the morning rush hour subway shuffle

This morning, like many others before it, I have gotten to the subway station to see a massive crowd. I'm not talking ON the train--this is still upstairs, outside, on the street. A huge throng of people just stands around the stairwell trying to get down while trying not to spill coffee, step in gum or poop, and dodge the newspaper vendors who shove the Metro or AM New York in your face. This is my morning.

I finally get down the stairs but not without severe frustration with the slow ass woman in front of me who takes each step with two feet. I can't get around her because the other "lane" is moving too fast and I can't break around. So I wait...for her...to get...to...the bottom. Then I blast around her and try to pick a turnstile that doesn't look problematic. (By problematic, I mean "not functional" or "has a woman with a giant suitcase getting stuck.")

Once through the turnstile, I must walk about 50 feet to the left to the spot behind the last support column. This gets me on the front of the second-to-last car on the train, which will drop me off right in front of the exit turnstiles at my destination. You may think I sound crazy or neurotic, but if you do, you are not from New York. All New Yorkers do this. It is a sense acquired over time, mostly through trial and error. (More likely error.)

So the train arrives, and it's one of those oh-shit-it's-really-full trains. Sometimes the conductor will announce "there is another train directly behind us" so that people won't unnecessarily over-crowd. But when no such announcement is declared, it's every man, woman, and oversized shoulder bag for themselves.

Today I got on. I was second-to-last, followed only by the man with a giant mop-bucket on wheels, complete with mop, who proved to be a real complication. I'm sure that I, very similarly, piss people off with my giant backpack, which is stuffed fat with school books and pretty shoes. Most of the time, only I OR my backpack can fit comfortably. Making room for both of us is not easy. But I found a way, and I grabbed onto the vertical rail even though it resulted in my elbow being about 1/2" from some guys face. (Not my fault. He should be taller.)

The train gassed and lurched, rumbling to the first stop. Two people got off and 43 got on, including a very diminutive pushy bitch who, at half my height, shoved me and my backpack into the guy next to me so she could hold onto the rail. The train gassed and lurched, rumbling to the second stop. Six people got off, including a guy next to me. So I took his vacant spot away from the diminutive pushy bitch, and 87 people got on. The train gassed and lurched, rumbling to the third stop (halfway there). Three people got off, including the guy next to me, so I slid over and took his spot, despite the fact it was burying me in the back of the train.

This continued for three more stops, each one allowing more people on than off. Eventually I was wedged in against two other women, all of us staring at each other's armpits and trying not to eat each other's hair. I braced for the tricky curve in the tracks between 42nd and 33rd, and prayed no one behind me would fly into me. And when we stopped at 33rd street, the doors opened, and Mr. Mop and Bucket man stood there blocking the exit for the 2.3 million people who were trying to get off the train. So, quite simply, we carried him out with us.

So, as mentioned, I disembark the train directly in front of the exit turnstiles, which actually double as the entrance turnstiles for the unfortunate souls on the other side who want to get ON the train. Hundreds and hundreds of people click through the gates and rush up one of two staircases, but inevitably, the staircases get backed up. If I'm really lucky, I'm the first or second one on the stairs, and I can charge full speed to the top and avoid the crush of anxious passengers. But today I was not lucky, thanks to Mr. Mop and Bucket, and stood at the bottom waiting for my chance to enter.

The staircase is three people wide. This means two rows of people going up, and, if we're feeling generous, one row for people going down. But it's tough, especially in the middle row (which I'm usually in because it's like the passing lane on the highway), because you've got elbows flying at you from the right, duffle bags and hot coffee from the left, and you must maintain speed so that you don't a) walk into the person's ass in front of you or b) get your ass walked into by the person behind you. Slow and steady, everyone climbs, until you get to the top and the Metro and AM New York newspaper vendors shove their products in your face before you are finally free.

After that, well, it's just a quick jaunt across the street before the Elevator Roulette begins.