Rule #6: Single File in This Town, People

I'm not proud of this, but I'm going to admit something, here:  I don't really understand football.  Look, there are rules in every sport that the casual observer doesn't understand, right?  I love baseball, but I can't comprehend the "infield fly rule" as hard as I try.  I enjoy hockey, but have trouble understanding "icing", and generally look for blood when the puck itself is too hard to see.  Soccer is exciting, but I don't know when to be excited, exactly, because the clock counts UP and I never have any idea when the game is due to end.

So, American football.  I used to watch with some guys back in college who were always talking about their "fantasy team" and "the draft" and how so-and-so did a nice "pick" and so on.  I would always nod and smile and generally try to drink quietly and quickly until their conversation became interesting. 

(When we lived in New Zealand, we were turned onto a different sport:  RUGBY.  It turns out rugby is just like American football, except there's no padding or helmets, the refs don't ever stop the clock, and the cheerleaders look like hobbits.  I miss New Zealand.)

There was one time in particular, after I was sufficiently inebriated enough to admit my total ignorance of the sport, that I asked a buddy of mine the following question:

"Why doesn't the guy with the ball just run where there aren't any guys?"

Love football all you want.  Talk about how the coaches are super brilliant and how such and such a quarterback can Hail Mary a tight end until all hell breaks loose.  But at the end of the day, I haven't ever really gotten a good answer to this question.  You have the ball, and your job is to run to the end of a field with it.  There are people all in a line trying to stop you.  Why not just run where those people AREN'T?  Too often I'll watch a football game and see some dumbass with the ball try to jump THROUGH a crowd of guys who are, frankly, a lot taller and bigger than he is, and all he had to do was run like 10 feet to the right where the huge gap was and he would have been home free.  One day someone will give me a good answer to that question in the hopes of getting me to like something about football BESIDES the food at SuperBowl parties.  At which point I will shush them because I'll be watching rugby.

Can you see where I'm going with this?  Can you see where talking about a line of large people blocking you from reaching your goal would have a DIRECT CORRELATION to NYC commuting?  Ever walked on the sidewalk?

Side-by-side is rarely, if ever, acceptable.  I  understand it, and sometimes (on the rare occasion I mosey) I am guilty of holding hands with Fiancé as we walk down the sidewalk.  But here's the kicker (ha!):  if someone is coming towards us, or I hear someone trying to pass us from behind, I will scoot behind Fiancé.  She thinks I'm being polite.  It is actually because there's a good view when I'm behind her.  Pffft.  Whatever, it's win/win.

I've seen some of these rubes dragging their wheeled suitcases that boast airline tickets from some podunk flyover state when they're walking abreast in front of me, and I think, "Walk faster," which is what I generally think when I'm walking behind anyone, but it's worse in this scenerio.  In this scenerio, the sentence ends with a semi-colon and is finished with, "Single file in this town, People."

I like tourism.  I like that it brings money to the city.  I like that tourists riding the subway brings money to the MTA so they don't "have" to raise the fares for at LEAST another four months.  But if I were a tourist in, let's say FRANCE.  I'd at least ATTEMPT to order some food in French, right?  That's part of the fun of travelling!  Not just to SEE the Eiffel Tower, but also to live like the French... if even briefly.

Well, if that's the case, welcome to New York.  Feel free to visit the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island.  Times Square has a TON of space for you.  While you're here, however, we have a few rules for you to follow, if you don't mind.  First and foremost is this:  It's single file in this town, People.

Touchdown.

Bitter Friends

Well, it's been almost a month since the epic CYOA post, and the ideas for new things to bitch about ("about which to bitch"?  I know I shouldn't end a sentence with "about", but I'm not exactly comfortable rhyming, either...) are beginning to come back to me.

Last night, I was standing on the sidewalk with two friends, Clutch and Michelle, and they were mentioning funny subway experiences they've had.  Michelle, at one point, used the phrase, "I love crotch-watching on the subway", which is an amazing sentence and a large part of how I knew I'd be posting something today.  The sentence itself stemmed from a story I have since asked her to email me for two reasons; 1. She could tell it better than I ever could, and 2. I feel a little dirty thinking about it.  I promise to post it as soon as she passes it my way.

