Thursday, July 16, 2009
Subway Stories I (of three)
[I hereby swear on a stack of Bibles that the events depicted in the following three posts are all 100% true.]
The last week or so, the 49th Street station has smelled like a decomposing dead body. Or at least what I imagine a rotting corpse smells like -- I have never actually smelled one (or maybe I have?). The first day, I was kind of annoyed and wondered where it was coming from. The second, I got on the first train that came through the station just to get out of the smell, even though it was the wrong train and it took me a half-mile out of my way. By the fifth day I stopped wondering whether anybody was going to do anything about it, or even if anyone in a position to do something knew ... I had stopped caring. This smell, this putrid odor that was like a thousand gallons of bile puked up by the subway monster, was simply another object in my life. It is no different than the ground beneath my feet. It is, and I accept its existence implicitly. If tomorrow the smell is gone, I might even get a little confused and wonder if I'm in the right place.
I am standing on the far end of the platform. I have learned to get on the first car. It is not the most convenient, and by that I mean that it is not the closest to the exit when I get to my station, but it is the most convenient in that it has less people. While I'm still waiting for the train, about twenty feet to my left there is a group of about 25 tourists all wearing matching orange shirts. They look so fucking ridiculous. I guess they've heard how dangerous Times Square is ... so their reasonable response was to make every effort to distinguish themselves as easy marks. The logic is air-fucking-tight.
Their shirts tell me that they're all members of some evangelical church, but I did not need to their shirts to tell me that. They look like the characters from the comic strip Gasoline Alley only younger. They have the look of mild apprehension on their faces ... I wonder if they are privy to information that the rapture is imminent.
But oh no! one of the younger wildebeasts didn't quite make it accross the river with the rest of the herd and he is now stuck on the other side of the turnstile. Better act quick or he's liable to get snatched right up by some angry alligator.
"Sir! Sir! He's a minor ... he's an unescorted minor! Sir!" The palest of their group, and therefore the leader I assume, is using his "outdoor voice" to attempt to get the attention of the station attendant. He's not yelling, there's no anger -- it sounds more like how a landed gentlemen of the Victorian age would use his voice if he was being eaten by a lion whilst on safari -- "I say! I say! Cohorts! I believe I shall expire! Can someone please hasten to remove this ghastly beast from me?"
The station attendant obvsiously could not give two shits. This guy must hear dozens of stories every day from people that want to get on the subway for free, from the grizzled "vet" who "just needs a quarter" to the "senior citizen" who "left his senior citizen card at home, and just needs to get to the doctor." (Ever notice how liars love the word "just"?) At least the teenagers dispense with the embarassing "just" this-or-that bullshit and just jump the turnstile.
But the thing I don't understand is that this kid looks like he's about 16 or 17. He's not 10 or 8 or whatever the cutoof is for riding for free. Technically a "minor" I suppose, but not exactly "unescorted." Standing just 10 feet away are 12 extremely holy adults. See, they're even wearing matching shirts! If this kid can drive to the 7-11 to buy sodie pops, he can certainly go to the machine and buy a metrocard like everyone else.
Don't these people believe in rules? This IS America after all, isn't it? I mean, if those Mexicans that walk miles and miles across open desert to make less than minimum wage doing menial tasks are illegal and deserving of our (Christful) scorn, then ipso facto ye shall not passeth the threshold of subwaydom withouteth purchasething the symbol that is evidenceth that thou hast payeth the fayre.
My train came, so I didn't get to see how it ended, but I really hope that fucking kid didn't get on for free.
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The last week or so, the 49th Street station has smelled like a decomposing dead body. Or at least what I imagine a rotting corpse smells like -- I have never actually smelled one (or maybe I have?). The first day, I was kind of annoyed and wondered where it was coming from. The second, I got on the first train that came through the station just to get out of the smell, even though it was the wrong train and it took me a half-mile out of my way. By the fifth day I stopped wondering whether anybody was going to do anything about it, or even if anyone in a position to do something knew ... I had stopped caring. This smell, this putrid odor that was like a thousand gallons of bile puked up by the subway monster, was simply another object in my life. It is no different than the ground beneath my feet. It is, and I accept its existence implicitly. If tomorrow the smell is gone, I might even get a little confused and wonder if I'm in the right place.
I am standing on the far end of the platform. I have learned to get on the first car. It is not the most convenient, and by that I mean that it is not the closest to the exit when I get to my station, but it is the most convenient in that it has less people. While I'm still waiting for the train, about twenty feet to my left there is a group of about 25 tourists all wearing matching orange shirts. They look so fucking ridiculous. I guess they've heard how dangerous Times Square is ... so their reasonable response was to make every effort to distinguish themselves as easy marks. The logic is air-fucking-tight.
Their shirts tell me that they're all members of some evangelical church, but I did not need to their shirts to tell me that. They look like the characters from the comic strip Gasoline Alley only younger. They have the look of mild apprehension on their faces ... I wonder if they are privy to information that the rapture is imminent.
But oh no! one of the younger wildebeasts didn't quite make it accross the river with the rest of the herd and he is now stuck on the other side of the turnstile. Better act quick or he's liable to get snatched right up by some angry alligator.
"Sir! Sir! He's a minor ... he's an unescorted minor! Sir!" The palest of their group, and therefore the leader I assume, is using his "outdoor voice" to attempt to get the attention of the station attendant. He's not yelling, there's no anger -- it sounds more like how a landed gentlemen of the Victorian age would use his voice if he was being eaten by a lion whilst on safari -- "I say! I say! Cohorts! I believe I shall expire! Can someone please hasten to remove this ghastly beast from me?"
The station attendant obvsiously could not give two shits. This guy must hear dozens of stories every day from people that want to get on the subway for free, from the grizzled "vet" who "just needs a quarter" to the "senior citizen" who "left his senior citizen card at home, and just needs to get to the doctor." (Ever notice how liars love the word "just"?) At least the teenagers dispense with the embarassing "just" this-or-that bullshit and just jump the turnstile.
But the thing I don't understand is that this kid looks like he's about 16 or 17. He's not 10 or 8 or whatever the cutoof is for riding for free. Technically a "minor" I suppose, but not exactly "unescorted." Standing just 10 feet away are 12 extremely holy adults. See, they're even wearing matching shirts! If this kid can drive to the 7-11 to buy sodie pops, he can certainly go to the machine and buy a metrocard like everyone else.
Don't these people believe in rules? This IS America after all, isn't it? I mean, if those Mexicans that walk miles and miles across open desert to make less than minimum wage doing menial tasks are illegal and deserving of our (Christful) scorn, then ipso facto ye shall not passeth the threshold of subwaydom withouteth purchasething the symbol that is evidenceth that thou hast payeth the fayre.
My train came, so I didn't get to see how it ended, but I really hope that fucking kid didn't get on for free.
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