chase... today sucked.

For the first time in weeks I got up early to get back into my old routine of going to the gym before work.  I have been feeling better and thought I could finally get through an hour and a half of fitness to prep for the rest of the day.

But no.  New York Sports Club had other plans in store... like not having hot water today.

After popping into the gym and having my key-bob scanned I noticed a sign posted next to the receptionist: "No Hot Water. Sorry for the inconvenience."  ARGH.  There was no way I was going to get sweaty and then take a freezing shower, no matter how hot it is out of late.  So, I turned on my heels and headed out the door.  It would be an early day at the office.

At work I headed into the private bathroom and changed into my work clothes which should have been the most pain-free part of the day.  But no.  I hadn't brought my work shoes with me and I was now stuck wearing my gym sneakers with my slacks and sweater.  And did I mention that my slacks were faded olive and that somehow I'd grabbed beige dress socks.

Looking a little like a circus clown I dropped into my chair and decided I could either go home, change and be late getting back to work... or accept the fact that I looked like a clown and pray that the rest of the day have pity on me.

I went with pity.

Things went fine until I headed home and was tricked by Luck into thinking I was in the clear when the A train was sitting, waiting for me at the 34th Street station.  "Thank you," I said to whatever being had finally had mercy on me.  I sat on a free seat ("This never happens!") and plugged my earphones in, ready to catch up on some podcasts for the next 40 minutes.

But no.  "Ladies and gentlemen, we are being delayed due to a problem ahead. We'll be moving shortly." Sigh.  But I wasn't ready to give up my seat so I stayed in place for a few minutes.  After about 10 minutes had passed the conductor came over the PA again, "Due to a passenger accident at 116th Street there is no uptown service on the A train."  That's it.  I left my seat and hurried down the stairs, through the passage and back up again to catch the C that was just pulling in.  Whew, made it!!


But no.  It was an E (which does NOT go where I need it to go).  But I decided to deal and take it up to 42nd Street where I could then switch to the C which would at least get me to 168th Street and much closer to home!  But no.  "Ladies and gentlemen, due to a passenger accident at 116th Street there is no uptown service on the A, C, B or D trains.  Passengers needing transportation to the Upper West Side and to Upper Manhattan should transfer at 42nd Street to the 1, 2 or 3 trains."

FAIL!  So, after a dismal trek through the 42nd Street station to the 1 I headed for home... only to then not pay attention and miss my stop 40 minutes into the ride.  


I think I'm giving up on today and going to bed. Maybe... just maybe... Friday will be amazing to balance out this craptacular Thursday.

Hey MTA... you want to take care of this problem?

After work today I popped onto the A train at 34th Street, found an empty seat (always a pleasant surprise) and began watching a podcast to occupy my time as the train lurched down the track.

At 42nd Street I was pulled out of my iPhone trance when I felt a sharp, stinging WHACK on the top and side of my head. I looked up to see this woman (see picture) teetering back and forth with a beer in one hand. Before I could react she threw another hand at my head (second WHACK for those keeping score). She couldn't even speak really... she just slurred her words and pointed at the gentleman standing next to her. He was appalled. Here was this man, maybe 50 years old, minding his own businesses while this drunk woman harassed me on his behalf.

"Excuse me?!" I was pissed. If she needed a seat she should have a) not been drunk, b) not smacked the crap out of me, c) not smacked the crap out of me a second time and d) asked me politely if she could have the seat.

She managed to garble something about the 50-year old, pointing to him and then to my seat.

"Sir," I said, standing, "would you like to sit down?"

He waved his hand and quietly said, "No no, I'm fine."

She then nudged him and pointed at the seat. "Stop hitting people!" I yelled. I don't like to yell but I'm not going to stay quiet while someone hits me (twice!) and then pesters another person.

She didn't like my tone and started towards me. I slipped between two other passengers and moved a few feet away, to avoid her advancing hands and to step out of what could have been a much uglier confrontation.

She then proceeded to hit several other passengers, including the gentleman who had been sitting next to me. He had his head down, not paying attention to the present situation, until she grabbed his hair. Shocked, he sat upright and pushed her away. She grabbed at his hoodie and he pushed her away. She then grabbed at a large book in his lap... and he pushed her away.

She moved on to another, then another and then another passenger. Finally, as we pulled up to 125th Street she moved again and, out of nowhere, she chest-bumped a large man who was standing off to one side. "Hey," he turned, attempting to move out of her way. Another chest-bump. "Hey! Seriously. Get off of me." (See video below. It's short since I didn't want her to see me filming and then have to deal with her a second time.) More after the video.