Before they knew about this blog in the first place, Clutch goes, "You know what?  Someone should write down all the rules of commuting and post them somewhere.  Because, in New York, let me tell you, you can talk slow and you can read slow, but you are NOT allowed to-".

This is where I cut him off, mostly for dramatic effect:  "Walk slow?" I offered.

"Yes!" he replied.

So, like a magician pulling away the curtain during the big reveal, I said to Clutch, "Dude - the name of my blog is 'I Walk Faster Than You'!"  At which point we proceeded to high-five in an effort to appear more Caucasian than we already did.  I'd imagine it worked.

So, at some point soon, I will be posting Rule #6, for which Clutch gave me the idea by going off on a rampage about tourists.  Michelle, for her part, studied her toes until it was time for her to share her crotch-watching story.  She did, however, provide me with an excellent site: "People of Public Transit", which I have linked to on this blog's sidebar.  It is worth checking out for significant amounts of LOLs.

Michelle also sent me this via Facebook:




As you can see from my last post, a blogger on The Huffington Post named Paul LaRosa wrote an article about subway etiquette in NYC that addresses many of the topics on IWFTY.  He even answered my comment telling him I promised to always raise my umbrella over his head as I walk past him should we ever encounter each other on a rainy day.  It's the least I can do for such a kindred spirit... even one from Brooklyn.

Lastly, it should be noted that I did write a post regarding the death of Osama bin Laden, I just didn't publish it.  It had a bitchin' picture of Captain America standing in front of the twin towers that Google Image Search was kind enough to provide for me, and it had fireworks and noisemakers and a waterslide and a pizza party and strippers and cake.  Fiancé listened to this epic description and advised against me publishing it on the grounds that this blog is known (ha!) for being snarky and sarcastic - why would I get all celebratory and patriotic now?  It's is a valid point, so I decided to curb the post and keep it to myself.  Personally, I think she just didn't want to share any of the fireworks/noisemakers/pizza/cake/strippers with any of you. 

For the record, the last sentence of the bin Laden post was something about his last commute involving being thrown from a helicopter into the ocean.

Queens Irish (or: "Only in New York")

NYC Commuter/Comedienne Erin "Irish" Conroy posted this over at comedianerinconroy.blogspot.com and I HAD to reprint it here.

This means that both blog posts this week were actually written by other bloggers.  Which is fine by me for three reasons: 1.  I was sick the last week, which made me a more forgiving commuter but a less frequent blogger.  The cold medicine also pointed me towards such regrettable decisions as 2. I joined Facebook this week.  So I have a lot of imaginary friends now.  Which is nice.  And 3. Quit complaining!  The Choose your Own Adventure Post was fucking EPIC!  Jesus. 

Enjoy!

***

Only In New York!

I hate that phrase with a passion. Dummies in NYC use it as a kind of weird declaration whenever something slightly cool or slightly terrible happens; as if to convince themselves that the trade-off for living in one of the biggest and therefore toughest cities in the world is the promise of odd happenings in their daily life. Happenings that their relatives in Kansas could never understand, right? LOLz!

For example, one time last summer I was standing waiting for the bus. (Like a BOSS) I happened to be wearing a new dress that I had bought and really liked, and was feeling pretty great. As my bus began to approach, I suddenly realized that directly in front of the bus stop there was a half-full Gatorade bottle lying in the street. The wheels in my distracted brain began to turn, and I started to do the math - could that bus be pulling up directly in line with the Gatorade bottle? And if so, does that mean that I'm lined up perfectly with the -

