Tag Archives: Subway

I met my guardian angel while waiting for the subway

I was running late for work the other day, so late that I must have forgotten to check my pockets as I flew out the door, I didn’t have my MetroCard, it’s usually in my left back pocket, not in my wallet, easy access, you need the easiest access for a MetroCard. It’s like, any sort of moisture on your hands, whatever the plastic material that the card is made out of, it becomes impossible to get a grip on if it’s stuck in a wallet, you’ll be standing there at the turnstile, why isn’t this thing coming out, it’s barely raining, or I’m barely sweating at all, and people behind you are like, “Come on buddy, let’s move it pal, I don’t have all day here man, let’s go …” and you want to be like, “Shut up! All right! Just shut up!” but the best you can muster is a feeble, “I’m sorry, it’s just that, I can’t, my grip, it’s right here, I … it’s … I’m,” and they’re like, “Hurry! Up! Move!” and then the MTA employee gets on the mic behind the box, you think she might defuse the situation, but she’s not on your side, “Sir! Please step aside and let the people through!” and it’s only been what, ten, fifteen seconds so far, you’re not allowed ten or fifteen seconds to try and grab the card that’s right there?

Right, so back pocket it is, which, until now was the most effective strategy, walk through, loose MetroCard in the pocket, swipe, if only that guy ahead of me would just hurry up already, what is he, a tourist, come on pal. But this time it’s my undoing, I’m going to swipe but there’s no card, there’s nothing, I look behind me, there’s a line, I start to panic, I can feel the group conscious start to come down on me, it’s going to be negative, maybe it’s going to be violent, who’s going to turn on me first.

“Hey friend,” who the hell said that? “Need a swipe?” It’s this guy next to me, I don’t know what to say, what’s his angle? What does he want? “No, it’s just that … well, I can’t seem to … I just,” and then he just swiped it. The turnstile screen said go, so I went. “Hey man, that was really … you didn’t have to, I … thanks, just … just, thanks a lot, all right?”

“Yeah, no problem.” And then I turned, I went up the stairs to wait for the train, I always walk to the end of the platform, nobody ever walks all the way down, and so even if it’s a full train, even if it’s rush hour, there’s always a little more room if you head toward the first or the last car. But I couldn’t help but thinking about that guy, was I just his good deed for the day? Does he do stuff like that pretty regularly? Man, I’ve got to buy a new MetroCard, which sucks, because I don’t want to have to get attached to a new one, I used the old one for so long that all of the lettering faded away, it was just a white card with a magnetic strip, which I thought was cool, it was like I owned it, like it was …

“Hey man, you dropped your magazine.” It was that same guy. He was holding a magazine. I instinctively reached back to touch my other back pocket, yep, it was gone, no magazine, and that’s weird too because I’m never losing things out of my back pockets, and now today, twice, first the MetroCard, now, well, maybe I lost the magazine while looking for my MetroCard, that moment of panic, I could feel everybody’s eyes on me, just waiting for me to trip up, sometimes even if you have your card, you swipe it that first time and it doesn’t read, it’s just like, “Swipe again, at this turnstile,” and so you’re stuck, come on …

“Thanks man, I owe you again,” I told him and grabbed my magazine. “Yeah, don’t mention it.” Wow, I’ve got to be more careful I guess, just a little more aware of my possessions, my sense of what’s in what pocket, right? When I got on the train there weren’t any seats, so much for my strategy, well, whatever, maybe it’s just unusually crowded today, or maybe there was a delay right before I got on, so everybody had a chance to walk to the end of the platform, but it doesn’t matter, I guess I really don’t mind standing for …

“Hey man, you want to sit down?” I couldn’t believe it, it was the same guy, what is he, my guardian angel? How did he get on the train before me? I didn’t even see any open seats, there are like twenty people standing in the car, and this guy was definitely behind me when I took the magazine out of his hands. I wanted to ask him all of this, I wanted to freak out, head to the next car and try and give this guy the slip, but the car doors closed right behind me and, yeah, I actually did want to sit down, I’d been rushing this whole morning, everything off on the wrong foot, no coffee, I was exhausted, “Yeah, man, thanks.” And he got up and I sat down and read my magazine. That was really nice, that guy, what a nice thing to do, three nice gestures in a row, this total stranger, what a guy.

Biking in the rain

I just got caught in the rain, big time. It’s one of these weeks where it’s raining every day, and if it’s not raining, it’s constantly just about to rain, the sky is gray and the wind is blowing, it’s an ever-present threat. And I guess it’s good, you know, for the environment, for my garden. Every day I try to make a point to go outside and hose down the plants, but even when I do it, I’m probably not out there for as long as I should be. I keep meaning to buy a sprinkler, but it’s been so rainy lately that, one, I don’t really have to, because nature is taking care of it, and two, I don’t want to leave the house unless I really have to, because it’s so gross out.

So today I went to meet one of my friends downtown for lunch. The sky was cloudy but for some reason I was optimistic, like come on, it already rained yesterday and the day before. Today is going to be different. I rode my bike. I love riding my bike. I always know exactly how long it’s going to take me to get anywhere. I don’t have to worry about the subway being late or not paying attention and missing my stop.

And it was fine, I made it downtown fine. But after lunch I headed out to bike back home and it was starting to rain, just a misting so far, so I was like, OK, I better book it before I get wet. And that was stupid, because I started getting wet immediately. A lot of the time I’ll travel with this emergency biking-in-the-rain outfit, some waterproof pants, a couple of plastic bags to wrap around my backpack. But I didn’t have anything with me today.

