Utterly Uttered

You know those people who walk into a room and immediately start looking around?  They assess the well-established situation into which they've entered; how many people are present, how do they know one another, how deep or meaningful is their conversation?  Is it okay to walk up and augment the discussion?  If they don't know them already, when is a good time to introduce themselves?  Wait for a pause.  Scan the room.  Assess.  You know those people?

Well, I'm not one of those people.  I am, in fact, the opposite of those people.  I am the person who walks into a room talking.  When I get uncomfortable, or enter a new situation (usually one and the same thing), whatever minimal social filter I have toiled to strengthen in my adulthood diminishes greatly.  I get loud.  I get intrusive.  I forget to use my "inside voice".  I am not proud of this character defect, but it is a part of who I am.  I'm working on it.  In fact, if I ever walk into a room you're already in, I'll probably be more than happy to tell you about how I'm working at it in detail.  At full volume.

Which brings me to the topic of this post.  This is a list of things I say out loud every time I ride the subway.  Seriously.  Every.  Time.  And it is important that I publish this post on the World Wide Web because there is a chance that one day I'll fail to utter these phrases under my breath, and will accidentally say them full voice.  And at the wrong person.  Who will stab me.  For good reason.

That's not how we do things, here.  - One time I actually said this too loud to a couple who was strolling along on a sidewalk in Midtown.  I think my actual phrasing was, "Fucking tourists," but it's the same general idea.  The woman heard me and responded, rightfully, "We LIVE here!"  I wanted to fire back, "Than why on earth are you walking so SLOWLY?" but it was Valentine's Day, and my girlfriend and I were having a nice homemade "Taste of New York" tour date together, and I didn't want to ruin the romance by cutting someone.  So I remained silent and avoided further eye contact like a good New Yorker.

Since then, the phrase has morphed into "That's not how we do things, here."  It is usually reserved for those offenses a New Yorker is unlikely to commit, but a tourist or a newcomer would.  Pausing in front of the turnstyle to look for your Metrocard is a great example.  Seriously?  You didn't know where you were headed beforehand?  You forgot they tend to charge for these types of things?

Another time I'll use this phrase is when someone just stops on the sidewalk or subway platform.  No shifting to the side, no looking around, just... stops.  The vast majority of the time this happens, I am unclear as to why.  What I am certain of, is I walk a lot faster than the person committing said offense, and was usually right behind them at the time it was committed.

Don't babysit the doors if you ain't prepared to hustle. - That's right.  Sometimes I get so wrapped up in the fury of my commute, I drop in the word "ain't".  I'm gangster like that.

This phrase passes over my lips on a daily basis.  I will never fully comprehend this mentality.  People will guard the subway door with their life, refusing to give up even an inch of ground so they can be the first to exit when it comes time for their stop.  And this part I understand; I do it, too.

The problem lies when the exit comes, and they proceed to mosey along like they're on the streets of a small Midwestern town window shopping on a Saturday morning.  Why did they guard the door, then?  There is no way this person doesn't know they walk slower than everyone else.  Why didn't they cede ground at the beginning and be one of the last people off the train?  I honestly don't get that part.  I am hoping someone will explain it to me before I get assaulted for saying it out loud.  I definitely think that would count as "starting the fight" and am equally sure I could end up doing time. Unless my judge is a fast walker.  But who am I kidding?  I doubt judges even take the subway, and the ones that do probably ain't prepared to hustle at all.  Word.

Turning signals! - Contrary to what you might think, I honestly do try to be a decent and polite person.  Really!  I hold the door for strangers, say "Bless you." when someone sneezes, and always try to promote hugging (especially when all that's expected or reasonably appropriate is a handshake.  Not on my watch!  C'mere, you!)

One of the things I do is try to walk even more quickly than normal on crosswalks, even if I have the right-of-way.  I am sympathetic to the driver (I am one on occasion), and I know how annoying it can be when someone takes their sweet-ass time crossing the street.  Don't they know the driver has someplace hella important to be?  Don't they know who the driver IS?

And so, I will frequently pick up the pace for a car trying to turn onto (or out from) the street I'm currently crossing.  But without the use of a turning signal, I often have no way of knowing the driver's intentions.  And since they've refused to use one, I almost always assume their car is simply not equipped with that feature.  Like they traded in leather seats and a bitchin' stereo (stuck on a station that is usually trying to convince me of how much I adore Latin music) in lieu of that pesky lever that will let someone know they intend to turn.