My brain did not figure this all out fast enough, and the next thing I know, the bus most certainly did roll right on top of the Gatorade bottle. The pressure of the bus exploded the top off the bottle and expelled the entire contents at such a high and fast volume that I don't even think Mr. Wizard would have believed it. ("You LYIN', bitch!", Mr. Wizard would have said.) But I believed it, because every last drop of that Gatorade bottle was emptied directly onto me and my new dress. I stood there absolutely speechless and in shock, as what seemed like the entire population of Manhattan passed by with little smirks on their faces. Only one woman stopped, an elderly well-dressed woman with pearls around her neck. She stopped, looked me up and down with her hands on her hips, and then loudly proclaimed "ONLY IN NEW YORK!!!!!". Then she gave me a wink and carried on her merry way. I wanted to run after her and tackle her and smear my Gatorade soaked hands all over her surgically-enhanced face. Because no, Old Lady - that couldn't have happened "only in New York". A bottle could have been rolled over anywhere in the United States - nay! The WORLD. Unfortunate occurrences aren't exclusive to this city, so stop trying to act like New York is the center of the universe. I hope she got mugged on the way home. Not hurt or anything - but I hope someone stole her pearls.

This phrase popped up again yesterday morning during my commute. I was on the bus in, and all of a sudden a TORRENTIAL downpour started out of nowhere. Without any kind of warning, the bus driver got on the PA system and started singing to everyone. Some original ditty about how the rain doesn't bother him, because tomorrow is Friday, and that's when he sees his girl. It was harmless - if not charming. But then some big galoot turns around to address the whole bus with, "Only in New York, am I right?!?!", and that phrase immediately soured my mood. The guy next to me wasn't impressed with any of it either, because he pulls out his phone to call his wife:

"Hi, it's me. Yeah. Just thought you should know the bus driver is singing to us. No - SINGING. Yeah. And then I got an 'Only in New York'. Yeah. Because you should have DRIVEN ME LIKE I ASKED, that's why I'm telling you."

Haha! Comments like that are only heard ANYWHERE. Anywhere that passive-aggressive marriages are still alive and well.

Choose Your Own Adventure

The Commute

“It looks like it’s gonna rain,” you say out loud to your empty apartment.  You had paused at the window to check out the rapidly darkening sky as you get ready for work.  There are many things about living in New York City you like; Sunday morning foot traffic in Manhattan, the silence of a middle-of-the-night snowfall, and a cool iced tea on a shady park bench are among your favorites.  Rainstorms, on the other hand, are not.  “Ugh,” you sigh as you continue to prepare yourself for another long day.

It is your plan to go visit your friend Sean in the hospital after work.  Sean has been your friend for many years, and has always been there for you when you needed him.  Recently, citing “keeping it green” and “being all healthy and stuff”, Sean has decided to start biking to work from his apartment in Brooklyn.  When he first moved to Brooklyn a year ago, you remember having made fun of him quite a bit, calling him a “hipster” and telling him he should grow a beard and wear skinny jeans.  You’re proud to know him, though, and he takes the light ribbing well.  Sadly, it was about a week ago that Sean was biking to his job and collided with another bicyclist.  He was seriously injured in the accident.  He’s recovering well enough now, however, that he’ll grin when you bring him a package of Double Stuf Oreos™ and hear you when you call him a dumbass for biking to work in the first place.

You place the sandwich cookies in your bag and exit your apartment, making sure to lock the deadbolt behind you.  You’re already halfway to the subway station when you hear the distant rumble of a far-off thunderstorm.  You’re another fifteen feet past that when you slap yourself in the forehead because, in grabbing the Oreos, you neglected to also grab your umbrella.  You can, in fact, still see it in your mind’s eye, hanging off the door knob of your apartment’s only closet.

You hesitate briefly, considering going back for it, but the clock on your cell phone’s display reminds you that you need to be at work sooner than later.  There are eight blocks between your residence and the nearest subway station, so doubling back four of them at the risk of being late for work is simply not an option.  You decide to push on, hoping against hope that the rain holds out until you’re safely underground.  “Besides,” you say aloud, “I’ve got a hoodie on.”  Indeed, you do.