How are these drunken people allowed on the trains? Where are the MTA agents and police who we can turn to when we need help? The MTA continues to remove services while increasing our fares. For what I pay I'd love to have some sense of security that I can ride the train in peace without being physically attacked by drunken fools who would be better off in a halfway house.

Come on MTA... step up and help your riders out.

UPDATE at 10:59PM:

I was told my the MTA Subway Twitter account that I should have alerted a policeman or MTA employee immediately, however there was no one in the train car to turn to and to leave the train would have been moot since I would be off the train and this woman would have stayed on, riding away in freedom.

What other recourse do passengers have when situations like this arise when the train is in motion??

Why Hazmat Suits Should Be Worn on the Subway

Taken at the NY Transit Museum

My morning commute was interrupted by two instance of absolute repulsion. Granted, it is not shocking that a ride on the subway included moments of uncomfortability (foul aromas, howling babies, etc.) but today I was attacked by an entirely new level of WTH! In all my little subway adventures I've never been quite as appauled as I was by the behavior of the two riders who you'll meet below. Prepare yourself. And if you have a weak gag reflex... well, proceed at your own risk.


Let me first explain, for anyone unfamiliar with the subway, that there are two varieties of the A train.

1. The Long Blue Bench: Seating consists of one long bench that stretches down the length of the train. There are no raised divisions (keeping butts in place) and you sometimes slide from side-to-side as the train lurches.
   
2. The Howard Johnson: Seating on the HJ is made up of yellow and orange (hence the moniker I've assigned it). These seats have raised edges (again, keeping butts in seats). The most significant difference is that the HJ has L-shaped seating areas... a bench with 3 seats rests along the length of the wall and then a bench of 2 seats juts out. Add a table and you could sit down with four close friends for a breakfast of pancakes and OJ.

So, I'm on the HJ this morning, in the 3rd seat of the 3-seat bench and to my right is the 2-seat bench.

To my left, on seat 2 of the 3-seater, is a woman, covered in sweat, layered in tissues, coughing as though she had just swallowed a meatloaf whole. Why didn't I move? Because I was wedged in like one of 64 colors in a Crayola box and there was no hope of escape until the train thinned out some.

To my right, on the aisle seat of the 2-seater L shaped bench, was a sharply dressed woman with her Bloomingdale's bag tucked between her feet. She was elegantly put together so I felt a little better that maybe the universe was balancing out my plight of sitting next to Typhoid Mary by pairing her with this Lady Who Lunches.

Sadly, the elegance faded quickly.

Out of the corner of my eye I spy the LWL, fiddling with her hands. There was a sense of nervousness coming from her and, for a moment, I assumed she was afraid of getting tuberculosis from TM on my left. But as she continued fiddling it began to make me nervous and so I looked over to better see what the situation was. This was not a simple case of thumb twiddling. The LWL was peeling away dead pieces of skin from her hands and flicking those remnants directly onto my slacks.

(Insert immediate anxiety attack here.)

I bolted up out of my seat and apologetically pushed my way through the sardine crowd pressing myself against the door in the agonizing hope that the metal passage would split and let me escape the horror of the LWL with the zombie-like skin disorder.

Now I probably have typhoid, tuberculosis and some strain of flesh-eating bacteria. It's a nightmare. Someone send me a hazmat suit stat!

You must take the A Train - Discovering NY Transit History

Today was spent exploring the New York Transit Museum and it was UH-MAZING!  If you've never been just head to downtown Brooklyn and look for the subway entrance that's not a subway entrance (see image).

Climb down these steps and into what was once part of the Court Street subway station.    Below the street is an old fashion token booth where you pay your $5 and receive admission to the museum.  You can also browse the museum gift shop too if you're hankering for an MTA teddy bear, beach towel or mouse pad.

The museum, as its website says "explores the development of the greater New York Metropolitan region through the presentations of exhibitions, tours, educational programs, and workshops dealing with the cultural, social, and technological history of public transportation."

The upper level (at least, the first level below the street) offers an extensive history of the sandhogs who dug the tunnels (many who lost their lives during the construction), an overview of the "cut and cover" technique used to dig out the shallow tunnels, a detailed history of the turnstiles as well as a detailed exhibit on the bridges that connect the boroughs.  (Side note: imagine working  in the museum... you're the last one of the night and you're walking through the museum to close up... you turn the corner and see this guy peering at your through a tunnel lock?  Holy crap!)

