Midtown, via Jersey

Among the things no one likes to do on a Monday morning, aside from getting up, getting dressed, and going to work, is returning a rental car on the other side of the Hudson and walking back to New York. I reach the rental agency in less than 10 minutes. Rachel, the attendant, remembers me from Friday and apologizes for charging me an extra $13.75 on account of exceeded mileage.

At the Jersey entrance to the bridge, there is a colorful flower memorial to a firefighter who died in the World Trade Center on 9/11. Crossing the GWB, the wind is pleasant but I remove my yamika anyway and put it in my pocket. After the Times Square fiasco, when a gust whisked it away towards 8th Avenue, I'd prefer not to take chances.

The view is fantastic. During the walk I see 3 security guards, 4 cyclists (3 male, 1 female, all wearing helmets), and only 1 other pedestrian. I also spot 1 shattered side mirror, 1 auto repair flyer (shidduch?), 8 traffic cones (3 crushed), 10,000 motorists, and 1 gaping hole in the ground.

I board the train from the 175th street station and see no one I recognize until I switch to the B at 59th street. Sharona T. doesn't see me.

Adventures With Sara

Holiday fever has set in and I'm late, even by my usual standards. It's grim outside, a cloud cover hovering above and, thanks to all the construction workers, the smell of cigarette smoke permeating the air.

I run into Sara S. at the station. Whoa! she says. She is really late, which must mean that I'm really really late. She's carrying a purse, her laptop (in a makeshift bag), and a wheely suitcase. I offer to help her across the turnstiles with the suitcase, knowing they tend to get stuck under the bar. She scowls about doing it herself but thirty seconds later, in typical Sara fashion, asks me to carry the bag down the steps.

On the train, Sara and I discuss blogging and she tells me all about her new Countdown to Vancouver blog. We also talk about the proper use of gChat status. It's nice to have run into her, since we had to cancel our weekly lunch meeting, which would have been today.

At 59th, our train, an express, pulls into the local track. As we get off, to switch to the Orange line, an announcer instructs all passengers waiting for an A to board our train. A previous A is halted on the express track, a sick passenger still on board. Save for a few police officers and Emergency Medical Services, it's empty.

The A on the local track doesn't leave right away, and it turns out to have malfunctioning doors. The conductors are unable to open the them. Finally, one door in each car is unclosed, allowing passengers to back onto the platform. One of the them doesn't see the open door and starts to panic, and Sara helps her by pointing to exit.

Once everyone is off, they close the doors again and prepare to wheel the train out of the station. Its then that a homeless individual, apparently asleep during the fiasco, presses his face against the inside pane of the window. We can't help but laugh at him, stuck inside, though Sara solemnly suggests he might shoot us if we continue.

On the express track EMS finally carts the sick passenger off on an upright stretcher. Ten more minutes pass and a B train finally arrives; we jump on and rush the rest of the way to work.

Safety and Puke

On 186th Street, I see two tiny little girls, way too young to be walking alone, on their way to school. I turn the corner and it's the same scenario, this time two little boys. I suppose the neighborhood is safer than I thought.

I type on my new Blackberry as I walk,trying to get accustomed to the changes in its layout and its look and feel. It's much faster and much better then the last one I had, but not yet configured quite the way I like it.

The platform, when I get there, is quiet, perhaps because I'm so late and most New Yorkers are already at work. Someone I met this past weekend, at a Friday night dinner, is on the platform. I think her name is Jessie (her last name completely eludes me) and she says hello so I smile and wave as I walk by.

I sit on the bench near my spot, taking the last available seat. On my right a woman is wearing a square and circle patterned skirt, circa 1985, with a glittery jacket that could have come from that same decade. She is applying eyeliner using a a cracked mirror. On the other side, to my left, a classy Hispanic woman wearing a brown 3/4 length coat and attractive boots, is looking at my over her small button nose.

On the train, I am barely able to find a seat. Nearby, a woman, red coat draping over her jeans, runs her hands through her shoulder length brown hair and sighs. She drops her head into her lap. At first I think she is crying but then it seems as though she just doesn't feel well, physically. I feel bad but really, I am just hoping she doesn't puke on me. That would be a terrible way for either of us to start the day.