The crossing guard at the next street is not smiling today.  Normally, she’s there about this time of day waving and stopping cars from running over the schoolchildren that sporadically dart into the middle of the road on their way to school.  Today, however, she’s looking a bit concerned as she speaks with another pedestrian who stopped to speak with her.  As you get closer, only about two blocks from the subway, she looks up and makes eye contact with you.  “Train’s delayed, today, Dear,” she says, “Police activity on the tracks.”  You happen to know of a bus stop about ten blocks away that, were a bus to come, would at least get you on the island of Manhattan.  From there, it would be another subway ride (on a different line) to get to work.  Whether you deal with the delay on your regular subway line, or you decide to speedwalk to the bus stop, you begin to realize there isn’t much chance of being on time anymore.  It is at this point that the first raindrops hit you, and you further begin to realize there isn’t much chance of being dry much longer, either.

If you carry on and brave the delayed subway, click here.

If you decide to head down the street to the bus stop as fast as you can, click here.



Rule #5: Don't Turn a Blind Corner

Fiancé and I saw something funny the other day.  It was one of those moments you wish were in slow motion so it would never end.  We were walking down the street, and we saw two people walking towards the corner of a building from opposite directions at the same time.  The one walking parallel to us was a young guy who was busy texting.  The person walking around the corner from him was an old woman who was busy trying to stay upright, I think.

We literally stopped in our tracks to watch what was sure to be a head-on collision.  We also wanted to see who would step aside to let the other pass.  This was one of those rare scenarios where you could actually witness the moments before the unexpected.  We decided to watch, of course.

Sadly, the end of the story is anticlimactic.  We stood across the street as the texting lad and the old woman met face to face at the corner of the building, and unfortunately violence did not ensue.  I'm not sure what we were hoping would happen, but I think we both honestly believed it would be epic; like Godzilla or the idea of dividing by zero.  As it turns out, they stopped, regarded each other, and he let her pass while he continued to text.

I convey this story not to put you to sleep (though I'm sure I've done an admirable job of that), but to bring up a very important loophole in Rule #1.  Both of the people in the example above were, in fact, Hugging the Rail.  Had I been walking behind either the kid or the older woman in the same direction they were, I would have been pleased as punch that there was plenty of room to pass.  She being elderly, and he texting, I'm sure I walk faster than them both, and would have been grateful they were so self aware as to allow that kind of space next to them.

However, they bumped into each other.  If I had been hurtling near the corner and someone else had been hurtling towards the same corner, we could have broken each other's noses, or worse, someone could have seen us break each other's noses.

And so, it is here now, in this very post, that I tell you the secret of making sure this doesn't happen.  It's something you can do while abiding Rule #1, and it's a flawless way to make sure you don't literally run into anyone on a blind corner.  The only requirement is as much self awareness as the kid and the woman in the example above exhibited.

SOLUTION:  Flick your wrist.  Of course, you should have something in your hand at the time, otherwise it's less effective and more spasmodic.  As you approach said corner, if you are appropriately hugging the rail (walking closely to the side of the building), make sure your hand passes the corner before the rest of you.  I frequently do this while holding a newspaper or kenken puzzle, but anything (cell phone, ipod, fake dance move) works well for this purpose.  If you just flick your wrist and put your hand out in front of you as you approach a blind corner, the person coming around the bend will stop prior to calamity.  That fraction of a second could mean the difference between an awkward moment between you and a stranger and an awkward moment between you and a stranger that someone and his fiancé  across the street saw.

Extra points for making it look like a normal part of your gait and not letting it bother you that 99.9% of the time there's no one around the corner at all.

You're welcome.

Rule #4: Suck it up

One thing I love about children is the universal reactions to things.  Almost 100% of the time, you can watch their eyes light up if there's a kitten nearby.  You can also see the complete shutdown when they're tired.  Kids are great, aren't they?  Totally predictable in many ways, but will always surprise you.  (I'm not going to link that line to http://www.mta.info/ because that's not the topic of this post.  Feel free to do so on your own.) 

