One Big Happy Family

Walking towards the train station, I see Mrs. H. talking to Gilit H. at the corner, near the Breuer’s elementary school. Walking behind me is the guy who works in my office building who’s name I don’t know. Aliza B. is also somewhere behind me.

I enter the station, and the smell of urine is a bit stronger than usual. The guy from my office passes me in the tunnel, and then I pass him back on the stairs, heading down to the platform.

The platform is replete with familiar faces. David M. is standing close to the edge, looking out for the next train, and Caryn L. is sitting on one of the benches. Benny S. is talking to a girl; I can’t quite make out who she is. When the train arrives they board the same car as I do, as does Lisa K. I disappear to the corner and watch TV on my phone.

Mystery Door #1

It is the day after Yom Kippur and I am still recovering, not from the fasting, but from all the food I ate once it was over. I get to the station and head towards the bottom of the stairs. There is someone here that I recognize, and he says hi. I remember meeting him at Adam’s place a long time ago (before Adam moved to Chicago) but I am clueless to his name. Jenny R. is also at the base of the stairs.


Walking towards my spot I hear someone call my name and it is Sara S. I’m forever happy to see Sara and talk to her in the morning, except that her job starts an hour after mine does, so it always means I’m late. When we board the train we find seats near a thin redhead, just two seats away, and we spend a large portion of the ride debating the redhead’s gender.


A few stops later the conductor leaves his post and walks over to us. He kindly asks us to get up, and when we do he opens a hidden panel behind the area where we were sitting. Inside, there are numerous switches and after flipping one or two of them, he closes it and thanks us as we sit back down. We get to our final stop and Sara offers to lead me through one of the tunnels under Rockefeller. It gets me out half an avenue closer to work, but it’s still not good enough for me to make the morning’s first meeting on time.

Shoe Circle

On my way through the turnstiles I see Michael P. walking out. At least I think it’s him. Having not seen him in about a decade it’s difficult to tell, and I also can’t quite imagine what he ‘d be doing in my neighborhood, but I’m pretty certain it was him.

On the platform, I see Kara G. saying her morning prayers and wave. She says hi. I also see the guy from my office building, who lives near me and who’s name I can’t ever remember. Further on down the platform, I see Zehava K. She is afraid to talk to me, and there are no seats left on the bench, so I just wander about. A cute blond in a denim skirt tells her boyfriend he looks “really sharp” (he does), and, pointing to his sneakers, he asks if she likes his new “ten-ees.” When the train pulls in, they kiss goodbye and he walks towards the front.

Zehava is also wearing a denim skirt, although not nearly as short or as tight as the blond. I ask about her sandals, which have a cute flower near the big toe. She bought them in Israel two summers ago and wore them every day. We board the train and agree to zone out – Zehava listens to her iPod and reads the paper, I turn on my Blackberry and fade.

The Nose Knows

My hallway smells like vegetarian beef stew. Down at the lobby, it smells like Pine Sol, and outside the building the brisk air smells like Spring. I realize I need floss and it will be about an hour till I reach the office and have any.

There is a lot of construction underway at 110 Bennett. I look onto the roof, and it seems they are installing a cell tower. Whatever happened to NIMBY? I get to the subway station and see Aviva W. She stops to buy a Metrocard.

On the train, it smells of peachy roses, which I trace to the woman on my right. She is wearing a black lacey tank top with a pink skirt and black shoes. Her big round earrings dingle every time she sways her head, looking back and forth from clues to puzzle in the NY Times’ “Sunday in the Sand Crosswords .” She is sniffling. Also sniffling is the man across from me. He is a grinding sniffler, occasionally making a terrible vacuum noise as he tries to suck the phlegm north into his brain.

At 59th I see Benny S. but he does not see me, and neither does Yaffa Z. when I spot her. It’s strange that I’ve see her twice this week and not at all in the previous few years. Funny how that happens sometimes.

Roaches

Sometimes even menial tasks like taking out the garbage can be a strain. It's no wonder then, that my commute has already begun on the wrong foot. I'm in a clearly bad mood: late, tired, hungry (no time for breakfast) and the tag on my shirt is nagging at my neck. All this and I haven't even reached Overlook.

At 739 W 186th, on the first floor, there is a blond girl sitting at her window on the first floor. She does not see me, and neither does the young Latina typing on a Blackberry Bold from inside her parked car.

Newspaper Guy is back at the station today and I’m happy to see him and get a good morning from him. The train is approaching and people start running for it, but I am too tired to rush and miss it.

