Reflections

Years (longer really) ago - the day I graduated from high school I got on a downtown train to meet some friends in Times Square to do what 18 year olds do.

As I entered the car some of the people already there made some faces at me and stepped off the car and left me alone in there.  

Being 18 and dumb I decided to carve my initial in the subway car on the flat part near the window - JR.  The train actually got delayed so I had plenty of time to do the job right.

I ended up going to community college, college, and eventually grad school and got a high paying job at a finance company in Manhattan...back home and hoodlum no more.

Late one night I got on the train to come home from visiting my parents.  The train was pretty crowded but I managed a seat, put on my headphones and opened a proposal I needed to present the next day.  We had gone a few stops when I ruckus on the other side of the train distracted me.  

As I looked back at the proposal down I happened to see my initials carved into the train.  I thought it was just a fluke.  Took me a few minutes of looking back to realize it was actually my handiwork from so many years ago.  

Needless to say the rest of the trip was wasted as far as work was concerned.  Spent the rest of the trip thinking about everything that had happened over the past years in that very spot since I had been there last.

--Submitted by JR

Everything happens in the subway

So I'm on my way down to have dinner with my son and his family when a homeless guy gets on the subway.  No big deal, he wasn't begging just obviously homeless.

He sits down a few sections away and just sits there for awhile.  I go back to reading my newspaper when I see some motion out of the corner of my eye.  He's stood up, dropped trou' halfway down and taken a dump right there on the seat.  Then pulled up his pants and walked out when the doors opened.

The rest of the subway car was split between just shocked sitting there and rushing the doors at the next stop.  I was with the latter group.

Needless to say I had a very light dinner that night as the visual haunted me the rest of the evening.

--Submitted by J.A.

Fool me once...

So, I'm headed uptown on the 4 train.  I'm unemployed and going to visit my mom for lunch on the UES.

I'm standing there, reading my book what looks like the usual suspects get on and begin their pitch (heavily accented).

"Hello, I'm sorry to disturb your peace and quiet.  Our young daughter was killed in a building fire because of the pot smokers who lived below us.  We're trying to raise money to bury her.  We have copies of the receipts from the funeral home.  If you don't trust us you can send any money you'd like to give to the funeral home directly... (and so it continued)."

I happened to not have any cash and, as mentioned, was unemployed so wasn't able to give.

A full two years later I'm headed uptown again on the 4 train again at the same time of day.  (Yes, employed at this point, it just happened to be a day off).  Reading my book and listening to my mp3 player when I hear someone begin their schtick and look up in shock..

"Hello, I'm sorry to disturb your peace and quiet.  My wife here was injured while we were visiting America. We can't leave until we pay the hospital back. We're trying to raise money so we can go home.  We have copies of the receipts from the hospital.  If you don't trust us you can send any money you'd like to give to the hospital directly... (and so it continued)."

As you can probably guess it was the exact same couple.  At the same time I was 1) Chagrined that they were so good on their original (and this) pitch and 2) Impressed that they either varied the story or location enough that I hadn't seen them in the intervening two years.

-- Submitted by O.C.

The Devil

So, get this. I’m on the D train with my girlfriend and across from us was this crazy lady.

She was surrounded by all these bags and plants covered with paisley paper. In fact, she was all covered in paisley.  Like she shopped at Maria von Trapp and Company.   She stared at me for a real long time. 

I finally asked her what she was staring at and she screamed..."The Devil! You are the devil!"

For a while I just sat there, but she wouldn’t stop.”You’re the devil! You are pure evil. The devil! I feel sorry for your girlfriend.” 

Finally, I blurted out “Fuck you paisley lady.  You’re crazy.  Just leave us alone.” She shut up, but every once in a while I’d catch her glancing at me.  She and her paisley bags got off two stops later.  The messed up thing about all of this is that was the fourth time that week that a crazy person called me the devil.

Tokens

I’d just sat down for the graveyard shift in the booth at 68th and Lex, with this Little Old Italian clerk working next to me.  I’d never seen him before.  Aside from opening the door for me, he wasn’t very friendly.

I had this weird feeling that I should do a “proper relief.”  That’s basically an inventory of everything in the booth. “Don’t worry,” the little man said to me, “the guy before you just did one. It’s fine.”

Against the man’s objections, I counted 70 boxes of tokens, each holding 1,000.  I did notice, though, that the spare booth key was missing. 

“It was gone when I got here,” the little man said.

I was about to hit the EBCS button—Emergency Booth Communication System—to connect me to a supervisor at HQ—when the little man grabbed my hand.

“Don’t worry, I’m here with you!” the little man shouted, flustered.  “No one will bother us.”

I hit it anyway—I wanted that lock changed. 

A supervisor showed up a few minutes later. 