So, if a kid on the school bus passes gas, what do you think you're going to see?  Most kids will laugh and scream and wrinkle their noses, and a few will put their hands over their mouth/nose.  But there will always, always be one or two that pull the front of their shirt up to cover their nose like a burqa, as if Mom had last washed it with some anti-stink detergent that also happend to smell like grape bubblegum.

Oftentimes, as well, you'll see children put their fingers in their ears due to a loud noise, like a car horn or loud music.  These are universal, and a totally acceptable reactions to the aforementioned scenerios...

...if you're 6.

Once you're older, and have been to a couple of concerts, fireworks displays and professional sporting events, you begin to outgrow that behaviour.  Instead of putting your fingers in your ears to keep away a loud noise, you turn your iPod UP.  Rather than pull your shirt over your face, you wait out the smell, or, in very bad cases, remove yourself from the location entirely.

New York City is full of interesting, and sometimes overwhelming scents and sounds.  But part of being a New Yorker is that we have to deal with some discomfort in order to continue surviving in this town.  So you make do, and you add little things here and there to make the discomfort more bearable.  In extreme cases, one will even find onesself outrunning discomfort by trying to control the behaviours of others - even going as far as writing a blog that outlines the rules of commuting or some such nonsense.

But this post isn't for the kids who smell something bad and pull the front of their shirt up, and it's not for the kids who put fingers in their ears when real life get's too loud.  It's for the adults that do.

For every blog post, every gripe, every "rule" I make up about my fellow New Yorkers not doing what I would, in an ideal world, like them to do, there are about five or ten examples I don't mention.  This is because it's simply a part of living in New York - you put up with things.  You suck it up.  The trade-off for living in such a crowded, noisy, dirty, inarticulate, insensitive, sprawling, pushy, intense, perverse and depraved city is that you can take advantage of the fact that it's expensive, too.

But I suck it up.  I keep walking, one foot in front of the other, one day at a time.  Sometimes a rat will cross my path.  Shiver, but cope.  Keep on walking.  Sometimes there will be a roach in the restaurant.  Notify your server, maybe never eat there again, keep on living. 

We bear the discomfort with armor that only  New Yorker has, knowing that, by doing so, we can safely say, "We're New Yorkers" when we're next in the midwest buying cigarettes for $3 a pack.

But the adults who cover their ears when the subway pulls in?  The ones who cover their noses with the front of their shirts when Mystery Smell invades the train?  They are not New Yorkers.  Regardless of their actual residence, they are tourists, and the presence of such weakness is far worse than a Chinese dinner being consumed on a subway car or a siren passing by.

Forever Alone

"How is it possible," you ask, "that this blogger can bitch and whine as much as he does about driving etiquette, rules for bicyclists and subway riders, and still jaywalk?  Should he also be calling out himself, for breaking the rules of the road, for flagrantly ignoring the safety of himself and others?  How can he possibly justify this critical judgement of others and still blatantly commute in a way that is frowned upon (and for good reason)??"

Because it's my blog.  And the internet is a playground.

Yesterday, I was happily crossing Ditmars Blvd. mid-block.  I didn't have headphones on, and I looked both ways multiple times before crossing.  I recognize the hypocrisy of this, considering I am so judgemental of other people obeying the rules set out for them, and I break mine.  I suppose one difference is that if a car or a bike doesn't stop at the red light designed for them, and they barrel into someone due to their own carelessness, someone could be seriously hurt.  If *I* carelessly cross against the signal, and barrel into someone, the only repercussion *I* risk is embarrassing myself and mildly disappointing someone else.  And that's pretty much the story of my life, so I think I'll manage.

But I digress...

So I was crossing Ditmars yesterday, and a car turned onto the Boulevard towards me.  Once it righted itself from the turn, the guy gunned it, presumably to make it through the next light (or, perhaps to convey to me, "My car zooms fast!!").  I thought to myself, as I always do when this happens, "Jeez, where's the fire, Man?"

So I continued my saunter (I don't saunter.  My version of sauntering is still faster than the normal walk.) down the Boulevard.  A crosswalk or two later, I was halfway across the street when someone else turned onto the street I was crossing, apparently deciding there was enough room for their car to fit in between the parked car on the right and the random pedestrian in the middle of the street.