"Turning signals!" is just a lowbrow way of saying, "Good day, Sir (or Madam, as it were).  If you would be so kind as to, in the future, should this situation arise again, notify me of your intent to redirect your vehicle, nothing would please me more than to clear the roadway for you in a swift and expeditious manner, thereby increasing the painlessness of your trek."  But it comes out the other way.  Because by that point, I'm usually annoyed at them for not using the thing to begin with.

 What happens at either end of the escalator should come as a surprise to no one. - I posted this on Facebook once, and was surprised at the sheer lack of response.  That may, of course, have something to do with it not being as funny as I think it is.  Welcome to my world.

But the fact is, what happens at either end of the escalator should come as a surprise to no one.  Escalators have been around for over a hundred years.  Despite our childhood fear of one day getting sucked under one of them (this will never, and has never actually happened [UPDATE: Okay.  Rarely.]), offenders continue to behave as if the behavior of the moving staircase is totally unpredictable.

Here in New York, we have a walk-on-the-left-stand-on-the-right policy of escalator etiquette.  It greatly reduces the number of stabbings per year.  Unsurprisingly, I am always on the left side.  For 80% of the escalator trip, I feel a sense of community with my Left-Side brethren.  We're in this together; a working, living, thriving chain of people moving in tandem to a common goal.  A strong sense of support and - WAIT JUST A GODDAMN SECOND.  WHY DID YOU STOP?  DIDN'T YOU KNOW WHAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN?  IT'S THE SAME EVERY DAY!  IT DIDN'T CHANGE!

...and that's the end of the escalator ride.  It accounts for 10% of the time I'm annoyed.  The other 10% is the beginning.  People seem unprepared for what is about to happen.  "Oh, look!  An escalator!" they seem to say, before walking in that direction, "I should approach it slowly in case it randomly changes speed at strange intervals or suddenly becomes stairs."  And so I'm in a position of being among Slow Walkers at the beginning, and Stoppers at the end.  That 80% in the middle, though?  Gold.  Serene gold.

Don't worry, Sweetheart, I've got game. - Remember when I said before that I am often the guy babysitting the subway doors so I'm the first one to exit?  Well, this phrase is the one that someone is most likely to hear, simply because of my proximity to the offender.

When I'm standing at a subway door, waiting to leave the train, it is because I have direction.  I have a purpose.  And, most of the time, I'm prepared to hustle.  But sometimes people think they know better than me.  Sometimes, people stand right at my back, a little too close, as if to be saying to me, "Don't babysit the doors if you ain't prepared to hustle."  Being the person who said that to them earlier in the day, week, or same train ride, I can understand their plight.

But I've got game.  I'm prepared to hustle.  I walk faster than you.  So don't worry, Sweetheart.  Rest assured, you will get where you're going and will not be impeded by me in the slightest.  So back off a little bit.  You're breathing on my neck.

Get it done, Pokey. - I realize that many of these phrases are mere shorthand for the rules I've stated before.  Actually the reason I started this blog to begin with.  But I'm finishing this post with this particular phrase because it happens to be the one I'll actually repeat under my breath, regardless of if I'm on foot, on a bus, a subway or in a car.  Like a mantra.  Which then makes me like a crazy person.  Which then makes me fit right in to New York.

"Get it done, Pokey." is not dissimilar from Adam Sandler's "T-t-t-toDAY, Junior!" from that timeless classic, Billy Madison.  It is directed at conductors, drivers, bike riders, cashiers and (mostly) fellow pedestrians.  They don't seem to understand that there are people behind them, or otherwise stalled because of them.  I enjoy smelling the roses from time to time.  Hell, on rare occasions, you'll even catch me loping (though not often.  My gait does not lend itself to moseying, strolling, sauntering or other euphemisms.   My friend Andrew calls it my "Wilderness Stomp" and that he knows where I am at all times in Astoria because of how I walk.  I'm comforted by that).

But if I'm behind you, and you're walking abreast on the sidewalk, and you're texting, and eating, than I have a list of things I need you to read before you ever leave the house again.  It's a set of suggestions to help you avoid getting stabbed, too!  And to prevent you from stabbing me!  This mutually beneficial win/win guidebook can be found at www.iwalkfasterthanyou.blogspot.com.  Just don't read it on your phone while walking in front of me.  That's not how we do things, here.

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.

Lauren of Astoria

My friend Lauren wrote an open letter to the MTA that I wish I had written.  Or at least signed.  But alas, I'm not nearly the writer she is.  Plus, we're all in this together, right?  This sweaty, smelly, humid subway car of life...

***

Dear MTA,

I am writing to tell you that you are in critical need of an ass kicking.

It has consistently been taking me about 30 minutes longer to get anywhere than it should. This is likely attributed to your colossal service cuts that eliminated scores of trains and the employees who operate them. This coincided with yet another rate hike. You charge me more, MTA, and you deliver me less.