Fools

The air outside is crisp this morning, it is finally starting to cool off. I'm tired, and the continuing construction at 110 Bennett is irritating.

At the station, a large group exits the elevator from Fort Wash. The platform rumbles with the sound of a moving train and they all run for it en masse, realizing only seconds later that it was headed uptown.

Rabbi B. is sitting on a bench near the bottom of the steps and says good morning. A sizable crowd has gathered on the platform and when a C train rolls onto the tracks everyone lines up, confused (only the A normally stops here), but hoping to get on. The train continues past the station.

A woman, a sort of blond version of the TV character Detective Beckett, bites into a muffin then places it back into a brown paper bag. She's reading a photocopied article titled "The Gregorian: a Tool For Assessment and Intervention in Child Welfare." Her dark, pressed pants are worn over thick boots, the outline of which shows clearly from beneath her knees till her ankles.

Yehuda B. passes by, poised in sharp gray longcoat, and issues a standard military salute. I respond with a head nod.

On the train, a young Asian is holding the musical book "Rhythmic Training” in one hand and air-conducting with the other, his head swaying with each stroke and his floppy hair following just behind. He is wearing sandals. Many on the train are eyeing him, some even giggling.

I switch at 59th, then exit the subway at Rockefeller, stopping off at Starbucks and then Milk and Honey. On line at M&H, I’m surprised to recognize the man ahead of me as the same man that was ahead of me on the Starbucks line. He orders a bagel with egg and cheese. I order my bagel with cream cheese, and it arrives first. Smug, I pay and head for work.

Flirtation

I'm late. Not because I needed the extra sleep, but because I've become utterly addicted to the new Mario game for the Wii. Outside, the sky is sunny but the ground is wet. Last night's rain has left leaves all over the place, many of them stuck to the parked windshields of unsuspecting drivers.

In the station, I say hi to Newspaper Guy and realize that in close to a decade I can't recall ever seeing him without sunglasses. He waves and I continue towards the platform. Tzivia H. is here with her husband, buying a metrocard. Once downstairs, I see Debbie R. We both give a quick hello and I head towards my spot.

The train arrives quickly and I get on board. Adina S. and Sarah M. are here and I join them. They want to go on a trip around the world, six weeks long with a different destination each week. Sarah invites me along but I'd want to go to Antarctica, it's number one on my list, and that might be too cold for her. Adina spends most of the time saying her morning prayers, but when she finishes we all talk about flirtation - the rights, the wrongs, the hows, and the whos. They both accuse me of being a monumental flirt. I take the comment in stride, especially when the ladies request lessons. It's a sure way to keep me smiling the rest of the ride.

Caffination

I'm a coffee snob even though I don't drink much of it. I hate Starbucks - preferring brew that is handmade, like a good soup, over the push button kind - but drink it because the location is convenient. I can tell you the difference between a latte, a cappuccino, and twenty other drinks, or where the largest crop of beans is produced every year. So, it must be an indication of extreme desperation, due to extreme tiredness, coupled with extreme tardiness, when I take instant coffee (I don't own a machine) with me on the way to work today.

Downstairs, I see the wife of an old college mate unloading children from a minivan. They live in the suburbs now but his parents live down the block on Bennett.

Turning onto Overlook, I see Benny S. in the distance. That is when a lanky African American male approaches me, holding some papers in one hand and some cash in the other. He asks if I speak English, and says that he is asking because he's just been “released” from Rockland County and they told him that in New York city most people don't know the language. They've only given him $6 and maybe... "Sorry, I can't help you." He follows me for a few more steps then on to the next victim.

Homeless Guy, A.K.A. Larry, is back after a long hiatus. He and his girlfriend are sitting outside the station entrance smoking cigarettes. "Can you help out?" she asks a passerby.

I walk into the station, down to the platform, and take the last available seat on a bench near my spot. Tzivia H. walks by, her husband a few feet behind, and says good morning. Benny S. Has caught up to me and is now standing nearby as well. We both board the same subway car and get seats not too far away from each other.

