Baggage

I have a small “wheelie” suitcase with me today. Few things are worse than having to carry baggage of any sort on the subway, and for me anything heavier than a magazine counts as luggage. This has put me into a mood of sorts so I’m hoping it’s a quiet morning.

Outside my building Baruch H. is in his car, pulling out while talking to someone else through the window. Baruch is one of four volunteer EMT's that live in my building, and his car is equipped with emergency lights. I think about my own flashing car-lights, the difference being that mine are detachable and yellow, while his are red and typically accompanied by a powerful siren. I am not licensed for sirens, but I remember once trying to simulate them by asking my friend, who has a particularly loud voice, to scream out the window as we drove through the neighborhood.
At the station I see Tamar V. inside the elevators that go to Fort Washington Ave. I wonder if she sees me and continue down to the platform.

One bench is inhabited by a pretty, blond girl in her early twenties. She has a shopping bag that says "365", and her purse, white and clean, has a metallic strap that looks like a giant link necklace. Her shorts are grey, her shoes, with bowties above the toes, are purple, and she has a pink bowtie in her hair that does not match. I am most taken by her shirt. It’s lime green with pictures of eyes. The same single eye, actually, repeated many times, in different sizes, as a pattern across the front. I stare, trying to fathom how this can seem stylish to anyone.

There is another blond nearby. She is older, with a long flowery skirt and a coffee thermos. She is reading a book of sheet music. Occasionally she turns away from the book and looks vacantly upwards to her left, and I believe she is humming the tune in her head. My friend Tanya can hear a tune once and later play it perfectly on the piano, and I suppose this woman can do the same by just reading the notes.

The train arrives and I drag my wheelie on board. In a crowded subway or even on the street, I am ruthless with my wheelie. Stick your toe in its path and there will be no apology when I run it over.

TGIF

Fridays, for the working class, are simply paradoxical. Just hours away from the weekend, and yet the previous days rest so heavily that proper function becomes a rare commodity. Coupled with lack of sleep and grim weather, there is little need to speak to anyone before 10 AM, yet just steps outside my apartment I'm already greeted by my first hello. It's Ezra F. and he's most likely heading back from the morning services. He's a nice chap but I'm glad he keeps his pace and doesn't stick around for the long haul.

Across the way Aliza B. is leaving her building. I see her often and a week or two of consecutive Aliza-spotting is not unheard of. She once baked delicious brownies with a coffee topping which I remember to this day.

Turn to Overlook Terrace and there is Adi G. giving Yosefa S. another lesson in bicycling. I am impressed with Yosefa's persistence and Adi's patience, though from the looks of it I still think Adi would be safer if she too were wearing a helmet. I chat with them a bit, and Yosefa reminds me she is learning to bike so she can get around Amsterdam when she goes next month with some friends. I am annoyed because I was supposed to go on that trip but the dates changed on me.

Getting into the station there is a tall thin woman with painted eyebrows, wearing a green tanktop and loose jeans. She is talking to the newspaper salesman and I overhear her saying she is from San Fransico, which for some reason elicits from him the response of "badda bing badda boom" accompanied by a grunt. What have I been missing in San Fransisco? Is there something I should know about? Why haven't I been to San Fransisco?

On the platform Aliza is talking to a couple. I recognize them from synagogue, and I've met the guy a few times but his name escapes me today. In the distance I recognize someone else who I've met before. She is a friend of my friend Anna and I am always stricken by how much taller she is than most of the other Jewish women I know. I can't remember her name either and I wonder if its part of Friday syndrome.

I'm still waiting for the train when the Frisco chick passes me by. I see now that her eyes are glassy and she is twitching oddly as she hums a tune. Her badda bing has already fallen under a greater influence but I am not stirred. Judge no one on Friday mornings.

Running Late

I’m cursing my late night Wii addiction as I head downstairs. I should have left an hour ago and can barely keep my eyes open. Turning onto 186th I see Rebecca S. and wonder if she's seen the new blog yet, and if she knows she’ll be mentioned again today. She's talking to some dude I can't recognize from behind, who turns out to be Steven R. I catch up to them and, entering the station, Rebecca asks what's up and apologizes for forgetting to take me off her volleyball email list. We hear a train coming and she makes a run for it, leaving us behind to question whether it was a downtown or not. Rebecca’s not fast enough; she is waiting for us just beyond the turnstile.

We start heading up the platform and another trains pulls in quickly. I see Shira M. and give her a fly-by hello but continue towards the front of the train. Joe S. is on the platform too. He acknowledges me with a nod that’s barely visible under his baseball cap, and enters the same car as Rebecca and Steven. I get in too but none of us sit next to each other.

Rebecca is nearby and starts listening to her iPod. I’ve left my headphones on the dining table and so I’m missing Lily Allen when I notice Esther H. in the seat right next me. We know each other, and are Facebook friends, but not much more. We say hello and she goes back to reading “Tears of the Giraffe.”

Meanwhile I watch a tall man play video games on his iPhone. He switches to a different game every few minutes and I must admit that I am both bored and jealous. Peering around I see the woman in the house slippers. Her hair is dry and frizzy, just starting to gray, and her red jacket is too big and floats over a black dress. I see her on my train often, and she is interesting because her nose is so thin.

Esther is just starting chapter 5 when the train arrives at 59th. I head out and Rebecca waves goodbye.

Starting Out

Inspired mostly by friend Rebecca's new blog "What Rebecca Ate For Lunch Today," I've decided to give this thing a go. I won't lie, it's going to be brutally honest. No holds barred, so if you see me in the morning and steer clear I'll understand. As an alternative, though, please consider asking me to photograph those sexy new boots and show them to the world.

It's 9:00 AM or so, I'm running late and Lily Allen is playing on my Blackberry as I walk to the A. On my left, across the street, I see Adi G. teaching Yosefa S. how to ride a bicycle. It's odd behavior so early in the morning. Only one of them is wearing a helmet and watching them I wonder if that's intelligent. I don't say hi.

Into the station, through the turnstile, and there is Michal B. What's really bizarre is that she's just gotten off the uptown train. I'm sorry to startle her when I run up behind and ask, but I just have to. Turns out she's just back to town and is heading in from the airport. I wonder how she can travel so lightly and wish her a good day, then wander down the steps.

Esther B. is near the bottom of the stairs, at the back of the station, but I need to head towards the front and don't want to double back. Besides, "It's Not Fair" has just started and I hate to interrupt before the line about the wet patch.

There's no one I recognize in the train car. Next to me is a chubby Latina with large pimples and giant earrings to match. On the other side is a 30-something Asian man and immediately I notice that he has more hair than me, despite his thumb ring. Meanwhile, a large special-needs teen is kissing his father much too erotically to keep the rest of us relaxed. A short woman across the way gives me the nod that says "yes, I'm uncomfortable too."

Down to 59th and on the platform I see Benny S. and wave to him. He's the newest member of my new Friday night group. Tzivia H. is here too but she's either completely absorbed by the molecular structure of train-track alloy or is just avoiding eye contact. I wizz by and think about her unique ability to instantly calculate the square root of just about any number shy of an octillion (10²⁷⁾.

There's more, though the rest is no longer the trip to work. I meet Sara S. for lunch and on the way home Zehava K. is with me for most of the ride. We chat about our upcoming trip to Chicago and getting off we see Yehuda B. who is rushing so he can go biking. Yosef W. whirls by and says hello as the three of us make our way towards Bennett.