The old man was tapping his foot and twiddling his thumbs.  He shifted in his seat, started sweating, said the booth was hot, and he wanted to go out and get air.  But he couldn’t because the supervisor was there.

Just at that moment, one of 68th and Lex’s regular clerks, who I’d never met before, came down into the station.  He was wearing plain clothes.  He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw his boss standing there.  He played it cool for a couple minutes, until this other guy in tattered clothes came down and shouted, “What is taking so long?”

That supervisor knew right then what was going on.  The Italian man had given the booth key to the guys earlier so that they could open the door on me when he stepped out to “get air.”  It was a setup for them to scheme the MTA out of 70,000 tokens and make it look like negligence—like I didn’t lock the door or I’d let a stranger into the booth.  And if my intuition hadn’t told me to do a “proper relief,” they’d have gotten away with it, too.  I hear what they tried that night is a pretty common occurrence.  

Either way, they got fired.  And I got a raise. 

Yes/Yes

So many damn crazies underground it’s hard to tell who’s sane sometimes.   

I was walking on the platform and I passed this lady going “yes, yes,” “yes, yes.” 

I thought that bitch was crazy, but then I turned around to see that a train was coming. 

She was just doing the happy “train-is-coming” dance.  Goddamn.  It gets confusing sometimes. 

 

Don't You Do That!

I had recently moved to Brooklyn, and my mom came out from Ohio to see my new place. 

I   took her into the city for dinner and a Broadway show. It was her first time in New York, so we walked around Times Square after the show. It was around midnight when we got on the W headed back to Brooklyn. The train was pretty packed, but by the time we hit Rector Street it was just us and this guy on our car. He kept looking at us, and then all of the sudden he walked over to us and squeezed in between us to sit down. 

Before we could move, he put his arms around us and pulled us into him. My mom pushed his arm off and stood up. I did the same thing as the man stood up. He yelled at us to give him our purses and started to reach into his pocket. I thought that was it - we were going to get shot. 

But at that very moment my mom got right up into his face and said, “Don’t you do that!” He didn’t move and then again my mom said, “Don’t you do that!” and that time she shook her finger at him as if he was a bad child. 

The man looked at her like she was crazy, but he still didn’t move. My mom then told me to go pull the emergency cord. 

The man then turned into an overgrown kid. He dared me to do it and even stuck his tongue out at me. Thank God we arrived at the next stop and the man ran off because I had no idea where the emergency cord was. My mom let out a big sigh of relief. We got home safe that night. Too bad I can’t have my mom around all the time. 

Mistaken Identity

My buddy’s wife needed a break from taking care of their nine month old and my wife needed to work on her thesis, so it was two guys and a baby day. 

We took him to the park and had a good time. All day long we were getting looks from the ladies. The baby was a chick magnet. Don’t get me wrong. We are both married, but the attention is nice every once in awhile. 

We got on the train to head back home and these two beautiful ladies were just in love with baby Arthur. They are oohing and awing over him. Well, their stop was about to come and they turned to me and my buddy and one of them says, “Best of luck. You’re real pioneers and don’t let anyone tell you different.” 

Before I could tell them the rings on our fingers are not for each other, they left. Baby Arthur then giggled at us. I think his first word might be “putz”. 

Best friends

I got on the 6 train going uptown at Bleecker. I never get on at Bleecker, you know. I had just finished seeing a crappy show in the area. I was all distraught over it. I got on the train and made eye contact with this really cute goth-ish guy. He was looking at pictures in his camera. I started writing in my journal about the totally crappy show. He looked over at what I was writing. I then started looking at the photos in his camera. We shared a smile. 

I usually get off at 68th street, but I rode an extra stop just to be with him.

I have heard about people meeting and making a connection on the train. I never had until then. 

The next stop came and I started to get off. I smiled at him and turned to go. The doors started to close. He darted off the train, and he told me he wanted to get to know me better . Totally didn’t want it to be a missed connection. 

We hit it off right away—but of course...he had a girlfriend, but it wasn’t about that. We didn’t let that stop us from getting to know each other, and two years later we are still all totally close friends. 

"Walking Stick"

I’m on the platform at Queens borough Plaza waiting as usual for the N “as in never” train. Next to me was a middle aged man reading a newspaper. He would occasionally giggle at what he was reading. Finally, we heard a train approaching. 

We both leaned forward and “saw” that in fact it was a N. The man scrambled to put the newspaper away and he took out a walking stick. He unfolded it, put on a thick pair of sunglasses on and pulled out a change cup. He felt his way onto the train. 

I stood there in shock. The doors closed before I could move, and the train pulled out of the station. I had to wait for the next one! 

The Telephone game

I was on the 2 train. I got on at the Borough Hall stop-the last one in Brooklyn. And I took it all the way to 135th in Harlem. This man got on the same time as me. He sat down-pulled from his bag an old fashioned rotary telephone with the cord still attached.