At 59th I switch to the B train and run into Rachel T. It’s a rare treat to see her since she doesn’t live in my neighborhood. We chat for a brief moment until my stop. When I get off the train, there is a dog wandering around the Rockefeller station. It’s a seeing-eye dog, and the blind woman who lost it eventually finds it and grabs hold of its leash. Walking out of the station, the coffee has yet to kick in and I let my mind wander into thoughts of yesterday, too tired do much of anything else as I walk the rest of the way to the office.

Starlight, Starbright

A new set of leaves have fallen to the ground and, outside, it still feels like Fall. Technically, it is Fall, but I recall the days before global warming, when November was full of snow. I'm typing into my Blackberry on Bennett when a woman, pushing a baby carriage, apparates less than two feet in front of me and startles the hell out of me. Embarrassment unavoidable, at least I am able to swerve out of the way in time.

Henry R. is standing on the corner of 186th Street. He seems preoccupied and walks right past me. On Overlook I see Ezra F. who also walks right by me. A few feet behind I notice Sara R. We wave.

Kara S. is on the platform, saying the morning prayers. Being the beginning of the Hebrew month, today's service is a bit longer than usual. I continue walking towards my spot and Adam F. passes me. That make it three days in a row that I run into him. Weird.

At 59th, I see Luba K. and she waves with a giant smile. "Good morning, Ely!" she says as she climbs the stairs. It's nice to see a familiar face so bright this early in the morning.

Seen and Unseen

Being late, I haven't checked the weather, and once outside its clear I'm dressed for a cooler climate. Adding further insult are the shoes I'm wearing, which I dug up last night during an end-of-decade closet cleanup. The pair fits, technically, but with orthotics inside they still need a bit of stretching and I'm feeling the pain.

On the way to drop off my laundry and right outside the local synagogue, I bump into Avi T. and he waves. I can't wave back, on account of all the clothes I'm carrying, but I smile and he gets it. Returning from the laundromat I see Simone G. at the corner of 187th and Broadway. We say hello.

Rabbi M. is exiting the synagogue along with a few others but he doesn't see. Neither does Adam F. who is up ahead at the corner of 186th and Bennett. On Overlook, I see Estie H. as she enters the station.

On the train, I sit in the back corner to read my magazine. Next two me, two Spanish speaking middle aged women are chatting loudly. Another woman, a few seats away, is sitting with her back upright, in perfect posture, reading AM New York. Her hair, a short bob cut, is styled with a large headband across the top; a coarse overcoat reaches almost to the knees of her faded jeans. Below, she has red sneakers with a black pattern and her left ring finger sports a shiny wedding band. At 59th, she is gone. I get off too, a sigh of grief when I look at my watch and decide there is no time to stop for caffeine.

Wind and Talk

Bill Evans, the Channel 7 meteorologist, said this morning that winds will be gusting to 50 miles an hour. For a bald guy that wears a yamika, this can spell trouble, but downstairs the air seems calm enough.

On the way to the train I pass a dollar bill on the floor but my uncaffeinated reflexes don't realize what it is until I am long past it. Even if I'd noticed in time, I'm not sure I would have picked it up. As a child, I had a joke bill that when folded on the ground looks exactly like U.S. $50, but once picked it up said something to the effect of "jokes on you."

I see Aliza B. walking towards the station as I'm walking inside. I've known since yesterday I'd see her. That's because I saw Aliza yesterday morning, and by some weird destine fate I never see her less than twice in a row.

On the platform, I pass Yael B. as she sips coffee from a blue thermos. She doesn't seem to notice me as I walk by. I also run into Sarah F. and her husband Adam F. They both say hello and walk past me.

Ilana Cowen walks past me too and I say hi. She stops to talk and we get on the train together. Her Mac is in disrepair, and when she asks if I can fix it I tell her that is not my area of expertise. She also tells me about an 1199 rally she attended in Albany yesterday. It’s clear that, this early in the morning, I am too tired to function, let alone carry on a proper conversation, so it’s not surprising when she tells me I ought to be taking a nap.

Leaning against the subway doors, I rest my head on the glass. Ilana somehow enters into conversation with a total stranger, a girl in a long charcoal overcoat and a big blue backpack strapped all about her. It’s hard to hear exactly what they're saying, but I think they are talking about "Night Pleasures," the book the girl is reading. The train has gotten crowded, elbows seem to be protruding everywhere, so I let my eyelids rest until 59th street. Just one more day to get through before the weekend.

