Some nights, you’ll wait a good long time for those headlights on the track, but when the train finally hits the station, the windows are blackened, and it doesn’t even slow down, or else it’s a ramshackle wooden contraption filled with tools and bins. What are these not-regular trains? They are the trash train and the money train.
The ramshackle trains pulling the rusty yellow wooden flatbeds full of green bins is the trash train. Late at night when most people are already asleep, subway workers move from station to station, removing the trash bins from the closets at the end of some subway stations and replacing them with empty green bins pulled from off the cattle car. This is truly a fascinating thing to watch, especially because you can get real close to the train and peek around inside at all the assorted detritus of city living.
The money train is another matter altogether. Officially, this train was retired in 2006; the advent of Metrocards made its late night runs as obsolete as the Wesley Snipes/Woody Harrelson movie of the same name. The money train was the yellow and black striped train with the blacked-out windows that transported the daily MTA take to the King Midas money counting chamber. It was heavily guarded, so riders wouldn’t get any ideas about hijacking it… this wasn’t The Taking of Pelham One Two Three here….although I did hear they are releasing a remake of this classic in June ’09, starring John Travolta, Denzel Washington, and John Turturro.
My karate sensei, who works for the MTA, told a story of being a young man in Brooklyn and running to catch the train. He leapt over the staircase railing and into the train just as the doors closed, only to find a cadre of police officers with their firearms trained on him. Having jumped unawares into the money train, he threw his arms up in surrender, saying, “I’m just a kid!” Eventually they let him go.
If you’re interested in how the money train works, the MTA Transit Museum offers a “Show Me The Money” exhibit for kids 4 and older at the end of May, in which participants can help collect fares on a route through the museum. Click here for more info.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Get Your Zs on the Z Train
Some people will advise against sleeping on the train, but like most everything else in life, it’s all in how you do it. Should you choose to do your dozing on the D line, it is imperative that you develop a strong stop-wake reflex. With some effort, you can train yourself to open your eyes every time the train comes to a stop. You don’t have to completely stop sleeping; even one eye opened is sufficient to tell you where you are, and when you need to transfer.
These tips will help you negotiate a successful train nap:
Choose your seat wisely. Find a somewhat secluded seat, away from loudmouths, preferably one facing an empty seat for you to rest your feet upon. But make sure it’s not too secluded; you don’t want to wake up to find yourself in car with you in the role of Sleeping Beauty, with Dopey and Grumpy trying to kiss you out of your coma.
Don’t expect to rest your nodding, sleepy head on your neighbor’s shoulder. If you didn’t bring a friend to lean on, make sure your head has a window to prop itself against.
If you have a bag, wrap the handle around your shoulder. That way, when you wake up, you’ll still have the shit you walked in with.
Don’t fall asleep with a cup of coffee or other beverage in your hand. You’ll drop it, guaranteed, and that ruins your nap. Also, don’t fall asleep with candy in your mouth. I recently watched with concern/disgust as a relatively well-dressed white man, clearly completely strung out on heroin, nodded off for nearly an hour with a Blow-Pop in his mouth. A thin strand of spit ran steadily down the lolly stick onto his backpack. Sometimes the lollypop would fall out of his mouth, and stick to his jeans or fall onto his filthy backpack, which was lying on the floor. Each time he regained consciousness, he’d shove it right back in his mouth, floor grit and all.
Despite following these rules, sometimes you will overestimate your ability to sub-sleep, and will wake up somewhere near the Coney Island rail yards. It’s a real bitch, mostly because if you were so exhausted to begin with, you were most likely out drinking or cavorting until 4 a.m., and now the sun is rising over the beach, and you’re reenacting the final scene of The Warriors.
My advice: If you can afford to take a cab home from wherever you are, do so. Otherwise, you have to cross over to the other side of the platform, wait for that train to arrive, take it back to the original point where you were supposed to transfer, exit, cross back over to the other side of the platform, and wait for your transfer train. It is frustrating as all hell, most of the platforms by the yards are outdoors and sketchy, and at night, the trains run none too fast.