You must not have been paying attention in Basic Business 101. You were flirting with the class burnout, weren’t you, MTA? Twirling your hair when you should’ve taken notes? You skipped school and raced out to the bleachers, just to find him with his hand up someone else’s shirt. It’s ok, MTA. It’s happened to us all.

But let me explain how it’s supposed to work. You promise to provide BETTER service and customers are incentivized to agree to a price increase. You get more money and give more service. Are we clear?

In the interest of better service, I’d like to make some suggestions.

 

I recommend that rather than scaling back on the people who drive the trains, perhaps you could curtail the people who ride them. For example, consider having a “bouncer” at each station, prohibiting the following groups from entering:

• Old businessmen who tell me to smile
• People over 6 feet tall
• Tourists
• Mariachi bands
• Children
• Passengers wearing any of the following:
• Bedazzled shirts 
• Backpacks
• Cubic zirconia earrings 
• Sunglasses 
• SARS masks 
• Clothes from the previous day 

This should prove to be a much more pleasant experience for Me, and surely some others. In fact, don’t limit yourself! You needn’t stop at people. There’s so much more to get rid of! A few candidates could be stairs, boomboxes blasting Sugarhill Gang, and instances in which I witness another human defecating inside a train car.

 

I hope you’ve found this useful, MTA. I’d tell you in person but it’d take me too long to get to your headquarters, 10 blocks away.

 

Sincerely,

The WB

 

 

 

Missed Connection

My actual post on Craigslist this morning:

new york craigslist > queens > personals > missed connections

Brunette with blue bag on N train this morning - m4w - 32 (N train into Manhattan)

---

Date: 2011-05-27, 8:48AM EDT

You: The brunette on the N train this morning with a blue bag and jeans. You were reading "Getting the Love You Want" and you got on at Astoria Blvd. or 30th Ave. You sat next to me on the "loveseat"-style bench at the end of the car.

Me: The blond guy with sunglasses and a white button down shirt, doing a SuDoKu.

You know those guys who sit in the subway car and spread their knees as far apart as possible to air out their junk? Well, I'm not one of those guys. I was sitting against the rail with my feet on the floor. YOU, on the other hand, apparently ARE one of those guys, or the female equivalent. Why did you have to sit so close to me? There was SIX INCHES on your right, between you and the wall. Why didn't you move over? Why were you on top of me, breathing all heavy through your nose as if you'd just gotten back from an intense workout? I don't need that in the morning. I don't need that at ANY time.

At first, I thought maybe you were into me but didn't know how to "make your move". I figured since you were reading "Getting the Love You Want", you were trying to be more assertive. Then I realized, nope, you're just an idiot. A heavy breathing idiot with no regard for personal space. What made me change my mind was you reaching ACROSS me to grab the pole before the train stopped, and then KEEPING your bony-ass arm in my face after I tried to rise to exit the train.

After all this, however, I've decided to help you. I'm going to save you the trouble of finishing your book. I can tell you "how to get the love you want" right here on the Internet. I don't OWE you this, but it's Friday, and I'm feeling benevolent. You're welcome.

Getting the Love You Want:
Don't sit down too close to someone on the subway and breathe on them at 7 o'clock in the morning. Further, don't reach across them and stick your bony, hairy elbow in their face until you're actually ready to stand and exit the train. Men will notice this, and totally date you and ask you to have little babies with them. And then you can move to Long Island and you'll never have to ride the N train ever again.

• Location: N train into Manhattan
• it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 2405430335

---

Celebrity Sighting

This weekend, on the N train, Fiancé and I saw the man pictured above.  Fiancé did not want me to go up and say hello to him for two reasons: 

1) In New York City, it's is not what's done with celebrities.  In New York City, you IGNORE celebrities so they feel they have a safe haven here in the city - so they don't have to worry about paparazzi or autograph-seekers.  Apparently, in New York City, the level of politeness so great it manifests itself in apathy is the least we can do.  I'm sorry, but I kind of disagree with this.  No one ELSE in New York considers it a safe haven or feels comfortable... why should celebrities?  Just because what makes them uncomfortable differs from what make ME uncomfortable doesn't mean they should have it easy.  But I digress. 

2) If you recognize the picture above, you understand her hesitation.  On his best-known show, nothing good ever happened when he was around.  In fact, you could pretty much bank on BAD shit happening the minute he was on screen.

So, I begged and pleaded to be able to go up to the guy and tell him I admired his work, and she firmly put her foot down and told me that under no circumstance would I be doing any such thing.  She told me it was because that isn't how we New Yorkers treat our famous people, but I think she was actually scared that, if we acknowledged his existance in our little world, the subway would let us off in 1967 and we'd never be able to get back.