Gold

I am standing right outside the elevator, waiting for it, and glancing at this week’s New Yorker when my neighbor’s daughter exits their apartment. She is startled by my presence and we both start to laugh.

Joined by some other neighbors on other floors, we head downstairs. She sets off for school and I trek to the subway station. Aliza B. is on the platform and wishes me a good morning. The train arrives and I board, finding that it is crowded yet serene, the typical chitter-chatter strangely absent.

There are two women sitting next to me, both of Latin origin and both sporting bright red lipstick. One of them is reading Metro NY, the other a book by Jenny McCarthy. At 168th the woman reading Metro swaps her newspaper for a cell phone manual. She is wearing a beige turtleneck with gold lace, a gold watch, and gold shoes. Her hair is short, draped over sideways the way bald men sometimes have it. When the train stops at 145th Street, she asks me if we are at 145th Street. We are at 145th Street, I say. She smiles and gets off one stop later at 125th.

The Heat Is On

I head downstairs at 7:24 and find it overwhelmingly hot for mid November. I insisted on wearing my new sweater and realize now I should have compensated with a lighter jacket.

Steven S. is on Bennett. We exchange hello and how are you and keep going. Around the corner, I bump into Lisa K. and we say hi as well.

I get into the station and onto the platform. Rachel L. is there again, sitting on a bench, and I take a seat next to her. She has a cold, and I have a bit of a lingering cough, so we talk to each other while looking straight ahead - at the "181" signs across the tracks - to avoid breathing at each other.

While talking to Rachel I see Rena G. on the catwalk above the platform. Before I started writing my blog, I almost always used the catwalk, to avoid bumping into people and being forced into conversation too early in the morning.

I can hear the train in the distance and say goodbye to Rachel as I head to my spot. I run into Doron S. and we walk together towards the front, passing Emily L. on the way.

Doron and I sit together and he takes off his jacket, revealing a spiffy blue shirt with beige trim squares. It's a tough color to match but he's done a good job. We chat a bit and, seeing my phone, he asks about Blackberry apps. After a little while we decide to each do our own thing. He puts on his headphones and I go back to writing emails. We work across the street from each other, so we both switch at 59th, but I head further up on the platform. I am planning to get a bagel.

Here's to the Upstate Cholent

It's early, for a change. I was planning to do some work over the weekend but volleyball and a water leak downstairs got in the way. Instead, I'm trying to get a few hours in before the normal workday begins. I leave the building and see Rachelli R. across the street.

Inside the station, I spot Tova K. buying a metrocard and sneak up behind her. BOO! She gasps for air and I keep on walking turning my head so she can see the grin on my face. I pass the turnstiles and wait for her to come through, motioning for her to hurry as I hear the train approaching.

We board the train and stand near the doors. Rachel L. is sitting two seats away and waves hello; Avi Z. is a bit further on the other side and doesn't see us.

Tova and I discuss the usual. Some gossip and a bit about this and that, but mostly we talk about dating, online dating, and dating in relationships. She also warns me that her mother thinks I'm nice and might friend me on FB, though hopefully that has nothing to do with dating.

I get off at 59th and onto the B, which is already across the platform. Neil H. is there. I doubt he recognizes me at all, but I remember him as the Director of Financial Aid from my college days (I believe he no longer works there). He also owns a kosher bed and breakfast in Hunter Mountain and although I never stayed as overnight guest, I did have the opportunity to eat some homemade cholent there a few years ago. It was pretty good, and thinking about it has made me both hungry and nostalgic for the upstate vacations my friends and I take every summer. As we get older, many of us busy starting new families of our own, I wonder how long the annual trip will last, if it hasn't ended already.

Cooper Trooper

I walk out of my apartment building and see a Mini Cooper parked out front. Years ago, the movie The Italian Job instilled in me a minor obsession with the Cooper, and although the obsession is long over, it is still a very admirable vehicle.

On 186th Street, I bump into Harriet T. and we say good morning. I continue towards the station and turning onto Overlook terrace I spot Yaakov B. walking behind me.

Inside the station, I make my way to the platform. At the bottom of the stairs a woman in a long red overcoat is wearing a surgical mask. Further on, I see Luba K.