On the platform there is a terrible stench coming from a homeless person. It is truly awful and I have little choice but to walk past my usual spot to reach the necessary critical distance. That’s when I spot Adina S.

I love bumping into Adina on the train, although it inevitably means I’m even later than I suspected. She is wearing a bright green shirt, black skirt with leggings underneath and cool black sneakers with a white stripes. Her backpack, from NY Sports Club, is ripped but she is ignoring the tear.

We ride the train together and I want to take a picture of Adina for my blog but she doesn’t let. Instead, she tells me a subway related story. Once, when she was reading on the train, a roach fell on her book from the ceiling, and she couldn’t shake it off until she finally had to throw the whole book on the ground, amidst the gaze on onlookers.

From there the conversation turns quickly to subway rats and station mice, until I get off at 59th. The B arrives shortly afterward and I realize it no longer matters how late it is. I am going to need to stop for coffee.

An Asian, a Jew, and a Latina

Walking to the subway I miss a large pile of dog poo by only a slight margin. It's a lesson for me, to watch where I'm going when I'm typing on the Blackberry, even if no one else is on the street.

I've made the mistake of taking a jacket today - blame it on the overcast skies. I enter the station and it's too hot, I have to take it off and carry it.

The Newspaper Guy is not here today. There is a substitute, and it shouldn't matter since I've never bought from him anyway, but Newspaper Guy has become a staple in my life. He is always there, selling every major periodical and a selection of candy bars and Duracell batteries.

On the platform, I find a seat on the bench. There is a black bag next to me and a woman, mid-twenties and wearing a maroon dress with gray boots, is standing next to it, hands fishing inside. She is humming a tune and shaking her bottom at the subway tracks behind her.

The train arrives and I board. There are no seats, but I get a spot standing next to the door. Near me there is an Asian, a Jew, and a Latina chatting together. The three woman are discussing Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish new year, and one of them is complaining about someone else, whom she saw buying a bottle of wine for the holidays. "I just don't understand her," she says. I don't understand how the wine continues to dominate their conversation for so long, but by the time they are done I am wishing for nothing but a bottle of my own.

Old Friends

It's the first day of the week and, in fact, the first workday of the new (Jewish) year and I'm off to a bad start already. I should have been to work at least 10 minutes ago and I'm just now heading out to the subway.

Anat F. and Judy R. are out in front of my building, talking. Judy is very animated about something, and her son seems restless in his stroller.

At the corner of 186th and Overlook I run into Esther B. She is wearing a plaid shirt with a purple sweater over it, a denim skirt, and sneakers labeled "Star" on the lip. She is talking on the phone and after a minute or two apologizes that she is still on. I type away on my Blackberry as I wait and when she realizes I am blogging about her, she yells and runs away.

Further on Overlook, I run into Alice, an elderly woman that many can recognize from the local synagogue. She asks where I'm headed and since today is a Jewish fast day, she is surprised to learn that I am on my way to work. She bids me a good day and warns me to be careful lest I get faint on the job.

At 59th street I run into Yaffa Z. who is now Yaffa M. We used to be good friends and occasionally played racquetball together, but I haven't seen her in a couple of years. We do a quick catch up as we get onto the B train, and she gets off one stop later. I stay one till Rockefeller, already feeling the caffeine withdrawal.

Almost Over

Walking to the train, I see Ruthie W. on Overlook. She doesn’t see me and walks into the station just ahead of me. When I get to the platform, I see Moshe D. L. and we both nod a “good morning” to each other. Further ahead on the platform I see Ruthie again.

Sitting on one of the benches is a woman, in brown top and light colored jeans, using an eyelash curler. Public nail-clipping might be the only viler thing I’ve seen done on MTA property. When the train arrives and she boards, I wonder if she will continue to use the curling device. A little bit of turbulence could render her blind in the eye, yet she seems ready to take the risk.

At 59^th, I see Jerry B. but walk by him too quickly to say hello. When I was in college we both stinted as waiters in the University dining hall. He then went on to marry a hometown friend of mine so I still see him from time to time.

I squish onto the D, wondering what the new Jewish year will bring.

Sporting Goods

I leave my apartment and realize that after a relatively good streak, I'm late to work again. It's OK, I think they kind of expect it and I'm usually the last person to leave anyways.

There is a bit of a tumult getting out of my building, with a three way collision at the door. Each of us is attempting to hold the door open another and inevitably there us a bit of confusion. "Teamwork," one neighbor shouts as we all finally get through.