Weekend at Bernie’s
Oh. So that guy wasn’t sleeping after all. It’s terrible, but sometimes people drop dead on the subway. Sometimes, people can’t tell for a while, either. If you happen to find a dead guy on the subway, tell the police or an MTA official. Or, just move into the next car, if you think your conscience can handle leaving some dead guy for the next person to find. Me, I feel bad leaving pee on the toilet seat, but hey, you might be totally okay with it. Just don’t rob the corpse. Or do rob it. What does he care, he’s already dead. And what do I care? I’ve got somewhere else to be.
These tips will help you negotiate a successful train nap:
Choose your seat wisely. Find a somewhat secluded seat, away from loudmouths, preferably one facing an empty seat for you to rest your feet upon. But make sure it’s not too secluded; you don’t want to wake up to find yourself in car with you in the role of Sleeping Beauty, with Dopey and Grumpy trying to kiss you out of your coma.
Don’t expect to rest your nodding, sleepy head on your neighbor’s shoulder. If you didn’t bring a friend to lean on, make sure your head has a window to prop itself against.
If you have a bag, wrap the handle around your shoulder. That way, when you wake up, you’ll still have the shit you walked in with.
Don’t fall asleep with a cup of coffee or other beverage in your hand. You’ll drop it, guaranteed, and that ruins your nap. Also, don’t fall asleep with candy in your mouth. I recently watched with concern/disgust as a relatively well-dressed white man, clearly completely strung out on heroin, nodded off for nearly an hour with a Blow-Pop in his mouth. A thin strand of spit ran steadily down the lolly stick onto his backpack. Sometimes the lollypop would fall out of his mouth, and stick to his jeans or fall onto his filthy backpack, which was lying on the floor. Each time he regained consciousness, he’d shove it right back in his mouth, floor grit and all.
Despite following these rules, sometimes you will overestimate your ability to sub-sleep, and will wake up somewhere near the Coney Island rail yards. It’s a real bitch, mostly because if you were so exhausted to begin with, you were most likely out drinking or cavorting until 4 a.m., and now the sun is rising over the beach, and you’re reenacting the final scene of The Warriors.
My advice: If you can afford to take a cab home from wherever you are, do so. Otherwise, you have to cross over to the other side of the platform, wait for that train to arrive, take it back to the original point where you were supposed to transfer, exit, cross back over to the other side of the platform, and wait for your transfer train. It is frustrating as all hell, most of the platforms by the yards are outdoors and sketchy, and at night, the trains run none too fast.
Weekend at Bernie’s
Oh. So that guy wasn’t sleeping after all. It’s terrible, but sometimes people drop dead on the subway. Sometimes, people can’t tell for a while, either. If you happen to find a dead guy on the subway, tell the police or an MTA official. Or, just move into the next car, if you think your conscience can handle leaving some dead guy for the next person to find. Me, I feel bad leaving pee on the toilet seat, but hey, you might be totally okay with it. Just don’t rob the corpse. Or do rob it. What does he care, he’s already dead. And what do I care? I’ve got somewhere else to be.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Subway Jack-Offs
Men like to take their dick out on subway trains. There is the professional-looking evening commuter who gently places his unit on his thigh, as if he is airing it out after a long day of work. Then there is the drunk late-night tosser, leering at female commuters through glazed eyes as he rubs one out. Neither is okay.
Unlike drinking excessively and having to whip your dick out to pee on the train, there is no situation I can envision in which someone has to masturbate on the subway. If you have a home, you should wait until you get there to get your stroke on. Like my sister tells her pre-teen son: “It’s not bad, but you need to do it in your room.”
If you are homeless, pulling out your peen is not going to help your situation, what with the chips already stacked against you because of your body odor, your colorful collection of assorted shopping bags, and your real or assumed mental illness, drug, and alcohol addictions. On the bright side, most people will already be steering a wide path around you.