Luba and I talk about work. She is in marketing, although her degree is pre-law, and is responsible at her firm for one major client. We board the train but can’t find two seats next to each other and sit apart. I wonder if Abbey will be jealous now that Luba has made it to the morning blog.

Foliage

I used to think Fall was sad, what with the leaves dying and all, until someone told me it represented a fresh start, a new beginning. Years later, I related that bit of wisdom to a friend and she thought I was off my rocker. Everyone knows Spring is time for new beginnings. It’s March when everything starts to grow again. Maybe she is right, but I'm sticking to the initial theory. A new beginning only starts when the old is shed, and room is made for the new leaves so that they can grow in.

I'm not sure if I'm thinking about this today because I'm late to work yet again, a leaf I’d really like to turn, or simply because there are thousands of leaves on the ground on the way to the train.

Inside the station tunnel, Newspaper Guy is away and his substitute, selling only a fraction of the goods, has handwritten a sign on the ground. "Leave your money and take your paper."

Passing through the turnstile I can already hear a subway performer singing "Besame Mucho" at the far end of the platform. Shlomo D. is at the bottom of the stairs, eating a sandwich. He doesn't say hello and neither do I.

At my spot I get a seat on the bench, near a girl with curly red hair and a cute button nose. She is sitting next to a burly man in a black fleece, but it turns out they are not together. We all board the train together and I sit down planning to read this week's New Yorker, but mostly I just think about the leaves.

Building

New York City is the only place where one can cross an intersection diagonally, inadvertently halt traffic in numerous directions, and all the while manage to crack a smile from an observing police officer. I take my time while crossing and watch an elderly woman with deeply set eye sockets as she is walked by her Chihuahua.

Up ahead, I see Willie, my building superintendant. He enters the subway tunnel a few feet ahead of me and disappears into the elevators rising to Fort Wash. Newspaper Guy wishes me a good morning as I walk past his area.

On the platform, I run into three married women, all tenants of my building, but only one of them smiles and says hello.

I get onto the train and sit next to a Latin woman with a large green Marshall’s bag, which she moves so that I will have more room to sit. She exudes a large, proud smile; she has done a good deed today.

When I get off at 59th, I see Benny S. near the newsstand but I am too engrossed in the latest episode of Heroes to say hello. The show is playing on the Blackberry, I downloaded it earlier this morning while I should have been getting ready for work. Annoyingly, there are still 15 minutes left to watch when we reach my stop, but at least I will have something to do on the ride home.

Old Friends

On the way down, the elevator is crowded again. I was almost early. Almost. Early! But then the Blackberry Sync on my computer decided to update itself, things went haywire and before I knew it the 7:52 train was long gone.

At the corner of 186th, across from the elementary school, a remotely familiar woman is unloading numerous children from a gray minivan. A takes a while and a double double-take to realize she is the daughter of a rabbi I knew in college. At the time, she was subject to the boyish crush of many young men, myself among them, who attended the rabbi's weekly lecture, held in his Manhattan apartment.

Today, I am wearing a pair of pants I haven't worn in a very long time. I have no clue what their color is called. If you took some brown, maroon, gray, and a tingle of something found only on the other side of the rainbow, you'd get my pants. I coupled them with a new white shirt I bought just last night, but the shirt was wrinkled after the commute home so I had to throw a red sweater over it.

The ride to work is long and slow, as it often is when I'm already late. The train reaches 59th and on the platform I run into Michael W. It's really great to see an old friend that I rarely get to spend time with, and as is always the case with Michael, our conversation is philosophical, jovial, and meaningful. At Rockefeller, I have to cut the conversation short to get off, and it's one of the very rare moments that I wish my ride was just a tad longer.

Clocks

It's an extraordinary long wait for the elevator, when there's a smelly garbage bag in your hands and an uncomfortable neighbor, who doesn't English, eyeing you surreptitiously. When the doors finally open, a slew of other neighbors are inside, Ken H. among them.

Ken is also on his way to work but, unlike me, he isn't late. He tells me its culturally acceptable at law firms to come in past 9:30. Banks are just the opposite. I drop off the garbage and rush to the station, stopping only to adjust the time on my wrist watch when I realize I have forgotten to set it back from daylight savings.