Thursday, June 14, 2012

The NYC Subway: A Test Tube for Humans

Now that I've  been a city slicker for a solid half a year, I feel it is appropriate for me to say I have sufficiently experienced the wonder that is the New York City Subway system. If, by chance, you are a person that has visited New York City but has had the fortune to travel strictly by cab, you're really missing out.


Like many new-to-New Yorkers, I'm somewhat...monetarily challenged. That means the only way I'm not traveling by public transit is if I'm walking. Or that disillusioned guy at the bar thinks taking a cab with me means he's coming home with me, and ends up offering a ride. FYI, the ladder basically doesn't happen. 

By basically I mean never. 

All this being said, I spend a lot of time riding the subway. In that time, I get to observe a plethora of different things and people, and I often find myself wondering about human behavior. One thing I've specifically noticed is that everybody is either too scared or not scared enough of everything they encounter while riding.

I often see people sleeping on the subway. Not resting their eyes or relaxing, but full-on sleeping. Why aren't these people terrified? 

There are the obvious dangers involved: getting robbed, cut, or any other manner of assaulted. But worse than that, think of who might sit or stand next to you while you're being rocked to sleep by the trains' gentle swaying. For example, that girl who finds no issue with blasting Beyonce's, "Irreplaceable" on repeat loud enough for us all to have the pleasure of being informed that, to the left, to the left, everything we own is in a box to the left. Which, rather ironically, speaks volumes to the homeless guy who seems to have a real talent for falling asleep, waking up with a boner, and then traipsing about, loudly yelling something in gibberish. Or that person who had a nice big plate of broccoli for lunch. 

Yes, I'm talking about farts.

Very recently I was sitting in one of the seats closest to a door. A younger man, about thirty, was leaning up against the metal bars at the edge of the bench. To paint a clear picture, I was face to butt with this man. Then, in what was nothing short of a sensory ambush, I found myself neck deep in his fart cloud. His rank, invasive fart cloud that I couldn't call him out on because he kept it quiet. It's true, I have been a MTA victim of the "silent but deadly." If only there had been a way for me to spot he was a fart blossom. A gas master flex. 

On the flip side, I also see people afraid of things that, to me, seem totally irrational. I once saw 5 people come to sit in a seat next to me and turn away because there was an empty yellow Starburst wrapper on it. These people were so sure about this being good enough reason not to sit, that it got to the point where I started to become afraid of the Starburst wrapper. 

I'm sure you're thinking...Um, Gab? There's no chance you considered they didn't care about the wrapper, they just didn't want to sit next to you, is there?

No, there isn't. 

Haters gon' hate. 

Another thing to be discussed about the subway is the entertainment, both intentional and unintentional. It's a rare occasion my ride home from work isn't interrupted by 4 teenage boys shouting, "EXCUSE ME LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, SHOWTIME SHOWTIME. WHAT TIME IS IT? SHOWTIME."

Oh. I thought it was 5:30. 

Then, they proceed to blare some hip hop music and pull off some of the most impressive pole dancing I have ever seen. Honestly, I cannot believe the way some of these boys work the pole. In the words of Akon, "I see you windin' and grindin' up on that pole," and I do. 

But I don't want to love them. I just want to be sure none of them kick me in the face.  

And of course, my trip to Brooklyn wouldn't be complete without a Mariachi performance. Gracias, pero no tengo dinero extra. Lo siento. 

Perhaps best and last thing I'd like to discuss about the subway is its' capacity for sparking romance. There are so many interesting people, all forcibly too close to one another, just waiting to cross paths and swap life stories, or maybe just cop a feel. Their eyes panning the car, wondering, is that my soulmate?  Did he just meaningfully gaze at me?

I mean, who doesn't fall in love 45 times a day on the subway?

Oh, that's just me? Well.


1 comment:

  1. Really liked this one. all this shit is sad but far too true. well done my friend.

    ReplyDelete