Oddly enough, homeless people don’t comprise the majority of subway strokers, in my experience. The majority of public masturbators I have witnessed look like “normal” guys—a fact that only adds to the sense of violation felt when encountering one. And exposing oneself on the subway can start a fad. Once one guy makes whipping his wang out the norm, others jump on the bandwagon.
I once entered a subway car late at night to discover that three guys were jerking off. The most disconcerting part about this was not the plethora of public self-pleasuring, it was that all three guys were sitting in different parts of the train, gazing not at each other nor at me, but soullessly out the window. I was less disgusted than disturbed; it was the loneliest, saddest thing I have ever seen. I switched cars quickly.
Subway Hook-ups
Due to the general unsanitary nature of the subway train, I highly recommend that any partner sex be relegated to some other venue. However, given some people’s penchant for exhibitionism and/or public sex, it warrants remarking that sometimes, people have sex on the train. If you must do it, find a late-night subway car, empty save you and your partner, and try and finish whatever you’re doing by the time the subway reaches the next station. (The express train over the Manhattan Bridge is the longest uninterrupted stretch.) I just can’t think of anything more awkward than stumbling drunk onto an otherwise empty subway car to discover that your fellow riders are engaged in a late-night game of hide the salami.
The same advice applies to the gays, although I do remember hearing that the Fulton Street station was the best place for gay men on the DL to hook up. I don’t think lesbians hook up in hidden subway station niches, but I have been surprised by women before. You guys let me know if you hear anything to that end.
Unlike drinking excessively and having to whip your dick out to pee on the train, there is no situation I can envision in which someone has to masturbate on the subway. If you have a home, you should wait until you get there to get your stroke on. Like my sister tells her pre-teen son: “It’s not bad, but you need to do it in your room.”
If you are homeless, pulling out your peen is not going to help your situation, what with the chips already stacked against you because of your body odor, your colorful collection of assorted shopping bags, and your real or assumed mental illness, drug, and alcohol addictions. On the bright side, most people will already be steering a wide path around you.
Oddly enough, homeless people don’t comprise the majority of subway strokers, in my experience. The majority of public masturbators I have witnessed look like “normal” guys—a fact that only adds to the sense of violation felt when encountering one. And exposing oneself on the subway can start a fad. Once one guy makes whipping his wang out the norm, others jump on the bandwagon.
I once entered a subway car late at night to discover that three guys were jerking off. The most disconcerting part about this was not the plethora of public self-pleasuring, it was that all three guys were sitting in different parts of the train, gazing not at each other nor at me, but soullessly out the window. I was less disgusted than disturbed; it was the loneliest, saddest thing I have ever seen. I switched cars quickly.
Subway Hook-ups
Due to the general unsanitary nature of the subway train, I highly recommend that any partner sex be relegated to some other venue. However, given some people’s penchant for exhibitionism and/or public sex, it warrants remarking that sometimes, people have sex on the train. If you must do it, find a late-night subway car, empty save you and your partner, and try and finish whatever you’re doing by the time the subway reaches the next station. (The express train over the Manhattan Bridge is the longest uninterrupted stretch.) I just can’t think of anything more awkward than stumbling drunk onto an otherwise empty subway car to discover that your fellow riders are engaged in a late-night game of hide the salami.
The same advice applies to the gays, although I do remember hearing that the Fulton Street station was the best place for gay men on the DL to hook up. I don’t think lesbians hook up in hidden subway station niches, but I have been surprised by women before. You guys let me know if you hear anything to that end.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Hot Trains, Summer in the City!
The changing seasons are one of the best things about living in New York, but each season comes with its own subway-related issues. Summer is the most obviously perilous; the subway terminals, especially those on the second lower level of a station (such as the B/D/F/V at West 4th Street) become unbearably hot, the garbage melts and rots in the most foul manner, and rats abound. Not all of the subway trains have air conditioning, either, so look alive when the train pulls in. However, as stated earlier, if a car is empty, do not enter!