Anyhow, after soaking in the history above you go down the steps onto the old platform where you find two tracks with cars from the first hundred years of subway service.  Walking through these cars you feel as if you're frozen in time with the ghosts of passengers past.  In many of them you'll still find old ads posted above the seats, encouraging you to buy everything from Lux for your stockings to laundry soap and men's caps.

In all it is an incredible place where you discover the magnitude of the world beneath our feet.  For instance, did you know NYers (and tourists) spend $9 million a day on the transit system?  Insane, right?  Check it out when you can.  You won't be disappointed.

 

Take the A** Train

I am all for comfort and one's ability to enjoy his or her conveyance from point A to point B.  But, when your comfort impedes mine, I get a little perturbed.

Today I enjoyed a short day at the office (thank you Good Friday) and then a great meal with friends at the Rocking Horse Cafe in Chelsea.  Afterward we walked down to 16th Street where I caught the A train heading uptown to home.

The train was packed for 4pm on a Friday.  There were no available seats for those boarding... and by available I mean "where someone wasn't being a total dip and using a seat for storage".

This woman (see picture to your left) had a purse in her lap and two carryon bags in the seat next to her.  Several people clamored onto the train, saw her, looked at her bags with confusion and then asked, "Excuse me" or "May?"  To which she turned her head and ignored their request.  Not only was she rude to ignore the multiple requests but she was also breaking the law (MTA Section 1050.7, 10(1)).  Yeah, I looked it up.

Now no one in their right mind is going to push her bags out of the way (well, I know a few people who would... yeah, you know who you are... and I celebrate your gutsiness).  So this woman rode for 40+ blocks with her bags until she popped out past midtown after collecting her inventory of American Tourister clearance items.

I mean, really?  She's almost as uncouth as the Sweet Fanny from Red.

The Day I Got Accosted on the A Train

It was bound to happen eventually. I got accosted on the subway today by this big, lumbering guy who was not 100% with his senses. Meth, crack, or some other unfortunate issue plagued him and somehow made him into the world's friendliest weirdo.

With iPhone playing, headphones on and a wicked game of Scrabble going I was happy in my own little world. And then he climbed on board at 59th Street. Somehow I sensed his presence. I looked up to see this person, who, except for his lack of age, could have been the third Fratelli from Goonies.

He started pestering some guy down the car, pushing the man's newspaper with one huge finger so he could see his face and asking him, "How you doin' man?" This perturbed man looked up to acknowledge this annoyance and then went back to his paper. The lumbering giant pressed on, "How you doin' man? Huh? How you doin'?" Shut up and sit down, was all I could think. That and please don't come down here to me. Please, oh please, oh... oh crap!

I was dreading it. I could tell he was coming my way... but I kept my head down (like a good New Yorker) and prayed that he'd miss me. I imagined he was a T-Rex and I used what I learned from Jurassic Park to try and save myself. Stay still... if you don't move he can't see you.

Jurassic Park worked! He skipped me and found the quirky art student seated catty-cornered to me. I was twelve kinds of grateful and continued listening to my podcast, playing Scrabble by myself, when suddenly... there was a tap tap tapping at my chamber door (or in this case my shoulder)

I tried to ignore him. I thought, Be polite and pretend you don't notice. It's better than being outright rude! But the tapping persisted. After the tapping became thumping I turned, headphones still on, and glared. Not an evil glare... just a "What?" glare. He gave me a big dumb smile and asked "How you doin' man?" The smile meant he meant no harm... or that's what my Southern upbringing told me. But still, I've been in NYC long enough to question any stranger's intentions. I nodded (the Southern "hello" you give to strangers as you pass by one another) and he continued. I then waved him away... very official-like. But he kept it up. And when I started ignoring him he actually grabbed my arm and pulled at me asking, "I said 'How you doin'?" I glared again - this is after all the international sign of Leave Me the Hell Alone. For a moment I was Teen Wolf demanding "a keg of beer"... eye blazing, guttural growl and all.

The giant backed off... finally. The whole car seemed to be aware that he was now done. At 125th Street he departed, fumbling his way out off the train and into the dreary, green-tinted station.

Once he was gone I wondered was I too harsh? Could I have been nicer? Could I have said, "I'm fine and you?" But that prompts further conversation and my pesky social anxiety was not going to have that. So, goodbye to you giant. Please do not touch me on the train next time. A simple nod of acknowledgment will do in the future.