Two stops before ours, the actor departed the train with his companion.  Fiancé breathed a sigh of relief... until he turned to walk past us, then she got all tense again.

I managed to catch his eye and smile.  I waved at him and, in this wave, said "Hey Man, you do really good work.  My fiancé and I both really appreciated the scares and tension you gave us on the roller-coaster ride that was your show, and we consider you one of the great TV villains of all time.  I don't want an autograph or anything, and I'm not an actor; I just want you to know that you and your castmates gave us hours of conversation during the last decade, hours of tears, hours of laughter, and I wanted to say thanks."

To my surprise, he smiled back and nodded.  This nod said, to me, "Hey Bro, thanks for the kind words an encouragement!  I did my best on that show and am looking forward to whatever's next for me.  Thank YOU for following my progress and supporting us for so many years, and also for allowing me to ride the subway in peace this afternoon."

To Fiancé, his nod probably came across more like, "I'm going to eat your firstborn after transporting you to a desert in Tunisia and getting you hooked on heroin."

p.s.  To those of you who don't know who he his, I highly recommend you lock yourself away for a week and catch up.

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.

Brooklyn Sean

I don't have a full post worth of material for today, so here are two small things:

1.  A good way to walk slower and be okay with the world around you and serene in your morning NYC commute is to get very sick.  I've been so doped up on DayQuil the last two weeks that even the Umbrella People haven't bothered me... much.

2.  Sean's got a new post, and it would fit nicely at I Walk Faster Than You.  I've been bugging him to write a guest post for this blog, much the way Allie and Kevin did, but for now we'll have to settle for a link to his site.  Enjoy!

His new post is here.

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 #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.

Staten Island Allie



The Staten Island Ferry - It's free and everyone gets a ride!
















The following email was written to me by one of this blog's readers, and I had to share.  Thanks for reading, Allie!

(As for me, I've only been on the Staten Island Ferry once.  I was alone, and it was coming back from a birthday party that was held as far away from the homes of the majority of the guests as possible.  My hunch is it was the hostess' way of trying to trap me there and make it my home borough.  I managed to escape via a tiny little train that was a lot like the NYC subway (without being physically connected to NYC, apparently Staten Island is technically part of NYC).  Said train took me to said ferry.  Said ferry took me past Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty to Battery Park.  From there I took the subway back to the most normal place I'd been all day: Queens.  God, help me.)

Enjoy!

***

From:  Allie J.
To:  Jordan Knol
Date:  Tue, Apr 5, 2011 at 3:59 PM
Subject:  Saturday

I was on my way home from the bar on Saturday night.  I caught the 4:30am ferry to Staten Island (which was packed of course - children, weirdos, loud, drunk Staten Island Guidos/Guidettes). 

As I was walking to a seat with my group of friends, I noticed an old friend/coworker from a few years ago.  She wasn't alone though, she was sitting next to this guy - very cozy with him, maybe even holding hands (I wasn't 100% on this at the time because it was 4:30am after a night at the bar...) - who I quickly realized was someone other than her husband (at the time I forgot she was married and just thought to myself 'oh her and her boyfriend must have broken up'). 

So I proceed to say hello and act all happy to see her and we start catching up and she introduces the guy next to her as her friend (no big deal)... After about 4 minutes, you can cut the tension with a butter knife.  I, however, lacked the ability to stop talking since I was slightly intoxicated and continued to talk to her the entire 25 minute ferry ride from NYC to Staten Island - Awkward Turtle. 

The ferry docks and we say our goodbyes and when we get out of earshot, I tell my boyfriend what just happened and how awkward this whole situation was. I decide to give her the benefit of the doubt - maybe it wasn't as bad as it seemed and she just felt like it could look bad if taken out of context.  Ten minutes later I completely forget about this whole ordeal anyway. 

Well, at about 4:00pm the next day, my memory is refreshed with a Facebook message from her saying that it was an old friend from way back when, and her husband didn't know she was out with him... oh, and:

"Don't say anything to anyone, please."

Happy April 1!

Bout of the Century

VS.



     Ladies and Gentlemen!  Boys and Girls!  Children of all ages!  This is the fight you've ALL been waiting for!  Welcome to the BOUT OF THE CENTURY!

Our first contender, weighing in at 130 lbs without his skinny jeans and beard, bicycle advocate and sponsored by Gothamist, GRANOLA McHIPSTERSEN!!

And his opponent, weighing in at 165 lbs, and that's just his head, economist and Jaguar driver, sponsored by The New Yorker, JOHN CASSIDY!!