In addition to the smells and heat of summer, common pitfalls include people wearing much less clothing than their unique physique allows. If you are a large person, spandex tank tops are not your friend. And if you are going to wear flip-flops in public, for the sake of all that is holy, get a pedicure. If your hooves are coming out of your mandals, that is gross enough, but if you are a woman with gnarly toes, giving shrimp and/or biscuit* with crust everywhere, that is enough to make a grown man gag. There must be 10,000 Korean nail technicians in New York City who will make your toes gorgeous for about $20. Make the investment. You’re worth it—and so are we.
If you are a woman who favors the European style of body hair, do me a personal favor and lift your arms a lot around tourists, just to gross them out. (Warning: This may also gross out locals.) Hair or no hair is fine by me, as long as when you lift those pits, the smell is minimal, and the little white deodorant beads are non-existent. There is truly nothing as disgusting as those little white armpit nodules.
Also regarding the weather, it often rains in the city, and many of the trains have leaks. In addition, people like to put wet umbrellas on the empty seat next to them, leaving a puddle of water. If it is raining, take extra care to make sure that you are neither sitting in a puddle of water, or under an active leak. Also, watch your step more so on rainy days. The floors can get very slippery.
* Giving shrimp is when your shoes are too small, forcing the toes to curl over like shrimp.
Giving biscuit occurs when your too-tiny shoes force the heel to hang over the edge, like a biscuit.
In addition to the smells and heat of summer, common pitfalls include people wearing much less clothing than their unique physique allows. If you are a large person, spandex tank tops are not your friend. And if you are going to wear flip-flops in public, for the sake of all that is holy, get a pedicure. If your hooves are coming out of your mandals, that is gross enough, but if you are a woman with gnarly toes, giving shrimp and/or biscuit* with crust everywhere, that is enough to make a grown man gag. There must be 10,000 Korean nail technicians in New York City who will make your toes gorgeous for about $20. Make the investment. You’re worth it—and so are we.
If you are a woman who favors the European style of body hair, do me a personal favor and lift your arms a lot around tourists, just to gross them out. (Warning: This may also gross out locals.) Hair or no hair is fine by me, as long as when you lift those pits, the smell is minimal, and the little white deodorant beads are non-existent. There is truly nothing as disgusting as those little white armpit nodules.
Also regarding the weather, it often rains in the city, and many of the trains have leaks. In addition, people like to put wet umbrellas on the empty seat next to them, leaving a puddle of water. If it is raining, take extra care to make sure that you are neither sitting in a puddle of water, or under an active leak. Also, watch your step more so on rainy days. The floors can get very slippery.
* Giving shrimp is when your shoes are too small, forcing the toes to curl over like shrimp.
Giving biscuit occurs when your too-tiny shoes force the heel to hang over the edge, like a biscuit.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Never Go With a Hippie to a Second Location!
In the words of 30 Rock’s Jack Donaghy, “Never go with a hippie to a second location.” A waiter friend heading home after a long night at work entered the subway to discover that his train had just left the station, meaning there would not be another train for about 20 minutes. So when another young man invited him to come back outside and smoke a joint, he agreed.
Upon exiting the train station, the man pulled a knife, robbed my friend, and—perhaps the greatest injustice of all—there was no joint to be smoked. And forget about calling the cops; how the hell can you ever explain randomly leaving a train station at 3 a.m. with a stranger?
Sidenote: If you are going to smoke on the subway, try to do it on an elevated outdoor platform, at the end of the platform, or while standing between subway cars, if you are on your train. If you must smoke marijuana in New York’s mass transit system, sit or stand next to an African-American man. The cops always accuse them of everything anyway. But be forewarned; the NYPD may sodomize you with a walkie-talkie if they catch your ass.
The Gold Bracelet Con
Of the many schemes I have seen go down while riding the subway, perhaps the most effective con is the gold bracelet bait and switch. A fairly well-dressed guy enters the train, clandestinely drops a gold bracelet to the floor, and then makes a show of picking it up, examining it, and determining that it is real gold. Pointing to his own plethora of fancy gold jewelry, he announces that he obviously doesn’t need the newfound item, but will happily part with it for a mere $20.
