My usual morning routine involves feeding my head with garbage news of the day, articles I typically only read half way, if that much, retaining little more than the headline. I’ve learned to avoid following headlines that include the words like “could” or “might” or “possibly” when it is apparent that the article is pure speculation. An article with a headline suggesting Michelle Obama might replace Biden on the ticket made it abundantly clear that there was not a chance in hell of that happening. But the headline baited you in with the possibility, making it sound like an all out likelihood that this impossible scenario was in the discussion.
I chose to forego that routine today in favor of being present. The news-gorging effectiv ely erases everyone around me, the mental absorption further aided by me removing my glasses and surrounding myself with human blur bodies. Today the glasses stayed on, allowing me to realize that people, for some reason, look at me twice, sometimes three times. I’m not polycephalous or pantsless. I am not altogetehr slovenly but I’m no fashion statement, either. One time at a subway station I was rushing to get to the head of the platform when I made direct eye contact with a woman sitting on one of the benches. In a sort of goofy but engaged voice she said “Hiya!” It may have been a moment of attraction or a lure into her world of skulduggery, waterboarding, and spending the rest of my life as a brutally tortured hostage.
I don’t know why people look at me. I do not actually exist in any tangible form. I was never born. When I speak no one listens. When I listen no one says anything. I am little more than a pool of sweat evaporating on a subway station floor.
Today I chose to take in the world around me. I’ve also been negotiating alternative subway routes to my daily destinations. Originally I took the 4/5 Express from Fulton to 59th Street/Lexington for a 2-train commute. But the stairs… To avoid the sometimes punishing stairs at 59th Street/Lexington I transferred to the 7 at Grand Central and got the N/W at Queensboro Plaza, which is, incidentally, the only place in the subway system where you can transfer from a letter train to a number train on the same platform. Just a little pointless trivia.
The 3-train commute proved to be about the same duration as the 2-train, at least when everything works right, which has so far been most of the time. The stairs from the 4/5 to the 7 are kind of hairy at first, but they give way to a ramp-like path and then a set of stairs. I don’t have trouble with down stairs, it’s the up that kills me. The stairs from the 4/5 to the N/W/R at 59th /Lexington are pretty steep, for me at least.
The question arose: Why not just get the W train for a single train commute. I’ve tried it for the return trips home a few times and the jury is out. A key advantage is that even during rush hour the W at Cortlandt Street can be nearly empty. I get the seat I like most, the soon to be discontinued front-facing seat with the window beside. There is no crowding until 59th Street, although yesterday’s journey was marred by screaming babies and poor air quality that might have led to me hyperventilating if I did not change cars. The air in the next car was better but a fresh batch of screaming babies awaited.
Jury is out on the W as a single-train solution. The three-train switcheroo has worked fine, save for the profoundly obnoxious MTA workers absolutely screaming at everybody “YOU CAN’T WAIT HERE KEEP WALKING!” That is such a coarse intrusion into the journey.