**DING! DING! DING!**

Round 1:

Holy cow, Ladies and Gentlemen!  Cassidy has wasted NO time getting in a quick right hand jab to the face of McHipstersen.  He seems to be saying something about bike lanes as he continues to circle and dodge.  Cassidy is REALLY pumped for this fight!  He's trash-talking McHipstersen so loudly, I wonder if we can't turn up the ring-mic to have a listen to what he's saying as he intimidates his opponent:

"...a constituency that pursues its agenda with about as much modesty and humor as the Jacobins pursued theirs, and which has found its heroine in transportation commissioner Janette Sadik-Khan, I say hats off to Iris Weinshall, the former transportation commissioner, who, together with some like-minded citizens, has filed a lawsuit..."

Folks, this is an epic battle between two supremely good competitors.  Cassidy looks like he might get in another couple of punches just before the bell-- And there they are!  A quick one two in the final seconds of this round have left McHipstersen reeling in a daze as they retire to their respective corners!

**DING! DING! DING!**

Round 2:

Ladies and Gentlemen, we sure hope McHipstersen received some good guidance during that round break, because he really looked weakened out there in Round 1.  Our fighters are meeting in the center of the ring, sizing each other up for what is sure to be a penalizing Round 2.  McHipstersen is riled up, Folks!  He's shouting in the face of Cassidy!  Let's see if we can't get a listen:

"...let's take his allegation of humorlessness at face value and point out that if cyclists are sometimes overly serious, it's because the consequences of bicycling in NYC can be so deadly.  You may be yucking it up in his bloody Jaguar listening to Larry the Cable Guy..."

Wow!  You just don't hear that kind of talk during such a high-profile fight!  To think these two used to co-exist on the same planet! Now look at them!  McHipstersen is really going at Cassidy with a series of rights and lefts to the ribcage. 

From the sound of this crowd, McHipstersen has a lot of fans here in New York he does NOT want to let down!  Many of these people are holding up signs, proving their solid allegiance to McHipstersen.  We'll see if we can't get some closeups of some of these comments written by McHipstersen fans during the round break.

**DING! DING! DING!**
(End of Round 2)

Folks, we have just a minute here to show those of you in our television audience what some of McHipstersen's loyal fanbase has been saying:

"People in New York City don't need cars, jack ass."

"I prefer 'Jagoff' Cassidy."

"The average American car size is directly related to average American ass width."

**DING! DING! DING!**

Round 3:

Folks, thanks for joining us for this historic, winner-take-all  matchup between two of the country's loudest voices.  Round 3 has begun, and we're sure it's going to be a doozy!

Cassidy and McHipstersen have advanced to the center of the ring, and both combatants look angry enough to eat their opponent for breakfast!  This fight has become about so much more than just bikes vs. cars, my friends!  It's about young vs. old, upstarts vs. the Establishment, e-media vs. print!  As both men stare each other down and continue to try to psych each other out with their comments, it looks like this may come to a head very, very soon!

Wait a minute!  What's that?  Folks, someone, perhaps a fan, has just gotten past ringside security and has jumped INTO the ring!  It looks like-- Is that-- Yes, folks, it appears he is carrying a baseball bat!  This crazed fan appears to be wearing a t-shirt that says, "Walk/Don't Walk" on one the front, and an NYC subway map on the back.  Wow!  This "Walker" has just pummeled John Cassidy into a fetal position with his bat!  He appears to be screaming about the Manhattan Elite and how Cassidy shouldn't be referring to cars as "contraptions" because this is no longer the 19th century. 

Where is security?  Why haven't they put an end to this bloodbath?  Cassidy is lying motionless on the mat, Ladies and Gents, and "The Walker" seems to have turned his attention to Granola McHipstersen.  McHipstersen looks up from rolling his own cigarette just in time to take a bat to the jaw!  He's out cold!

Ladies and Gentlemen, I don't know when such a respectable sport such as boxing became so debased as to allow armed pedestrians into the ring in the middle of a fight, but this is insane!  Why is no one stopping him?  The crowd is stunned, Folks.  All action has come to a complete stop as- wait- could it be?  Yes!  Folks, the referee has started counting!  He's counting down on both Cassidy AND McHipstersen!  The crowd has started counting along with him!

...FIVE!  SIX!  SEVEN!  EIGHT!  NINE!  TEN!!!

**DING! DING! DING!**

Folks, the fight is over!  What started as an epic battle of bikes vs. cars has become reminiscent of a professional wrestling match!  The crowd is going wild!  The sheer decibel level here in the arena is really difficult to describe.  They have all started chanting in unison, "Wal-Ker!  Wal-Ker!  Wal-Ker!" 