Wherein his heretofore unnoticed accomplice makes a much lower bid, prompting the mark to make his own, slightly higher bid. The fake gold bracelet sells for about $15, the pigeon thinks he’s gotten a great deal, and upon discovering it is fake, doesn’t think to hold the mistake against the guy who innocently found it lying on the subway floor.
Ignore these shysters, and back away quickly, keeping your hand on your wallet. You are not obligated to warn your fellow passengers, especially since these scam artists travel in pairs, and are likely to cause you grievous personal injury for blowing up their spot.
Upon exiting the train station, the man pulled a knife, robbed my friend, and—perhaps the greatest injustice of all—there was no joint to be smoked. And forget about calling the cops; how the hell can you ever explain randomly leaving a train station at 3 a.m. with a stranger?
Sidenote: If you are going to smoke on the subway, try to do it on an elevated outdoor platform, at the end of the platform, or while standing between subway cars, if you are on your train. If you must smoke marijuana in New York’s mass transit system, sit or stand next to an African-American man. The cops always accuse them of everything anyway. But be forewarned; the NYPD may sodomize you with a walkie-talkie if they catch your ass.
The Gold Bracelet Con
Of the many schemes I have seen go down while riding the subway, perhaps the most effective con is the gold bracelet bait and switch. A fairly well-dressed guy enters the train, clandestinely drops a gold bracelet to the floor, and then makes a show of picking it up, examining it, and determining that it is real gold. Pointing to his own plethora of fancy gold jewelry, he announces that he obviously doesn’t need the newfound item, but will happily part with it for a mere $20.
Wherein his heretofore unnoticed accomplice makes a much lower bid, prompting the mark to make his own, slightly higher bid. The fake gold bracelet sells for about $15, the pigeon thinks he’s gotten a great deal, and upon discovering it is fake, doesn’t think to hold the mistake against the guy who innocently found it lying on the subway floor.
Ignore these shysters, and back away quickly, keeping your hand on your wallet. You are not obligated to warn your fellow passengers, especially since these scam artists travel in pairs, and are likely to cause you grievous personal injury for blowing up their spot.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Subway Fights--When to Get Involved
Generally, the subway will get you safely—if not quickly—from one location to another. Sometimes, however, tempers will rise among passengers, and a fight will erupt on the subway train. If you see a fight, alert the MTA or police. If a gang of hoods is roaming the trains, get the hell out of the subway, and fast. It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes gangs jump innocent people.
In attack in which a stronger perpetrator targets a weaker victim and you are in a position to stop said perpetrator, you are pretty much obligated to help grandma get her purse back from the mugger. So I hope you know how to defend yourself.
But as is often the case with crime, public fights will most often happen between people who already know each other. The general rule is not to get involved in private disputes—just make sure you don’t catch a stray haymaker to the jaw if the shit goes down.
The exception to this rule is in the case of a man fighting with a woman. Even if it is clear that the two people in question have a preexisting relationship, if a man physically threatens or lays his hands on a woman, you are obligated to intervene. One would expect that an able-bodied man would rise to aid a damsel in distress, but times being what they are, this does not always happen. The job then goes to the passenger with the most moxy. Using a polite tone of voice with just a mote of threat underlying it, say, “Excuse me, sir, but you need to take your hands off this lady or I will be forced to call the cops.” Be prepared to duck, in case he swings, and rest assured that you will be yelled at. Hopefully, it will only be by the man; having a woman berate you for trying to keep her from being smacked around is a total drag.
To reiterate: If the couple is yelling, let them yell. But when the man puts his hands on the woman, cautiously approach them and advise him that it is in his best interest to stop what he is doing immediately. Stick to your guns—and hope he left his at home.