I call my sister on the way to the station and she tells me how they've just hired someone new in the English department at the school where she works, and the new teacher happens to be a friend of mine. We laugh at the story and comment about how small a world it is.

Aliza A. joins me on Overlook Terrace and walks silently next to me while I say goodbye to my sister. We chat for a bit, till I get to the train and she gets into a Yeshiva University van that will take her across the Heights to her office.

Sitting across from me on the train is Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Not the real one, of course, but a perfect lookalike, minus a few inches and about 20 years younger. I don't think I look like anyone famous, although a random guy at Connelly’s once asked if I was related to Andre Agassi. Maybe that comes with the territory of a shaved head. Agassi may be better looking than me, and he may be in better shape than me, but I have a feeling that I can cream him when it comes to Wii Tennis.

Baby Talk

Walking to the subway, I see Kara G. near the corner of 184th and Overlook. She does not see me, and I continue on inside.

At the platform, I see Malka S. and Shosh P. talking and I join them, surprised to see Shosh on the subway this early. When we board the train there is one empty seat left. Malka says she is getting off soon, and Shosh doesn't want to sit, so I go take it.

The person to the left of the empty seat is large. She is taking up an extraordinary amount of space, holding the morning paper with hers arms wide apart and her legs spread too far. I sit but she is dormant and still - she does not pull herself inward, she does not lean over onto the divider. I try, but am defeated; I cannot squish into this space.

I join Malka and Shosh again, to find the conversation is now focused heavily on baby talk. Crawling and cruising, babysitting and schooling. Malka's son has just started nursery and, while fun at first, he has discovered that it is an ongoing, daily event that he no longer wants to attend. This is the true male species at its best. Offer us something great and we will cherish it forever. Ask us to keep it, and it will be promptly rejected.

Agents Aboard

After a rough, sleepless night I am almost too tired to go to work but at least I am on time when I leave. I head downstairs and when I get out of the elevator, Ken H. gets in and we say hello.

There are two Orthodox Jewish girls loitering at the corner of 186th and Bennett. They both look familiar and I'm almost certain I've been introduced to one of them at some point in the past.

On Overlook, I spot the really tall girl who is friends with my friend Anna. She is meticulously dressed in a black top, plaid skirt, and shiny black high heels. Her glasses frame is funky, and her red leather bag adds the final touch.

Down at the platform, I see Rabbi B. He is a brilliant man, scholarly in Bible and a doctor of Math as well. I'll never forget how often he hosted me at his table during college. He says good morning and I respond in kind, then keep walking towards my spot.

I pass a woman, in beige pants and a brown flowery shirt who at first appears to be wiping her nose on her sleeve. Closer inspection, however, reveals that she is actually trying to peer into her shirt.

When the train arrives, it’s pretty crowded but I'm still able to get a seat. Somewhere near 125th street, as I'm emailing my friend Matt, who now lives in Israel, I hear someone calling my name. Its Tamar E. and her son Ezra R. She is sporting a Kindle, a gift from her job. It’s one of the perks of working for a literary agency. I work for a bank and wonder if they will ever give me money as a perk.

Since Tamar is sitting a few seats away, I get up to talk to her. She is on her way to drop Ezra off at her mom's and then head to work. Ezra, who is just a few months old, looks adorable all curled up and asleep in her lap. Tamar and I chat until 59th street, and I get off thinking this could be my big chance. She's a literary agent, and she knows she's going to be in my blog tonight, so she'll read it! It better be damned well written.

School

I have to leave work early today so I head out of the apartment by 7:30, which even after a laundry drop will get me to the office sooner that any day in the past two weeks.

Adam E. is about a block ahead of me on 0verlook Terrace. Every once in a while, I export my address book to Facebook and "friend" the whole lot. Inevitably, some people don't accept, but Adam actually wrote back to apologize for rejecting me. He uses Facebook exclusively for communicating with elementary school classmates and others from his past, never anyone from the present. His excuse, if real, is a terrible waste of social networking, and I hope he was making it up just to avoid being FB friends.

On the platform, I can see Adam still ahead of me. I'm walking along and thinking of the Facebook incident when someone calls my name. It's loud, as if maybe it had been called out once or twice already and I just hadn't hear it. I turn around and it's Jay B. I just met him yesterday, at the Heightsbridge After Party. He asks what I do, which seems abrupt without some lighter pleasantries and especially this early in the morning. Desperate to get to my usual spot, if only because I'm in such a hurry, I am short with him and don't engage, offering quick answers to his questions. He finally bids me a good day and I continue on.