Folks, the ref has raised both hands of "The Walker" in triumph!  He is strutting around the ring, sometimes even stepping ON Cassidy and McHipstersen.  The referee seems to have taken OFF his striped shirt and put on an MTA jacket!  In response, the crowd seems to be celebrating WITH the ref, chanting, "Sub-way!  Sub-Way!  Sub-Way!"

I don't think I've ever seen anything like this.  It appears as though "The Walker" has something to say to his two impromptu opponents.  Folks, he's reaching for the announcer's mic!  Let's hear what he has to say:

"You're both assholes.  Cassidy, you schmuck, use your turning signals and turn on your lights in the rain.  McHipstersen, you want bikers to have the same rights as cars?  Start obeying their rules; stop at red lights and stop signs, stay off the sidewalks, and signal when you're about to turn.  You guys make me sick.  What exactly were you fighting for tonight?  Huh?  Who's the biggest douche?  Well I have an answer: it's a tie.  And I own you both.  Dipshits." 

Thumbs Up / Thumbs Down

Every day, I exit the downtown 6 Train on the North end for work.  Technically, it's the 51st Street station for the E, M and 6, but the E and M Trains are on the lower level.  Leaving on the North end, the rear of the train, I am able to exit on 53rd and walk directly into my office building.  To do so, however, I have to navigate down a very narrow set of stairs with a bunch of other commuters.  This path was an inspiration for this blog, as coming into work every day is not unlike a combat zone.  The stairs I descend run alongside an escalator going UP, which some enterprising people decide to ignore so they can barrel up the steps like a tank and run head on into a steady stream of commuters such as myself.

The reason I decided to recognize this subway station for Thumbs Up / Thumbs Down is because there is something here that makes me smile, followed by something that makes me grind my teeth, and they appear in rapid succession:


THUMBS UP

There are two people handing out the free commuter paper, AM New York, that crack me up every single day.  One of them is at the bottom of the stairs.  He has long dreadlocks and is always smiling.  He announces his paper to other people and says things like, "THERE'S the smile I was looking for!  Hold onto that all day long or I might steal it for myself!"

Shortly afterward, as you're walking up your final stairway, you can hear another AMNY distributor hawking her paper to people repeating the line, "AM New York!  Get all the news you need right here!  Stay safe, stay warm, stay focused!"

I love them.


THUMBS DOWN

At the same time as you encounter the second AMNY passer-outer, you realize she's yelling over music.  Now, let's be clear:  I am one of the rare people who likes buskers - normally.  I will turn off my iPod in order to hear the guys on the subway itself, trying to squeeze in a song between stations, or the people on the platforms who are making a living doing what they love for anyone who'll listen.  I can't imagine what that must be like for them, so I always try to listen, at least a little.

But this particular "musician" is... I honestly don't know the words to describe the infection that are his songs.

First, please note that it is one guy playing a Peruvian Pipe Flute.   This would be fine in and of itself, but he plays along with a CD that has, apparently, the rest of his bandmates playing the other tracks of the song.  So it's instrumental karaoke.

Secondly, THE CD ONLY HAS TWO SONGS.  I don't know if this is 100% true, or if Peruvian Pipe Flute music is a genre where all the songs sound the same to me, but I'm fairly certain that if you walk by at any given moment, he will be piping one song from the following list:

1. Unchained Melody
2. Our God is an Awesome God

The first is a wedding standard, and also appeared in the movie "Ghost" with Jim Cunningham, the nun from "Sister Act", and Ashton Kutcher's mom, Demi Moore.  The second is a contemporary Christian song I happen to know exists because I was forced to listen to it in Sunday School in Michigan when I was growing up.  Neither is an exceptional piece of music, and BOTH qualify as songs you DON'T want stuck in your head for the day.

So, many mornings I start my day smiling at the funny AMNY people, and then immediately wanting to scream, "Hey, Peruvian!  If your God is so awesome, how come He hasn't taught you any other songs?"

MetroCard Belt Buckle™

FADE IN

(A woman just can't find the subway card in her big purse.  People are bumping into her as she becomes increasingly frustrated )

Tired of standing in front of that busy turnstyle, fumbling around for a fare card you can never seem to find?  Too busy texting and playing with your important handheld device to realize how close to the entrace gates you actually are?

(Jib into spokesman standing over display)

I'm here to show you a revolutionary new product.  The MetroCard Belt Buckle™.    The MetroCard Belt Buckle™ has been mathematically proven to save you valuable time at the subway entrance, far more than traditional belt buckles, and when you're done swiping, you wear it! How does the revolutionary MetroCard Belt Buckle™ work? 