Whatever.  She, just like the guy before, gunned the engine after righting herself from the turn, and hurried her little driving self towards 21st Ave.

And I thought to myself:  How funny would it be if both drivers were in a rush to get to the same place?  What if they were racing each other, or going to a concert with a very specific start time?  My theory then became that they were going to an awesome party.  Someone, somewhere, was throwing a party for all the drivers in Astoria.  Clearly someone with a very long driveway or a parking lot.  They invited all of the people who drive cars, and had free appetizers and an open bar until 7pm.  As it turns out, I was walking at about 6:45, so, with this fantasy in mind, I could totally understand why someone would rush to take advantage of the last few free drinks before the bar starts charging.

As I strolled (I don't stroll.  My version of strolling is still faster than the normal walk.), I took this even further.  What if they, the two drivers who had each gone out of their way TO get too close to me, this man and this woman, were destined to meet?  What if, by showing up at this party on time, near sunset, with alcohol and pigs-in-a-blanket a'plenty, these two were to look at each other from across the room and hold the gaze just long enough to smile slyly?  What if, by the end of the evening, they ended up sitting in one or the other's car, talking about past loves, fate and the wealth of compassion?  What if, after that night, they end up spending the rest of their lives together, having fallen so deeply in love, that life moves more slowly, more leisurely, and the need to press down hard on the gas pedal is eliminated?

The thought made me smile.  But then it made me sad.  I began to realize that I would never be invited to that kind of party.  And I realized why:  because I'm a snarky, hypocritical jaywalking blogger who would ultimately need to bum a ride off of somebody, anyway.

Chicago Kevin

From: Kevin B.
To: Jordan Knol
Date: Thu, Feb 17, 2011 at 11:59 AM
Subject: Nice blog


A couple things I wanted to chime in on just because...

* in Chicago people don't stand to the right on escalators.  It just doesn't happen.  It's a HUGE noticeable difference that I think stems partly from the Midwest vs EastCoast.  People on the East Coast are wound tighter and therefore are anxious to get to where they are going, so you have more "fast walkers" who will enforce the rule to stand to the right on the escalator.

[[I appreciate receiving this insight.  It's been a long time since I was on the "El", so it's nice to know I should wait a little longer until people in the Windy City get their shit together.  It should be noted, however, that this "stand on the right on an escalator" rule ONLY applies on public transportation escalators.  Once you're on a private one, all bets are off.  Sometimes, in Port Authority or at a movie theater, I'll stand on the left just to watch people behind me get confused.]] 

* my biggest pet peeve happens almost every time I go to Union Station in Chicago to catch my train back home.  People that STOP right when they get off the escalator.  Are you kidding me?  The next 10 people behind them have to stumble by while they make a decision about deciding where they think they are.  Most of the time this happens in high-touristy areas for obvious reasons.

[[I love your line: "people have to stumble by while they make a decision about deciding where they think they are."  This is EXACTLY what's happening: 
--At first, the escalator is a novelty (Every.  Damn.  Time.), "Holy shit, dude!  These stairs MOVE!  It's like... it's like they're CARRYING me!" 
--Followed by complacency, "Hum-de-dummmm... this moving-stair ride is freeeeeee... and I'm on iiiiiiit!"  
--Then, you would think the leveling off of the "stairs" would be an indication the "ride" was about to end, but NO - these rubes are always taken aback by the end of the escalator, like their equilibrium was so jostled in the last 30 seconds that they need a minute to gather their bearings.  (You will notice this jackassery on the sidewalks, too - as people exit storefronts, but I think the importance of pedestrian merging and not ever stopping will be posts of their own, so we'll save that for another time.)

Thanks for writing, Kev!]]

