Subway Stories

It’s been a while since I’ve commented on the odd happenings and/or gripes about riding the NYC subway so here are a couple additions to the ever-growing list:

1) Disgusting – I’ve never felt compelled to use this adjective to describe riding public transportation in Chicago but I’ve often felt that way about New York. To wit, a month or two ago, I stepped onto a 3 train heading to Brooklyn. Weary from the work week, I walked into the car only to witness a young woman vomiting directly onto the subway car floor. Flanked by her two friends (one holding her hair, the other rubbing her back), I tried to avert my eyes from this spectacle and eventually switched cars at the next stop.

2) Courtesy (lack of) – One of my new pet peeves are people who read newspapers standing directly above you while you are seated in the subway car. The problem is that all these tiny particles of paper (from where the paper was cut during the printing process) come sprinkling down on you like snowflakes in January as the reader turns each page of the Journal or Times. And, of course, it being New York, you are often clad in black or dark grey so now you are covered in tiny white specs thanks to the jerkoff who just had to read about the markets on his way to the Wall. St. stop.

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2 Responses to “Subway Stories”

  1. Frank Says:

    What you do not comment on is the rudeness and lack of attention that the subway employees offer their riders.

    I see the ad in the subways that states, “see something, say something.” It is very evident that reporting any incident to the station employees of the MTA yield the response, “See something, say something, DO NOTHING.” It is terrible when you have a general melaise by the employees that work for MTA. The stations are filthy, the time the employees spend on the phone in their little boothes excessive and the response to problems lacking.

    Example: Two weekends ago, I took the stairs at the 184 exit of the uptown train. On the mezzanine landing was a man sprawled out across the entire length of the steps. I went to report the incident at the 184th street booth. I was asked, “is he dead or just sick?” I said I had no idea, but obviously he needed help. The attendent got off the phone and looked at me saying, “I don’t know who to call.”

    Explain. I can’t.

  2. daschneider Says:

    Yes, I much prefer the El, which runs five miles an hour, has seating designed for anorexic Japanese people in one of America’s fattest cities, and is filled with unfailingly rude loud boorish Cubs fans.

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