(Cut to a still closeup of a MetroCard Belt Buckle)

Just look the patented 'hipster blacksmith technology':  2 stylish plates scientifically proven to provide a metal case for your card!

GRAPHIC: Now with EXTRA RIVETS!

(Spokesman sets it down on the countertop.  Divide screen to see ordinary subway card versus subway card and belt buckle)

Just look at this seemlingly ordinary belt buckle encase a metrocard!

(A man watching the subway pass by as he furiously balances his coffee and newspaper and looks through his backpack)

Oh, no!  Did John miss his train again?  No problem with the MetroCard Belt Buckle™!  And after you're done swiping, you have a fashion-forward accessory you're already wearing!  Wow!

(Same man taking card out of belt buckle and swiping effortlessly)

Now, we realize your time is valuable, and so is the time of those around you.  "But how can I save time AND look like the Brooklyn hipster/Upper West Side widow/Bronx MS-13 member I am?"  We have the solution for you!

(Show belt buckle on display prominently with a stamp that says 'all natural')

It benefits children too!  Your kids will LOVE spending the time you've saved with you.

(Show three kids smile, cast multi-ethnic if possible)

TESTIMONIALS:

“I have no idea how I ever went anywhere before I found The MetroCard Belt Buckle™!”

“It's so easy and fun, it doesn't even feel like I'm wearing a belt!  And the metallic coloring is sublime.”

(Back to spokesman)

But that's not all.  Order your The MetroCard Belt Buckle™ now, and get complimentary full access to the rest of the products on our website!  We're have no doubt that once you try this first purchase, you'll be back again and again!

Just go to the website below and order today!

(Speed disclaimer)

Order HERE!  See it on the news HERE!  See our other infomercials HERE! 

FADE OUT

Three Words

Three words I've heard on my commute lately that I would really appreciate if you'd stop using:

1.  "Chillax"

2.  "Ginormous"

3.  "Redonkulous"

Thank you.

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 #3: Ride the Wake

In the race car movie Days of Thunder, Tom Cruise's character illustrates how to pass a guy by racing directly behind him, thereby minimizing his own wind resistance.  He conveyed his message by moving sugar packets up the thigh of Nicole Kidman's character.  At least, I THINK this is what he was illustrating.  All I could focus on was Nicole Kidman's thigh.  You see, this is BEFORE she got all the work done on her face.  NOW she looks like Heath Ledger's version of The Joker... only more scary.

My point is that it's sometimes okay to bide your time before passing someone who's walking in front of you.  Please take a look at the illustration below.  It is an approximation of the Ditmars Blvd. stop on the N/Q train.  Like any good commuter, I always try to know which door to enter in which train car so I have easy access to the stairs/escalator/exit upon arrival at my destination. 

This is the subway stop at which I live, and I have knowing-which-door-to-exit-from down to a science.  As illustrated above, many people (represented by the purple "X's") think the door from which to exit the subway car is the first one, Door #1.  On the contrary, it's actually Door #2.  You see, if you can be the first one out of Door #2, you can cover the distance between the train and the LEFT staircase in a few strides, whereas if you exit from Door #1, there are a. generally slower people in front of you, and b. all of them are going to go for the nearest staircase, slowing your exit from the station.

So I (the little happy face in the picture above) always try to leave from Door #2.

But what's that you say?  There are people coming UP the stairs?  As it turns out from the epic illustration above, there is indeed a child and it's parent walking ascending the righthand stairway, and one lone soul ascending the left.  So the strategy here is simple:  Ride the Wake.

The large "X" exiting Door #1 is likely to be a fast walker: like me, he knows which door to exit and has been itching to do so ever since 30th Avenue.  When you see HIM make a beeline to the LEFTHAND staircase, that's when you make your move.  Get in stride directly behind him.  He will mow down (or at least force aside) the one knucklehead coming up the stairs, which will allow you to pass him at the turnstiles below.

Under NO circumstances take the righthand stairs.  The presence of the child and it's parent indicates that they are people who will be traveling abreast, not single file and hugging the rail as is appropriate.

I was going to add red arrows to the illustration to show what I was talking about, à la the whiteboard of an NFL coach, but all I could hear in my head was John Madden's voice doing a play-by-play of the whole thing, and, quite frankly, there are enough voices in my head to ignore without the appearance of his drunk, rambling ass.

Riding the wake is like using a human shield.  The person in front of you takes the hits, while you match pace and get where you're going bruise-free.  Obviously, if they are a Slow Walker, this is a problem.  When that becomes an issue, please direct them to Rule #1, so at least you can still progress in your journey, even with some bumps and scrapes along the way.