At first he sat there with it on his lap, but then he picked it up and started talking into it. 

“Hello? Oh, hi, how are you? Good, good, thank you.” His conversation continued all the way to 135th. “Yes, yes, it has been lovely. 

I’ll call you back later-on my way home. Ciao!” - no one said a word to him. Let his CRAZY ASS have his conversation. 

Umbrella Races

A favorite thing for my friend and me to do on a rainy day is ride the train and have umbrella races. I sit on one side and my friend on the other. We open our umbrellas and hang them on the bars above us.  The first one to go to the other end and back wins.  The thing is, it sometimes takes forever for the umbrellas to move. It’s like cheering turtles on in a race. I love it!  It’s the little things about this city, I tell you… 

"Pow"

It was pretty late. I was on the L train headed home to Williamsburg. This normal looking guy got on and sat across from me. I was sitting there listening to my IPod when that guy made his fingers into a gun and pointed it at me. 

He yelled “Pow.” 

I sat there not sure what to do. Again he yelled “Pow.” At that point I realized he was clearly crazy. He then screamed non stop ”Pow, Pow, Pow.” 

I couldn’t take it anymore and I can’t believe I did this, but I got up, looked him directly in his eyes and yelled “Wow” and then calmly but quickly walked to the next car for the rest of my ride home. 

--Submitted by U.E.

Typical NYC Day

I have lived in NYC my whole life, but I didn't go to see my first show till I was 11 years old - it was HAIRSPRAY on Broadway, and I really loved it!!  

I was so impressed, and there was one actress who I thought really stood out in the show--Jackie Hoffman.  She was just SO FUNNY and cracked me and my mom up the whole show--I really became a big fan of hers--I still go to see her solo comedy shows, etc...  

Because of her I decided to become an actor, which I'm pursuing to this day (just got my headshots!!!)  

Well, I was on the C train going downtown, and there was only one seat open.  I sat in it, and looked to my left, and who was sitting next to me but Jackie Hoffman!!  

I didn't say anything to her--wanted to respect her privacy and all--but I just thought it was so cool how public figures and actors take the subway every day and you never know who you'll meet (or sit next to, anyway) on a "typical day" in NYC.

-Submitted by T.T.

Art??

I miss the days of good old graffiti – when the cars were covered, inside and out, with spraypaint.  It was like heaven on earth, sittin in a moving masterpiece.  Like Mona Lisa on wheels.  Now we got all these people saying it’s “vandalism,” and Rudy G and Bloomberg spent people’s tax dollars on cleanin it up.  Graffiti’s “criminal.” 

Why are we intent on making graffiti artists be like all those painters through history, who died before anyone got to see their work and hear their voice?  And then we got all those people who sit in their big, glass office buildings and draw cartoons designed to sell cigarettes to kids, or artwork that makes you go out and buy booze; and that’s not a crime.  Their artwork’s ok.  But some guy’ll get 50 hours of community service for writing “Follow Your Dream” on a subway platform.  

Graffiti was—and is—nothing more than the colors of a thousand souls that define a generation.

-Submitted by P.W.

Diamond in the rough

I was sitting on a train heading uptown, and on the seat next to me was what looked like an engagement ring, just sitting there rolling around in the seat…it made me wonder how it got there, and why—I started creating all of these funny stories in my head about a guy proposing on the train and the ring slipping off, or maybe a girl running away from someone abusive, and leaving the last tangible memory she has of him on the subway car…funny the things you think about when you’re commuting…

-Submitted by T.P.

Do you wanna nurse??

I got on the C train going uptown during rush hour, and the train was pretty crowded, naturally. 

I’m standing, hanging on to the bar, and this large woman with mousy hair gets on…on her back, she had a baby in a bookbag (maybe it was one of those baby-carrier things, but it sure didn’t look safe).  The person sitting just below where I was standing stood up to let the lady with the baby in the bookbag sit.  She plunks down with her baby still in the bookbag, and sits back, smushing the kid between her and the back of the seat.  

Well of course, the baby started crying and the mother just couldn’t understand why (maybe it’s because you're crushing her, you cow!)…so the mother starts asking – 

“What’s the matter, why are you crying baby?  Why are you crying honey?  Are you crying because you wanna nurse?”  

Then louder, “Do you want to nurse?  Yeah, yeah, coo coo, I think you wanna nurse, you’re hungry and you need my milk.  Let’s nurse!”  

She then pulls out one bloated udder of a tit and lets it hang out while she struggles to get the crying baby out of the sack on her back, all the while repeatedly asking at the top of her lungs, “DO YOU WANNA NURSE?!”  Almost everyone around her cleared out, and that kid was probably drinking for days.

-Submitted by K.M.