subway conductor from hell.

Just a few short days ago I wrote about my morning commute. I thought it was bad that day: crowded, pushy, and constantly shifting. Well, today it took on another dimension: the subway conductor from hell.

I walked to my station and waited. And waited and waited and waited. The platform filled more and more with each passing minute, eventually 5 to 6 people deep the whole length of the station. Irritated passengers checked their watches and shuffled papers. Finally, the metallic squeal and rumble of the train echoed through the tunnel, the train arrived, and the doors opened.

Now, it turns out yesterday was the NYC subway's 100th anniversary, the big centennial celebration. As part of the festivities, the mayor dug up the grave of some crochety old curmudgeon who drove the subway 100 years ago, and asked him to drive the 6 train downtown this morning. Over the intercom, this crabby beast bellowed very routine announcements, like "Step all the way into the car, and move away from the doors during their closing cycle." People crammed in on top of each other, pushing and shoving, until the conductor warned again "Stay clear of the doors. The doors are closing."

Usually, this is a hollow threat. The computerized voice warns of the doors closing ALL the time while people are still getting OFF the train, and the passengers waiting to board know that no one will shut the door until most people are on. But ah, not today.

At every stop, the conductor warned "I'm closing the doors now!" and slammed them shut, leaving dozens of outspoken new yorkers limbless and speechless on the platforms. "No one's on the train yet!" I heard a trailing voice say. But the cranky conductor continued to lecture us, his captive audience, on how we are only hurting ourselves.

"People. If you hold the doors open, you delay the train. If you delay the train too much and we get behind schedule, we'll start skipping stops. One of them might be yours. STOP HOLDING THE DOORS." We sped and lurched from stop to stop, getting the same warning over and over, each time with a harsher tone than the previous.

Then a new voice came: "Ladies and gentlemen, due to the lateness of this train, it will run express from 14th street to Brooklyn Bridge."

Our conductor: "Copy that. See folks. I told you. Maybe next time you won't hold the doors. There's always another train, so just wait for the next train. Don't delay everyone trying to get on this one." (This was highly illogical considering we were already ON this train and rolling down the tracks.)

People buzzed and moaned at the new disorder of their commute, asking each other which stops would be made before shoulder checking each other and rushing out the door. I felt like a little kid being who was sent to stand in the corner, head hung shamefully even though I didn't personally hold the doors open.

"This train is express people. Express train because YOU held the doors. I tried to tell you, don't hold the doors. But you held the doors, and now we have to skip stops..."

Ah, another happy morning commute on the MTA.