***

I don't think I've gotten enough credit for NOT making fun of Scientology in this post.  I mentioned Tom Cruise at the beginning, and didn't so much as giggle.  The Voices and I are making real progress.

Dear AM New York,













From: Jordan Knol
To: AM New York
Date: Fri, Jul 9, 2010 at 9:50 AM
Subject: We need some time apart.

Dear AM New York,

It's funny - as I type this, and can almost hear Homer Simpson's voice reading it out loud as he complains about some inane thing ("Dear Die Hard...").  Perhaps that should be my cue to stop writing.  I should.  I should stop writing this and go outside and enjoy my day, recognizing the things in my life I can't control.

However, I feel like our relationship has faltered of late, AMNY, and, as communication and honesty are the cornerstones of any good relationship, I think we need to have a talk.

When we first met, I had moved from Washington DC where I was seeing the daily circular there called "The Express".  We had experienced a passionate relationship and I looked forward to our daily visits.  At first, upon arriving to the Big Apple, you were an adequate replacement.  You had a similar sense of humor, and offered a more "Human" touch than your buddy, NY Metro (who, understandably, I think we both sort of view as your slutty cousin).  We had many fine mornings, you and I... you would make me laugh, inform me about important news, and offer me puzzles to get my mind off my commute or whatever was happening to me that day.  Let's face it:  New York is not always an easy city in which to live... you offered me some respite, and for that, I say thank you.

But you've changed.  Slowly, over time, your puzzles and news got dumbed down, as if created for someone else.  The photo captions and entertainment sections have become mean-spirited and snarky, as if written by a half dozen Brooklyn hipsters, each smoking hand-rolled cigarettes and wearing skinnier jeans than the one next to him.  The new weather captions, while at times funny, are also critical and mean, and make you look like you're trying a little too hard to be "cool", like my parents.  You've begun to sport a "new look" which, as far as I can tell, was meant only to get people to pay more to advertise in you.  Now when I spread you open it's no longer the lovely individual attention I used to feel.... it's this numb, stupid version of you.  You've become like the worst kind of sorority girl, the kind who doesn't need to say much but dresses in bright colors and stays stupid and sometimes mean and still gets whatever she wants.  She is also never wrong, which is a big part of the problem we're having lately.

I understand your most recent makeover, I think.  Everyone should do something nice for themselves.  But you took away KenKen, something I thought we enjoyed doing together.  When I complained, you mentioned the few other people that did and offered me a tiny version of our puzzle, far away from it's old home, accompanied by the comment, "Next time ask for something bigger".  Well, okay, I'm asking for something bigger.  I'm asking for it the way it was (literally "bigger").

Another example of how you've changed lately:  You repeat yourself!  I don't mind when it's an on-going news item that bears repeating, or some background to put whatever today's events were in context, but this is just boastful.  Let me ask you: is Judah Friedlander a reader of AMNY?  I bet he is - you've reminded me of that a half dozen times in the last month.  I'm happy that a C-List celebrity likes you, but please stop bringing it up just to puff yourself up and feel more important.  Many celebrities share a lovely relationship with you, I'm sure.  But you used to be demure about it, as opposed to thinking it made you look more "cool" by dropping a name.  (Side note:  Really?  Judah Friedlander?  Guys - he's ok, not great.  Because you're on the fringe of what's considered "hip", you should know this by now.)

Lastly, we need to talk about your website.  You need to start representing yourself more professionally.  The way it is now, you look like a blog.  While I'm sure this cuts down on Web costs, it also makes you appear low-rent, and it's tough to get through to you.  This only hinders our communication as opposed to enhancing it, and I'm sure many of your other companions feel the same way.

Look, Sweetheart, I know you see other people.  Lots of other people.  But you used to have this unique way of making it SOUND like sometimes it was only me and you.  Lately, you've been sterile, inaffectionate, and, at times, dimwitted.  Do I think this conversation will change you?  I do not.  I know from experience I cannot change others, and I won't try.  All I can do is express to you my disappointment, and let you know that if I occasionally visit your "cousin", Metro, from here on in, it isn't because I don't love you.  It's simply because sometimes I need to take a step back and observe who you've become from afar for awhile.  It pains me to say this, but you are no longer impressive.

I hope you understand.  I hope this message has been able to sink in on some level.  I know that one day you will evolve into something great, and everyone experiences "growing pains".  I can only pray that this is a phase you're going through, and one day you'll be able to look back at yourself and go, "Hey - I so young and stupid then... I've come a long way."

Until then, I'm going to start keeping my distance probably won't visit you as often.  Again, I hope you understand.  I can only change MY behaviours, and that's what I have to do.

Love always,
Jordan

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.