Rule #2: Commit

While I understand there is no way to close your eyes while reading this (have someone read it to you, maybe?), I would like you to try your best to imagine something for me:

Imagine you are a good looking, professional women, who has been so career-focused you haven't had much time to date.  Financially, you do well; not so well you have a permanent driver 24/7, but well enough that you can afford the stilettoes and fur coat you're wearing.  Imagine you finally found someone who could be the man of your dreams.  The first three dates have gone very well, and your taxi just dropped you off across the street from the restaurant where Date #4 is to occur.  As you begin to cross the avenue, the "Don't Walk" sign starts flashing.  What do you do?

Need some time to think it over?  Okay, here's another:

Imagine you're a young guy who just got his driver's license.  A buddy of yours wanted to go to this party way the hell out in Queens, and since you knew that there'd be drinking there, you made the difficult decision to "borrow" your parent's car so you could make sure your friend got to and from the party safely.  Now it's late.  You're got a little turned around on the way home, and your buddy is no help as he is drunk in the passenger seat, yelling loudly about how this chick from his Chemistry class spent the whole party ignoring him and making out with a varsity athlete.  You aren't a very good driver, but you're fairly certain you can get back home before your parents notice you (or their car) were ever gone.  The problem is, you're not QUITE sure where you are.  As you approach an intersection with a stop sign, you are unsure of whether or not you should turn.  There's traffic on both sides, but as you roll past the sign, it dawns on you that perhaps you wanted to turn right at that stop because you're pretty sure the sign in front of the diner down the block looked familiar.  So you basically stop in the middle of the road, unsure of what to do, as the drivers in both of the lanes you're blocking begin to approach from both sides.  Now there is also a car behind you, and someone trying to cross the street at the crosswalk you're approaching, and people are starting to honk, and your buddy looks like he might vomit in your parent's car.  What do you do?

Still not with me? 

Okay, one last one, and then I promise I'll get to the point:

Imagine that your mother lives by herself in Queens, and doesn't get around as well as she used to.  Sure, last summer, you were able to go feed the ducks at the park with her, but lately you've been concerned that she doesn't like the stairs to her apartment so she makes up excuses not to go out.  You mean to call her more, but you've been so busy at work, and your partner is driving you crazy, and your siblings keep texting you pictures of THEIR kids at insane hours of the morning.  Today, the day you're imagining, you haven't heard from your mother in some time, and your brothers and sisters haven't, either.  She won't answer her phone, and none of the neighbors have heard from her nor seen her in a few days.  You had planned on watching "Dexter" on Netflix that night, because you are midway through Season 2 and, let's face it, that show is insanely good, but you ended up being the Lucky Family Member to go check in on Mother, who you're sure is fine, that perhaps she had just accidentally turned the ringer off her phone because that sort of thing had happened before.  But that feeling of dread and fear that something is just not quite right begins to settle itself in your gut as you approach her block.  It has been snowing this winter, and the crosswalks are only cleared wide enough for one person to cross the street at a time.  You know these weather conditions can't be good for your mother.  A block away from her condo, you notice an ambulance out front with its lights flashing.  You begin to run towards your mother's building, fearing the worst as you start to cross the street.  You notice in the deep recesses of your mind that, about a half block away, a car is coming towards you and has a green light.  It is not speeding, and you have plenty of time to get to the other side.  What do you do?

The answer, to all three examples is simple:  COMMIT. 

To the lady in the fur coat and heels, commit to crossing.  You'll be fine.  Odds are good that any driver coming has already seen the light is red and, while it will SOON change to green, you'll be at LEAST halfway across the street by the time that happens, and there's no way he's going to hit someone who looks like she could sue him for everything he's got.

For the kid, commit to going straight.  New York is composed of small blocks, and chances are good if you made the wrong call, you can circle back within about 90 seconds and be back on the right track. 

For the person worried about their mother, COMMIT.  Who CARES that there's a car coming?  You're already starting to speed up, and who knows?  That ambulance could be for HER!

It should also be noted that in the the case of the kid with his folk's car, I'm the guy who's trying to cross the street, wondering if you're going to go, or what.  For the person going for their mom's, I'm actually behind you, wondering why the hell you're so concerned about a car that's WAY THE HELL DOWN THERE when all I want to do is get out of this freezing weather.  And to the woman in the heels, I'm the guy waiting for you at the restaurant.  But I'm going to take this opportunity to break up with you in person.  I just can't COMMIT to someone who wears fur.  You look like an idiot.

