Sometimes I like to write you these emails on my commute as a coping mechanism. I grow weary of actually existing in the space and time of the commute on the A train.
I walked on and the guy who got on before me just stopped right when he stepped in and looked around like a lost child.
As I was walking through Jay St-Metrotech to get to the A train some dickhead was actively lighting up his cigarillo. I stared at him as he blew smoke in my face. "You can't smoke down here, man." I said. Nobody cared. Nobody else wants to confront him. There are no police or MTA officials. I'm not going to get in a fight with the guy, because he'd probably knife me and shove me on the tracks. And since, as I already stated, there were no police, MTA officials, or rule-caring humans around, he'd have gotten away with it.
I suppose someone would have started looking for me when I didn't show up for work today. But would they think to look for me bleeding out on the tracks of the F train at Jay St-Metrotech?!
If I ever go missing, please tell detectives to look there. Hopefully a Debra Messing-type will be on the case and she'll believe you because you're smart and intuitive. She'll trust you and you'll solve my murder! You can tell her "she probably told someone they couldn't smoke in the subway station..." They'll fill in the details from there.
Now I'm waiting at 14th at for the C or E that may or may not come. There are no signs indicating it won't be here, but it might be one of those NY native things where people just know what weekends they don't run local; only the cool kids know for sure. The rest of us are left to wait around with our dicks in our hands.
I hope you're having a lovely day.
Showing posts with label Commute. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Commute. Show all posts
Sunday, April 26, 2015
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
The Commute
Second in a series of emails to friends in the style of short stories.
Ugh. Faith.
The commute, the commute. Why can't we have teleportation? I didn't see any signs indicating there was construction, but apparently it's implied that there's probably going to be at least one guy with a hammer on the tracks to fuck up my commute.
The R train may or may not run. It might be on a schedule, but probably not. You'll wait for 20 minutes and get an N train that at first gives you hope but then you see is traveling via Whitehall so, no. You transfer at Atlantic because it makes the most sense to get either a D or a 4. The D is nowhere in sight so you hike over to the 4 platform. The 4 will be to you in 15 minutes. What you say? You have to wait another 15 minutes on a stinky rat-infested platform?! Can you go back to get the D? You'd think so, but the D came whilst you were hiking through the terminal so it's a lost cause now too. You wait it out. The 4 comes. It's packed. It's 5:10am and the 4 train is full of people who are mostly nodding off and taking up a lot of space. Except for the one guy who has dedicated this time to telling his friend his life story in loud broken Arabic-English.
You're at Fulton Street and you only have 20 minutes to get to Grand Central. It's tight because at this time the 4 runs LOCAL.
You had set your alarm for 3:30am. That seemed early. You hit snooze a couple of times—you were playing a game with the 3 alarms you set. You finally walked out of the apartment at 4:17am. That seems early enough. That gives an hour and a half to traverse what is normally a 37 minute commute. You think you might get there early and have the first coffee of the day. Now you're venting about the shitiness of the mta to a friend who already knows and is probably thinking "this is like when you talk about your dreams. Ugh." It's 5:28am and you're at motherfucking Spring Street.
It's 5:29 and you're at Bleeker Street. That reminds you—Girl Meets World is on and takes place near this station.
It's 5:30am and you're at Astor Place.
As long as there are no delays you can make it. Oh no, you hope you didn't just jinx it. Fuck. Nobody better jump in front of the train.
It's 5:31am and you're at Union Square and you hope for a second that for no reason the train will go express. It won't.
23rd Street.
28th Street.
33rd Street.
Teleportation would bypass these stops. And hopefully it wouldn't have construction.
It's 5:38 when you arrive at Grand Central. You just made it. Now you make the coffee.
The commute, the commute. Why can't we have teleportation? I didn't see any signs indicating there was construction, but apparently it's implied that there's probably going to be at least one guy with a hammer on the tracks to fuck up my commute.
The R train may or may not run. It might be on a schedule, but probably not. You'll wait for 20 minutes and get an N train that at first gives you hope but then you see is traveling via Whitehall so, no. You transfer at Atlantic because it makes the most sense to get either a D or a 4. The D is nowhere in sight so you hike over to the 4 platform. The 4 will be to you in 15 minutes. What you say? You have to wait another 15 minutes on a stinky rat-infested platform?! Can you go back to get the D? You'd think so, but the D came whilst you were hiking through the terminal so it's a lost cause now too. You wait it out. The 4 comes. It's packed. It's 5:10am and the 4 train is full of people who are mostly nodding off and taking up a lot of space. Except for the one guy who has dedicated this time to telling his friend his life story in loud broken Arabic-English.
You're at Fulton Street and you only have 20 minutes to get to Grand Central. It's tight because at this time the 4 runs LOCAL.
You had set your alarm for 3:30am. That seemed early. You hit snooze a couple of times—you were playing a game with the 3 alarms you set. You finally walked out of the apartment at 4:17am. That seems early enough. That gives an hour and a half to traverse what is normally a 37 minute commute. You think you might get there early and have the first coffee of the day. Now you're venting about the shitiness of the mta to a friend who already knows and is probably thinking "this is like when you talk about your dreams. Ugh." It's 5:28am and you're at motherfucking Spring Street.
It's 5:29 and you're at Bleeker Street. That reminds you—Girl Meets World is on and takes place near this station.
It's 5:30am and you're at Astor Place.
As long as there are no delays you can make it. Oh no, you hope you didn't just jinx it. Fuck. Nobody better jump in front of the train.
It's 5:31am and you're at Union Square and you hope for a second that for no reason the train will go express. It won't.
23rd Street.
28th Street.
33rd Street.
Teleportation would bypass these stops. And hopefully it wouldn't have construction.
It's 5:38 when you arrive at Grand Central. You just made it. Now you make the coffee.
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