On the train, there is a girl sitting next to me who I'm pretty sure I recognize from the neighborhood. She is blonde, wearing a white t-shirt with a black hoodie, and blue jeans. She has a backpack labeled "Hot Shot" and is reading a textbook on chemistry. She is up to Chapter 13: Chemical Kinetics and the Rates of Reaction, not bad for the start of a new semester.

Almost the Weekend

This entire week, I've been putting off the front closet. Inside are all my coats and jackets and once the door is open it will really mark the end of summer. It must be the rain that slides me over the edge and I finally give in, grab the lightest thing I can find, and head out.

The jacket feels foreign on my body. Is it too tight? Have I gained weight since last year? Anyways, it is nice to have the extra pockets and I slip my headphones inside. I leave my apartment and there is a sign on the elevator saying it is out of order.

It takes a few minutes to get down the stairs and over to the station. In the tunnel I run into Miriam L. She makes a comment about running into me again, but I haven't seen her since last weekend, so she must have me mistaken with someone else. She runs into the elevator to get to Fort Wash and move her car, and as soon as she is gone I remember that I did, in fact, run into her just the other night.

On the platform, I find a seat on one of the benches and wait patiently for the next train. Estie H. whizzes past me but doesn't say hello or wave; I can't tell if she saw me. Sometimes I wonder if she even knows who I am, but then again I spend a lot of time wondering if I myself know who I am.

I get off at 59th, and lean up against a pillar to wait for the next train. Miriam C. walks right by me and I call out to her. I ask where she is coming from and she says she has just gotten off the A but was at the back of the train and is now walking up towards the front of the platform. I tell her I was on the same train but nearer to the middle. Then she asks me if it’s raining outside. I look at her blankly, till she realizes her mistake. That's going in my blog, I say.

Laughing Like Children

I leave my apartment and there is a tall, broad woman standing in the hallway, just outside my door. She has bleached platinum blond hair and is wearing white pants with a blue sweater, and is cursing into her cell phone with a Russian accent.

Down on Bennett, I see Gershon S. in front of the school building on 186th. He is a close friend and I haven’t seen him in ages. I try to catch up but by the time I reach the corner he is already gone.

I reach the station and wonder where Station Homeless Guy is, I haven’t seen him all week. At the platform, someone is playing the saxophone and I listen, until he stops, before putting my headphones on and listening to my own music.

On the train, there is a thin blond woman across from me. Her hair is long and straight, and her child, who’s gender I can’t quite tell, has the same color hair but in curly format. The mother puts on some lip liner, and the child – I guess it’s a girl - asks for some as well. The mother fishes through her purse to find some Vaseline Lip Therapy and the girl holds out her finger for it. A little dab on the index and then she spreads it on her lips. Suddenly, they both burst into laughter, and when they look at me and I laugh with them too.

Conscientious Hours

It is a common misconception at my job that I am often late because my alarm doesn't work. While there was such a period in my life, where no clock at all was even present in my room, this has never been cause for tardiness. I wake up on time. It’s what I do between the time I awaken and the time I leave for work that makes all the difference. I check email when I should be showering, surf Facebook when I should be shaving, and play Rock Band when I should be getting dressed. I am my worst own enemy; I need parental controls emplaced to limit the functionality of technology between the hours of 6:00 and 8:00 A.M.

Having left my apartment no earlier than 9:00, this is exactly what I think about as I walk briskly to the subway. The cool autumn breeze hardly counts as a tailwind but I make it to the platform just in time catch the next train.

The train is half empty, and sitting across from me is a young mother with a cute little girl who smiles personably at me and points it out to her mother when I smile back. The mother smiles too and they get off at the next station. I wonder if she noticed that I snapped a few candid photos for my blog.

On 59th I eagerly wait for the next train, and realize I will need to forfeit breakfast and coffee to make the 10:00 A.M. meeting. The B finally arrives and I fade for a few last minutes into the music playing from my Blackberry. Its Suzanne Vega's "Gypsy," from her Solitude Standing CD. "Hold me like a baby," she says, "that will not fall asleep. Curl me up inside you, and let me hear you through the heat."