Rule #1: Hug the Rail

This is the most basic rule of subway/sidewalk/biking/driving etiquette, and seeing people break it makes me want to rip the bedazzled cellphone out of the offender's hand and hurl it on the third rail in the hopes that they will dive for it headfirst.  It breaks down like this:

Just as if we were driving on the highway, slow traffic stays to the right, and people pass on the left.  The people on the right are staying over as far as possible, close to the shoulder, and are therefore doing what I like to call "Hugging the Rail".

(I think it comes from when I used to go to skating parties in middle school, but, being someone who did not skate that well, I usually had to spend the first 90 minutes or so scooting myself along, hand-over-hand, pulling myself around the rink using that little waist-high wall that separates the smooth wood floor of the rink from the cheap, thin carpeting near the arcade games, skate rental area, and nacho counter.  You know who was a good skater?  Josh McGraw.  I remember him getting all the girls, too, as he was athletically gifted in every way.  I realize NOW, of course, looking back, that he had red hair and freckles, which means he had no soul.  I bet this is why he was such a good rollerskater.)

This is the natural order of things, and is even mimicked on escalators for the subway systems of both Washington, DC and New York (is this true on any others, besides Chicago as well?); you stand on the right, and walk on the left.  Slow people keep right.  Hug the rail.

This should also be true on sidewalks, subway stairs, and for bicyclists.  All too often, however, that is sadly not the case.  Instead,  I can't tell you the number of times I get off the train and head down the stairs to go home, and I have to kick the person in front of me in the small of their back because they're busy sauntering along, deliberately slowly so as to not lose their balance while they're TEXTING and walking down the center of the stairs at the same time.

Another example would be a woman with a MASSIVE PURSE sticking out behind her, situated on the subway platform in such a way that she is equidistant from both the front edge of the bench behind her, and the tracks in front.  The problem being, of course, no one can get by her.  A simple, "Excuse me" will usually suffice - until you get close enough to hear that she has her ipod on full volume.  And have you noticed it's almost NEVER any good music?  It's always either that horribly generic Latin beat that blasts out of taxicab windows passing my apartment in the middle of the night, or some shitty Euro-techno that is probably only appropriate for someone still rolling on Ecstasy from the night before.  In that case, the "Excuse me" is no longer an option.  Your only recourse is to avoid bumping into her MASSIVE PURSE as you attempt to sidestep behind her, likely whacking your shin or calf on the bench, thereby creating a resentment for the rest of the day against the MTA, the purse designer and Latin musicians (to be honest - I generally have a resentment against that latter group, anyway).

The last fine example, and there are many, is the person who stands with their back to the open subway door, but has no intention of leaving at the next stop.  The way I see it, there are three types of ways the human body can end up, when fully extended:  1. Horizontally, like a carpet or a pizza; 2. Upright, but profiled, like a book on a shelf; and 3. Vertically, but head on, like a picture on a wall or, appropriately, a wall.  Too often, people are standing in subway doors like #3, while they SHOULD be standing in the doors like #2: sideways, with plenty of room to get by (hugging the rail).  Instead, I have to push up against them and try gain a valuable few inches of floorspace, while THEY'RE probably thinking I would like to take them out to dinner and a movie so we can get nice and cozy at my place after, but minus the dinner, movie and my place bits.

All of these instances, and the myriad of other examples, would easily be avoided if people would just HUG THE RAIL.  Move to the side.  Go at your own pace, but please leave room for people to get by.  People who, while not necessarily LATE, are people who have decided that, if walking counts as exercise, then dammit I'm going to be the best, fastest walker ever, especially because, in NYC, walking is sometimes the only way to get from Point A to Point B, and often there are hot dogs at point A and ice cream at Point B, so step aside, asshole.  Hug the Goddamn rail.