On board and sitting in MY seat

I’ve noticed recently that people feel a sense of ownership of the seats they choose on the train. Often, these people will sit down and spread themselves out – either by literally sprawling out over the entire seat or by putting their stuff in the seat next to them – in an effort to claim their seat. In essence, they are a dog marking their territory, with their bag, thankfully, taking the place of urine. It’s a noble effort because really: Who wants to sit with a stranger on a train?

The trouble, of course, is that during rush hour, odds are you are going to get a seat partner. Or two. And it’s better to realize this going in, I think, than coming to that realization after you’ve sat down and sprawled out. Because you’re only going to get disappointed. Or, as I’ve noticed, irritated.

Increasingly, I’ve noticed that people who have laid claim to a seat are visibly annoyed when someone asks to sit down with them. “Do you not smell my urine?” they seem to ask. “Do you not see my flag sticking out of this seat, claiming this territory for me?” The train can be standing room only, and these people will feel as if you’ve greatly put them out by asking to sit with them. As if they paid more for the seat than you. Or have a special relationship with the leather of the seat that you wouldn’t – that you couldn’t – understand.

So please, save your exasperated sighs for someone else. If you’re going to Wall Street, don’t you have more pressing concerns?

On board or at least you better be

You have only a window of time before you can jump onto the subway before the doors close. The process is unforgiving and emotionless: Even if you are running towards the door, there's no guarantee that the door will wait for you.

Unless, of course, someone stands in the way of the door closing.

Some cars have an automated voice that rings out, "Beware the closing door." The lines I usually ride do not, and the conductor has to come on and announce the doors are shutting. This afternoon, something went horribly wrong. Some thoughtless soul stood between the conductor and his departure (i.e. between the doors) and we couldn't leave. The conductor asked in his usual manner to step away from the doors. A few moments later, as we had not left, he got on the intercom again, but he was not calm. In fact, I would go so far as to say he was mad. He yelled over the intercom, "Stand away from the doors!"

I was a bit shocked. I've never heard an employee of the MTA get so upset. I never thought about it before, but this is not a taxing job: You push the gas, you hit the breaks. Doors open, doors close. Repeat. But I suppose dealing with New Yorkers can get tedious. And if someone is interfering with one-fourth of your job responsibility, hey, that could upset the best of us.

On board with VOGUE VOGUE VOGUE VOGUE

For the most part, I am pleased with technology. I like my TV, iPhones are cool, and air conditioning is great. Oh also indoor plumbing is nice. However, one downside to technology is that people are fast and loose with cameras these days. Ignoring, for the moment, cell phone cameras, people have taken digital photography to great highs and great lows. The low: without the expense of film to deter shutter-happy fingers, people do not hesitate to take picture after picture, no matter the inanity, sometimes reaching 30 CMP (clicks per minute).

I thought of this today when I was waiting for the subway. No less than 4 people were taking pictures of the subway, some even taking pictures of just the tracks. No people. No action. Dark, ugly, disgustingly filthy tracks. With film cameras, I have to think that people would not waste time taking pictures of such boring subjects. Of all the things you see in New York, surely the subway is one of the least you're eager to picture. But with room on a memory disk for 200, 300, or 400 shots, people feel as though they can take these pictures. Will they ever look at these pictures again? Of course not. But God help you if you try to take it away from them. Technology. Blah.

Putting the sport in transport

I started classes last week, which isn't such a big deal except that it means that, after two months of driving no more than 15 miles a week since my office moved to NYC, I am driving regularly again, to and from class twice a week. Yesterday, I was reminded of all the reasons I don't like driving around New Jersey. But is commuting in a car worse than public transportation commuting? Here, I will decide once and for all, which is better: public transportation or driving.

Some of you know that I enjoy singing along to Les Miserables loudly and wonderfully. In the car, no one but me knows I'm pretending to be Jean Valjean. On the train I get stares, but is that going to stop me from singing along to the greatest musical ever? No. Point Car.

On the train, I can sit back and read a book or listen to music and drift in and out of consciousness. When I do either of those in my car, I tend to veer off the road and into on-coming traffic. Also, it's hard to turn a page with one hand on the steering wheel. Point Train.

In the car, I have plenty of room to spread out and I rarely have large sweaty people touching me. (Thought there was that one time when I pulled an Eddie Murphy ... ) On the train, unfortunately, I seem to attract the affections of large men. This is my curse. Point Car.

On the train, I do not have to worry about congestion except when we get around the tunnel, and even then it's not ME who is concerned with moving along. In the car, I have to deal with a mass of humanity trying to squeeze into three lanes of highway with idiots cutting one another off without any thought of others while my blood pressure slowly rises to a boil. Dealing with these ass clowns* takes the gentleman out of me. Two Points Train.

I have tried to keep this blog profanity free, but you try driving on the Parkway and leaving it a gentleman. Give me 5 minutes on the Parkway, I'll give you new and wonderful ways to offend the ears of God.

On the train, you are putting your time and life in the hands of a few others, whom you must assume are competent enough to get you where you're going. In the car, you are putting your life in the hands of thousands of people I am quite certain are not competent. Point Train.

Alright, by my count it's Train 4, Car 2. And I grow tired of counting, so that's the final answer. Public transportation forever.

On board with can you hear me now?

When did we as a society decide that we needed to talk on the phone at all times, no matter the time or the place? I ask this because Friday I had to listen to people talking on their phones the entire way to and from work on the train. Most mornings you can count on the commuter train being relatively quiet, as people read newspapers or mentally prepare for another day in the office (i.e. sleep). But on Friday, the guy behind me spent the entire ride talking on his phone, discussing something work-related. And on the way home, a woman discussed personal matters the entire trip.

The worst, though, was listening to a teenager sitting behind us talking to a friend Sunday morning for 20 minutes. He had an incredibly annoying voice, sounding like a valley girl (yes, valley girl). I can tell you this: He worked at McDonald's for 6 months (beating his friend by 4 months), he spends about everyday in Brooklyn, he so badly needs a new phone, and when he gets his tax refund next year, he is soooo going shopping.

Do we really need to be available 24 hours a day? Do we really need to be able to talk about mundane things in public places whenever we want? And most importantly, should people feel comfortable speaking on their phones in public? In this age of social websites, blogs, and message boards, very little is private. But shouldn't we keep something things to ourselves? Shouldn't we respect others enough to not broadcast everything all the time?

Okay, you're right - I'm just bitter because no one ever calls me.

On board with a lamp

On a typical morning, taking the rush hour train into the city, I will see people carrying only briefcases and newspapers. And while I can’t imagine why anyone would want to read anything other than the New York Times, I see more copies of the Post and Daily News than is healthy. But that is at least understandable; at least these people are reading rather than snorting coke or something. I suppose a titillating, skimpy-on-the-truth story about Britney Spears is a decent way to start the day, though I would prefer a skimpy-on-the-shirt story. At any rate, these sights are common and I hardly notice them anymore.

This morning, however, brought a surprise. A woman on the train this morning had a lamp shade. An honest-to-goodness lampshade. Nothing more, nothing less. Her commute boiled down to the transport of a lampshade. Where she was going is anyone’s guess, though I like to think that her previous lampshade was destroyed in a fit of fury after her secretary accidentally hung up on the President, who had called to congratulate her on winning the most recent National Spirograph Contest. I miss spirograph.