Small Format

I am terribly late this morning, mostly due to my late arrival back home last night. One of the old women who usually sit outside the building spots me in the lobby, accompanied by her caretaker. She is awfully sweet and when she wishes me a Happy (Jewish) New Year I feel guilty that I don’t even know her name. I reciprocate the wishes and head towards the subway station.

Across from me on the train is an unusually tall woman, wearing a black t-shirt, jeans and sneakers, and listening to her iPod. When an elderly lady with a cane boards and sits next to her, the tall woman scoots to the edge of her seat and makes more room for the lady so that she will be more comfortable. Forgoing New York attitude and a little bit of comfort for someone else, the tall woman has reminded me that some of the most important things we do in life can often come in small format.

Script

I head over to the Laundromat on the way to work today. At the corner of 187^th, Josh C. sees me from across Broadway and waves. I make the drop and the woman behind the counter reluctantly agrees to have it done by the time I get home, which should be earlier than usual since it’s Friday.

Lazily, and armed with an unlimited metrocard, I take the bus three blocks to 184^th. I get inside the station and onto the platform and see Josh T. who for some reason looks a bit nervous. I take a seat on one of the benches and spot a Latin woman with a short checkered skirt and a black tank top. Her boots are made up almost entirely of two thin leather straps that start at the sole and twist back and forth around her feet and ankles and halfway up to her knees. They are funky but she is not cut out for this kind of outfit. When I board the train, the girl she sits next to me.

Sitting on my other side is a tall guy accessorized with a golf hat and dark sunglasses. His sneakers are missing the laces. He has a Mac laptop and is writing the outline of a screenplay call “Snowmobile Thriller.” In its current state the plot does not seem like blockbuster material to me, but Hollywood has churned out its share of terrible films so it could theoretically happen. I start to wonder if he is also reading the things I type out on my Blackberry.

Ironically, the woman sitting across from me is reciting the lines of another script out loud. She is tall, thin, and pretty. There is fat girl in a pink sweater standing between us who keeps smiling at me. I smile back but avoid further eye contact, and continuing to read one script while listening to another.

Chainsaws and Tats

A loitering man, armed with chainsaw, provides under normal circumstances a reasonable cause for concern. But in lobby of a Bennett avenue building I can safely say good morning as the man holds the door open for me.

Ilanit H. is sitting outside playing with her baby and talking to some local women. I walk to the station and on to the platform, where I see Aviva W. and Josh C. sitting on a bench near the stairs. We wave.

On the train, a 30-something man is sitting next to me, reading "Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World." He is wearing checkered jeans and black felt shoes. His dark muscle shirt has a "worn out" look and has been meticulously stained with blobs of white paint. His skin is tan, and on his right arm, there's a tattoo of... He catches me eyeing his tattoo and fires a glare towards me.

On my other side is a women in flat shoes, black denim pants, and a beige, almost skin-toned sweater. She has fallen asleep with her head resting on a silver mug that is poking out of her large blue hand bag. One of her hoop earrings keeps clanging against the mug as the train rocks her head back and forth. We get to 125th street and the train screeches to a halt. The woman wakes up from the noise and then drapes over her head what are the largest headphones I've ever seen. They are painted with colorful designs (the cord attached to her iPod is yellow) and are branded “Skull Candy.”

The man's tattoo appears to be the cartoon of a penis.

Columbus Ave. Breakfast

I am surprised when I leave my building and find the air has actually become chilly. There is a man dressed in the full traditional Jewish garb of Tallis and Phylacteries walking casually down the street. Except in synagogue, its unusual outside of ultra religious neighborhoods to see people dressed this way.

I reach the subway platform and it’s more crowded than usual. I quickly spot Benny S. Also on the platform is a couple that lives in my neighborhood. I don’t know them at all except that I often see them together on the subway. A few nights ago they had been in a fight on the way home, and finally as they were getting off I overheard her apologizing. Today, he is wearing a light blue t-shirt with camouflage army shorts and is carrying two large bags, one from Kenneth Cole. She is wearing gray pants, a black hooded sweater, and her dirty blond hair is propped up with sunglasses. He is tall with a big nose, she is short and her nose is small and cute. Her big brown eyes always look sad.

At 59th street I run into Shifra G. and Devora K. who are talking to a nice guy, introduced as Dave. Devora mentions that sometimes she follows my blog. They all live on the Upper West Side and when Miriam C. who lives near me in WaHi, joins us, we talk about how 59th street is a good rendezvous point for people from both neighborhoods. Shifra advocates meeting again tomorrow, and assigns each of us to bring coffee, orange juice, muffins and donuts.