Still, I should have just gotten off of my bike and taken the subway. It’s totally acceptable to bring your bike on the train. But it’s just such a pain in the ass. First of all, if it’s raining out, everybody’s going to be looking for shelter underground. Time to get off the streets and get back inside. And so the normally crowded subway system gets even more crowded. And I have my bike with me. Do you know how difficult that is, trying to maneuver not just yourself, but also a huge bike through a crowd of wet people?

It’s like, what’s the correct way to get your bicycle through the turnstile? I have no idea, so I just pick it up and kind of shove it through which, depending on my angle, depending on how many people are simultaneously trying to come and go, it might work or it might not. It might get stuck, and then I’m causing a little traffic jam, and then people start yelling things, not the people immediately behind or in front of me, no, that would be a little too confrontational. But the people two or three back, safe enough to lob whatever insults they want without any fear of repercussion or altercation. They’re like, “Move your bike asshole!”

And also, whenever it’s really wet out, I have such a hard time getting my Metrocard out of my wallet. For anybody not familiar with the New York City subway, the Metrocard is a credit card shaped piece of plastic that holds money for passage. I don’t know if I’m the only one who experiences this problem, because I’ve never even really consciously thought about it until I started writing this out, but it’s impossible to get a grip on it when it’s wet. And my wallet, it’s like I need to use the tips of my fingers to pull the card out. And I can’t. And I have my bike. I’m just standing there at the turnstile, “Let’s move it jerkoff!” shouted at me from every direction.

Getting the bike on the train, it shouldn’t be a problem, but again, when it’s raining, the platforms are jam-packed. So even when the train eventually arrives, what am I supposed to do, push people out of the way so I can take up three spots, one for me and two for my bicycle? Everybody’s crammed in, wet, cold, and they see me standing there occupying all that space, I can just hear them screaming in their heads, “Way to go, jerk!”

So I toughed it out and rode my bike in the rain. It didn’t let up until I was like three quarters of the way home, but even if it’s not directly raining, all you need to make the ride really inconvenient is a layer of rain on the street. Your tires will constantly splash it up along your back, in your face, soaking your feet from underneath. It’s not pleasant. But whatever, I’m home. I have to leave for work in like half an hour. I guess I’ll bike, because if I wanted to take the train, I should have left like five minutes ago.

My Second Post!

Could it be that I’ve already exhausted everything I had to write about by only the second post? I sure hope not; that would be pretty embarrassing, not to mention a complete waste of money setting this whole thing up. I know, I know, registering a domain name doesn’t really cost that much. And yeah, putting stuff on the Internet for most people usually costs nothing. But I always like to spend a little money where everyone else sees an opportunity not to. It shows that I’m serious. Like when I go to Subway, I insist on buying two six-inch sandwiches, both exactly the same, for the specific reason of not having to participate in the never-ending “Five Dollar Footlong” promotional event. Frankly, I think it a little ballsy of Subway to assume that much control over my personal finances. Maybe I was planning to treat myself out to a special lunch today. But no, now I’m standing on line just like every other riff-raff and hobo in town at an establishment now barely a notch higher-class than a soup kitchen. Free refills? No thank you! In fact, I always buy a bottled soda, plus a fountain soda, and then I pour the soda from the bottle into the paper cup. It just tastes better that way. I say that the era of “marginally-something for basically-nothing” is long overdue to expire. And I know very well that cookies are buy-two-get-one-free. Stop bossing me around!

People always put such a special emphasis on firsts. First words. First marriages. First DUIs. But I think the second time around is always a lot more special than the first. There is just way too much pressure when doing anything for the first time. You’re abruptly going from doing nothing to doing something. Chances are you’re going to screw it up. It’s much easier to simply accept that fact, acknowledge it, and move on. I’m rereading my first blog post as I write this and, frankly, I’m horrified that I actually subjected all of you to such mindless drivel. My sincerest of apologies.

I’m thinking that this second blog post is going to be my best one ever. Second times are infinitely better than first times. When my mom makes a giant meal for my whole family, I’m always eating the first serving not really concentrating on enjoying the food, but more focusing on finishing my first plate before anybody else in my family has a chance to finish theirs. This way, I’m assured that I’ll be first in line for a second helping. It’s only after I’ve elbowed everyone else out of the way for that last piece of steak that I can really sit back and savor each bite.

Now that I’m thinking about it, everywhere I look in my life, I’m finding the second time around to be much better than the first. Like when I passed my road test on my second try. Or the second time I bowled a perfect game. Those are all pretty obvious, but there are also more subtle examples. Anybody ever go to Seven-Eleven and, when the clerk isn’t looking, you fill up a Big Gulp cup with Slurpee, because the fountain soda is a little cheaper? The first time is always a little weird, because you’re worried that you might get caught, and maybe you might feel a little guilty about going out of your way to cheat a convenience store out of some spare change. But it works, and the second time you go for it, not only are you completely desensitized to the moral ambiguities of what you’re trying to pull off, but also you now realize that, even if the store clerk notices what you’re doing, he or she really couldn’t care enough to actually get into it with you. And don’t trivialize that small change. Over a regular basis, you’re looking at a lot of money.

Third times are inevitably disappointing, and the fourth through twenty-fifth times cycle betweens feelings of despair to feelings like you’re trying to convince yourself that maybe the seventh or eighth time might have been pretty decent after all, but really you know that you’re just saying that to yourself over and over again, hoping that with enough repetition you’ll eventually believe it to be true, but as convincing as it might sound, it will never feel right, because some tiny part of the back of your mind will always remember how nothing can ever live up to that glorious second time. After a lot of times, the cycles begin to blur, leveling out to something you can’t absolutely say is bad, but nothing you would ever realistically label as good. If this strikes you as something worth getting into, I invite you to come back here for further posts. If not, please enjoy reading and rereading this post over and over again, forever.