Baby-Smackers
Every once in a while, you will encounter a momma on the train who likes to smack up her baby in public. This is totally not cool. But it is hard to know when to say something and when to keep your trap shut. Most of the time, you will witness a mother scolding an unruly child in a way that maybe you would not. I personally have been ashamed by things I have heard parents say and do to their children in public. I mean, this is supposed to be your precious jewel, right? Still, every parent has the right to discipline their child as they see fit (cue Natalie Merchant baby-beating song), so unless they are raising their hand to their child in a truly heinous way, the best you can do by way of reproving them is cutting your eyes at them, shaking your head unapprovingly, or otherwise letting them know that their behavior is not appropriate. If you see a parent delivering a public ass-whupping to a child younger than five, I consider it appropriate to say something along the lines of, “Take it easy on that baby.” That said, NEVER say something like that to an African-American momma. Past experience has taught me that they do not take kindly at all to other people telling them how to raise their child. No, not kindly at all.
In attack in which a stronger perpetrator targets a weaker victim and you are in a position to stop said perpetrator, you are pretty much obligated to help grandma get her purse back from the mugger. So I hope you know how to defend yourself.
But as is often the case with crime, public fights will most often happen between people who already know each other. The general rule is not to get involved in private disputes—just make sure you don’t catch a stray haymaker to the jaw if the shit goes down.
The exception to this rule is in the case of a man fighting with a woman. Even if it is clear that the two people in question have a preexisting relationship, if a man physically threatens or lays his hands on a woman, you are obligated to intervene. One would expect that an able-bodied man would rise to aid a damsel in distress, but times being what they are, this does not always happen. The job then goes to the passenger with the most moxy. Using a polite tone of voice with just a mote of threat underlying it, say, “Excuse me, sir, but you need to take your hands off this lady or I will be forced to call the cops.” Be prepared to duck, in case he swings, and rest assured that you will be yelled at. Hopefully, it will only be by the man; having a woman berate you for trying to keep her from being smacked around is a total drag.
To reiterate: If the couple is yelling, let them yell. But when the man puts his hands on the woman, cautiously approach them and advise him that it is in his best interest to stop what he is doing immediately. Stick to your guns—and hope he left his at home.
Baby-Smackers
Every once in a while, you will encounter a momma on the train who likes to smack up her baby in public. This is totally not cool. But it is hard to know when to say something and when to keep your trap shut. Most of the time, you will witness a mother scolding an unruly child in a way that maybe you would not. I personally have been ashamed by things I have heard parents say and do to their children in public. I mean, this is supposed to be your precious jewel, right? Still, every parent has the right to discipline their child as they see fit (cue Natalie Merchant baby-beating song), so unless they are raising their hand to their child in a truly heinous way, the best you can do by way of reproving them is cutting your eyes at them, shaking your head unapprovingly, or otherwise letting them know that their behavior is not appropriate. If you see a parent delivering a public ass-whupping to a child younger than five, I consider it appropriate to say something along the lines of, “Take it easy on that baby.” That said, NEVER say something like that to an African-American momma. Past experience has taught me that they do not take kindly at all to other people telling them how to raise their child. No, not kindly at all.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Eye Contact, and Flirting on the Train
Given the wealth of crazy nutbags in New York City, if you flirt while commuting, you risk the chance that the object of your affections is a crazed stalker who will follow you home, gain your confidence, and once inside, hack you to small pieces to be deposited at various rest areas throughout the greater New Jersey area.
That said, we’re all guilty of looking for love in the wrong places. Getting to work on time is a little easier when you know that if you make the early train, you can spend the next hour trading clandestine glances with the leggy blond who sits in the last car. Just be sure you follow a few simple rules.
First, know that there is a very thin line between the intense longing look of a lonely heart pining to find its perfect mate, and the piercing gaze of a serial killer. If you find yourself staring, look away. Most people, if interested, will look away to give you a chance to study them. If you look away and see them checking you out as well, you are on the right track. Use the reflection in the adjacent window to keep an eye on cuties without appearing to stare.
Also, remember that you can’t really tell how tall someone is when they are sitting down. I once made a dinner date with a woman I met while I was sunbathing on the beach. She looked adorable as she towered over my blanket. When I finally rose to accompany her to dinner, I discovered to my chagrin that she was only about four feet tall. It’s all about perspective.
