Butch Cassidy is nothing without his Sundance Kid

Of course it would happen on the morning when the wind chill was -1.  -1 AMERICAN degrees.

Waiting for the train this morning, the disembodied voice of the friendly train station lady announced that all trains in and out of Penn Station were running 20-30 minutes behind. Thankfully, I was able to step into my train and escape the skin-punishing, bone-chilling cold at approximately the time NJ Transit promises in its train schedules. But, of course, after moving a few miles up the line, the conductor announced that the delays were worse than we had been led to believe. Apparently, due to a broken down train in the tunnel, there was but one track for all trains entering and leaving the major hub in Manhattan. 

In other words, bad news.

So, after we waiting for a while outside Newark, our conductor told us we were being re-routed to Hoboken. As you may recall, this had happened to me before, in reverse, last year, but I remain totally ignorant of the PATH train and their routes, so upon reaching Hoboken, I got on a train that took me near Penn Station and had to back-track back to my office. (I would learn later that this could have been a much shorter trip, but the PATH website was blissfully unhelpful.)

Oh, and I had to get out on Broadway and find my way back to Penn Station - and of course, since it was cold, I headed out the wrong way and had to walk more than I should have. 

The Highlight:

There was an irritating guy with a backpack - it's always backpacks - who continued to bump into me and a woman next to me on the PATH train. Oblivious to the natural law stating that two bodies cannot occupy the same space, he repeatedly beat us with his backpack, like the clumsy adolescent who is not in control of his newly-large body and bumps into walls and other things because he is not used to his hulking shoulders.  This guy, however, was just annoying.

At one point, the woman and I turned in towards one another to shoot him a dirty look. It was like something out of a sit-com: We turned at preciously the same time and turned back at the same time as well. I wanted so much to make eye contact and share that "If you punch him in the face, I'll punch him in the stomach" look, but she was too annoyed to have any fun on the ride. So alas, the man remained unpunched. Another missed opportunity in the annals of NY commuting.

On board ... and off ... and on ... and ....

If Monday marked the highlight of life in the city, Wednesday certainly marked the lowest point. It was on this day, of course, that the rails leaving from Penn Station had no power, causing unimaginable confusion and a mass of humanity in mid-town I had not been introduced to before.

For me, it introduced more than just running around the city, cramming myself onto a PATH train, or finding Hoboken. I had the pleasure of meeting (read: being crammed against) some of the most selfish people in the tri-state area.

I got on board the 4:50 Dover Express, and soon after the conductor came on to announce that we were significantly delayed because of an overhead power outage along the lines. After sitting for about 30 minutes, they "recommended" that we take a PATH train to Hoboken and pick up a NJ Transit train from there. I walked back up the stairs and people had overtaken every tile on the floor, staring at monitors that read:
Delayed
Delayed
Delayed
Delayed
Delayed
Delayed

I muscled through, got outside and walked a few blocks to the PATH station and it was much worse. Taking baby steps among hundreds of people trying to cram through two doors, I eventually got downstairs. The station opened up and I was back in time at my first Hanson concert. A train was approaching so I "ran" as best I could down the track; every car was completely full, with people crammed so tight not even one of the Olson twins could have gotten in. I kept walking, knowing that time was running out until it would leave, got to the end and saw the tiniest space I could squeeze in ....

And the woman at the door would not move. She literally and completely did not move as I turned sideways, squeezed my bag close to my stomach and snuck into the car like the weird kid who ate his boogers trying to sneak into prom. I got in, and she said to me, "Sir, I'm going to need to hold onto something." I turned less than a quarter turn and PRESTO she had plenty of room to hold her arm by my head as I fought the urge to lovingly caress it with my cheek.

We stopped at every stop, taunting those waiting to get on, some of whom even walked up and tried a few times to squeeze in. It would have been comical if I hadn't been dripping sweat off my face.

We got to Hoboken and it was like the start of the Boston Marathon - people sprinted up the stairs and to the tracks. I can't be sure, but I think I saw a man shove a pregnant lady down, step on her hand and say, "Watch it, whore." It may not have happened, as this part is still a blur as I tried to keep from being trampled by the Pamplona bulls poking me in the ass.

The rest is boring: I got on the train, we waited about 30 minutes because our crew were themselves trying to get from Penn Station to Hoboken on the PATH. We slowly made our way down the line, and I got home about 7:30. Just your average three-hour commute. After seeing the best human on earth Monday, I got up close and personal with some of the worst Wednesday: those so eager to get home they act like gazelle running from an lion. Survival of the fittest, and the lame are Darwin's prey.