A memorable transit experience? That’s a tough one. When, like me, you’ve basically been commuting for more time then you’ve even spent in school itself, well, you see things.
I have stories, don’t get me wrong. I’ve seen my fair share of curiosities such as the train toenail clipper or the guy sitting plucking corn kernels off a cob, only to stuff them suspiciously into his jacket pocket; and I’ve experienced more than enough uncomfortable encounters as well with that creep on the train who seems to have nothing better to be doing with his time. But one experience? I wish to share then, one, that I feel encapsulates everything I love and hate about NYC transit in one fell swoop.
“This is a Pelham Bay Park bound, 6, local, train. The next stop is, 59th Street.” I felt someone push me to lean even further over the old lady sitting and reading her newspaper before me, and giving her an apologetic grin, I mouthed the word ‘Sorry,’ before looking behind me to throw silent words of disapproval at the stranger’s backpack now digging into my back.
“Sorry, I’m being pushed,” I heard another lady announce as I felt myself also being pushed into the man standing next to me, the lady on my other side now fully glued to my arm.
“STEP ALL THE WAY IN. THERE’S ANOTHER TRAIN DIRECTLY BEHIND THIS ONE” I felt it even. The unseen roll of one hundred pairs of eyes joining my own, as the conductor’s voice went silent again and the doors attempted to meet one another for a third time. Empty words. There’s always a train directly behind this one, I thought to myself as I heard someone suck her teeth as a small, Asian lady attempted to squeeze into the small space right next to the pole sitting at the end of a row of seats.
The crowd moved with her, a magical force sweeping through all the sleepy commuters, ending again at my now arched spine. I felt myself being tipped to lean even further over the old woman—I was basically reading her newspaper now, if anything—and felt as I was being pushed off one of my own feet. Gaaaah! Where’d the floor go?!? I panicked for a second and as I attempted to plant my foot back onto the ground, the man to my left shifted; shifted as people do when they grab your hand’s spot on a train pole when you move for just one second to scratch your nose, and edged his foot to where mine had been half a second earlier.
That’s right. I now found myself in a most bizarre situation, worse than when I ended up having to ride the rails without something to hold on to, using my fellow commuters as human supports to keep me upright. I was standing on one foot, holding onto the pole above my head for dear life, so I wouldn’t become page six of the poor, oblivious lady-sitting-before-me’s “amNY,” and my abdominals were starting to burn with the effort.
Then the finality of it. We all listened as the door shut with a thud and the train began to move. Just one stop. Half the train empties at 59th. Just one stop, I told myself as the train began to seemingly drag itself forward. It was one of those super quiet trains as well, the ones without the dull roar of machinery, but just the sound of sweat trickling underneath peoples jackets as they exchanged body heat with one another. I let out a shaky, breath. It had gotten hard to breathe even. I couldn’t remember the last time the train had been so packed, if it had ever been so packed. I was standing on one leg for Pete’s sake! I decided hopscotch was only fun when played on chalk-drawn scribbles.
Something was missing though, I couldn’t quite put my finger on it; and then the train pulled into the station. The stunted cries of “GETTING OFF” filled the air as a teeming mass of hats and hair wrestled its way off the train. And there it was. An audible breath filled the train car as everyone remaining let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. My foot found its way back to mosaic floors, and I finally straightened up, muscles and body once again at ease. The moment was a New York minute if I had ever felt one. “The next stop is, 68th Street—Hunter College.” Best train ride ever.