Similarly, you also can’t really tell how married, foreign, intelligent, or straight someone is just by looking. Use context clues wherever possible to glean some insight into your perspective subway connections’ background, but don’t be surprised if your all-American girl next door type ends up being a bottle-blond refugee from Ukraine who drives an old Cadillac convertible with one primer gray door around Brighton Beach, wearing a black bra and fur coat and downing vodka Jell-O shooters. Which may be better or worse, depending on your personal tastes.
Where you decide to go with your flirting depends largely on your personal style, but just remember that when you hit on someone on the subway, upwards of 60 people are there to bear witness on your failure or success. On the up side, you can always just move into the next car and pretend it never happened.
If someone is staring at you, the reverse stare-down will usually embarrass them into averting their eyes. Should you care for a more vocal expression of your feelings, here are some effective retorts:
─the classic, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
─the snotty, “What the hell are you looking at?”
─the cinematic, “Expecto patronum, Starey Potter.”
─the musical, “Are you trying to cop-a-cabana, Starey Manilow?”
That said, we’re all guilty of looking for love in the wrong places. Getting to work on time is a little easier when you know that if you make the early train, you can spend the next hour trading clandestine glances with the leggy blond who sits in the last car. Just be sure you follow a few simple rules.
First, know that there is a very thin line between the intense longing look of a lonely heart pining to find its perfect mate, and the piercing gaze of a serial killer. If you find yourself staring, look away. Most people, if interested, will look away to give you a chance to study them. If you look away and see them checking you out as well, you are on the right track. Use the reflection in the adjacent window to keep an eye on cuties without appearing to stare.
Also, remember that you can’t really tell how tall someone is when they are sitting down. I once made a dinner date with a woman I met while I was sunbathing on the beach. She looked adorable as she towered over my blanket. When I finally rose to accompany her to dinner, I discovered to my chagrin that she was only about four feet tall. It’s all about perspective.
Similarly, you also can’t really tell how married, foreign, intelligent, or straight someone is just by looking. Use context clues wherever possible to glean some insight into your perspective subway connections’ background, but don’t be surprised if your all-American girl next door type ends up being a bottle-blond refugee from Ukraine who drives an old Cadillac convertible with one primer gray door around Brighton Beach, wearing a black bra and fur coat and downing vodka Jell-O shooters. Which may be better or worse, depending on your personal tastes.
Where you decide to go with your flirting depends largely on your personal style, but just remember that when you hit on someone on the subway, upwards of 60 people are there to bear witness on your failure or success. On the up side, you can always just move into the next car and pretend it never happened.
If someone is staring at you, the reverse stare-down will usually embarrass them into averting their eyes. Should you care for a more vocal expression of your feelings, here are some effective retorts:
─the classic, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
─the snotty, “What the hell are you looking at?”
─the cinematic, “Expecto patronum, Starey Potter.”
─the musical, “Are you trying to cop-a-cabana, Starey Manilow?”
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Reading and Conversating on the Train
New Yorkers as a whole read more than the general population. I have no data whatsoever upon which to base this blanket assumption, except for the fact that every day on the train, eight of every 10 people you see are reading, and half of those people are reading actual books. Reading is fundamental, and reading on the train is a great way to pass the time and get your daily fix of news or escapism. There are just a few things to remember, the foremost being that people will judge you based on what you read in the subway.
First, please know that porn is never appropriate subway literature. And no, not even the kind with mostly words. We can see what you are reading, and so can the sweet baby Jesus.
Book readers equal smarty-pants—unless they are reading Thomas Creighton thrillers or Danielle Steele romances. Or anything from the Babysitter’s Club series.
Also know that if you are reading the New York Post, you are instantaneously self-identifying as a sensationalist, Page Six-loving goombah. As my mentor often opined, “No self-respecting fish would be wrapped in the Post.” The Daily News is fine, as is the free AM New York handed out on the way to the train. If your paper is pink, you are identifying yourself as either a Wall Street finance junkie or a crazy conservative Christian freak. Erudite types read The New York Times or the Wall Street Journal, and older guys know how to fold it in a complicated, origami-like way to read one fourth of the page at a time, thus avoiding hitting people with their large paper. You have my admiration and respect, older origami-folder dudes. See here for a how-to guide, courtesy of WikiHow.
The MTA folks want you to throw away your paper when you’re done, and that’s fine if you want to, but if it’s a quality magazine, it’s also okay to leave it for future readers. When the train reaches the end of the line they clean it anyway, and some nice lady along the way might really like to know what’s going on in this month’s Cat Fancy.
The city offers plenty of free magazines and newspapers to read in boxes on the street, but if you fail to pick one up, you can always read and re-read the ads on the subway. Just remember to pretend to look fascinated by the improved quality of life rendered to all who undergo Dr. Zizmor’s renowned citric-acid face peels.
Conversations, or "I Don’t Need to Know Your Life, Bitch!"
When it comes right down to it, New York City is basically a small town. Live here long enough and you begin to recognize familiar faces on the trains and in the streets. Sometimes you will even run into friends or business associates as you commute. It is considered friendly to acknowledge their presence and engage in polite conversation, but please know that there are limits to what appropriate subway conversations are.
If you are disrupting the potential reading, thinking, and resting time of your fellow riders, your conversation either needs to be 1. boring and mercifully short, or 2. drawn-out, but full of fascinating gossip general enough for anyone in earshot to enjoy.
Hence, discussing the menu at your sister’s cousin’s friend’s wedding in Staten Island is off, but backbiting about how you caught your sister’s cousin’s friend’s groom-to-be giving head to his best man in the church vestibule five minutes before the wedding receives the subway conversation seal of approval.
Also, try to watch your language around kids. They grow up fast enough in this city as it is.
First, please know that porn is never appropriate subway literature. And no, not even the kind with mostly words. We can see what you are reading, and so can the sweet baby Jesus.
Book readers equal smarty-pants—unless they are reading Thomas Creighton thrillers or Danielle Steele romances. Or anything from the Babysitter’s Club series.
Also know that if you are reading the New York Post, you are instantaneously self-identifying as a sensationalist, Page Six-loving goombah. As my mentor often opined, “No self-respecting fish would be wrapped in the Post.” The Daily News is fine, as is the free AM New York handed out on the way to the train. If your paper is pink, you are identifying yourself as either a Wall Street finance junkie or a crazy conservative Christian freak. Erudite types read The New York Times or the Wall Street Journal, and older guys know how to fold it in a complicated, origami-like way to read one fourth of the page at a time, thus avoiding hitting people with their large paper. You have my admiration and respect, older origami-folder dudes. See here for a how-to guide, courtesy of WikiHow.
The MTA folks want you to throw away your paper when you’re done, and that’s fine if you want to, but if it’s a quality magazine, it’s also okay to leave it for future readers. When the train reaches the end of the line they clean it anyway, and some nice lady along the way might really like to know what’s going on in this month’s Cat Fancy.
The city offers plenty of free magazines and newspapers to read in boxes on the street, but if you fail to pick one up, you can always read and re-read the ads on the subway. Just remember to pretend to look fascinated by the improved quality of life rendered to all who undergo Dr. Zizmor’s renowned citric-acid face peels.
Conversations, or "I Don’t Need to Know Your Life, Bitch!"
When it comes right down to it, New York City is basically a small town. Live here long enough and you begin to recognize familiar faces on the trains and in the streets. Sometimes you will even run into friends or business associates as you commute. It is considered friendly to acknowledge their presence and engage in polite conversation, but please know that there are limits to what appropriate subway conversations are.
If you are disrupting the potential reading, thinking, and resting time of your fellow riders, your conversation either needs to be 1. boring and mercifully short, or 2. drawn-out, but full of fascinating gossip general enough for anyone in earshot to enjoy.
Hence, discussing the menu at your sister’s cousin’s friend’s wedding in Staten Island is off, but backbiting about how you caught your sister’s cousin’s friend’s groom-to-be giving head to his best man in the church vestibule five minutes before the wedding receives the subway conversation seal of approval.
Also, try to watch your language around kids. They grow up fast enough in this city as it is.
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