Farewell and Goodbye

Aliza G. is meeting me downstairs. We‘re both running late, and she phones to tell me she can’t wait too long, but I get there before she leaves. The two of us walk and talk. On Overlook I spot Esther A. in the distance, then see Yosef M. as well.

In the tunnel, Aliza says hello to someone I don’t recognize. We reach the platform and Avi H. walks by, then Sara S. emerges from the top of the stairs. Aliza says hello to another passerby just as the train arrives. I run in and save a row of benches so that Aliza and Sara and I can all sit together. Aliza stays behind as Sara and I get off at Columbus Circle. We switch to the Orange line and take that to Rockefeller Center, where she enters her building through an underground tunnel and I walk out onto 48th street.

Sometimes, I do odd things. For the past 365 days I have kept a running blog of every single train I have ridden to work. I hope you have enjoyed reading this blog as much as I have enjoyed writing it, but now it’s time to move on to something else. Thank you to the dear friends who encouraged me and sent me bits of fan mail. To the rest you, you can stop running the other away when you see me in the morning.

An Early Start

Even without Jetlag, I can sometimes leave the apartment early. I'm excited to get to work on time, not because I love work so much but because the sooner I get there the sooner I'll leave and the sooner my weekend will start.

On 186th I spot Sara K. going into her building. We wave and I continue on, seeing Ezra F. from across the street when I reach Overlook.

A bald cop holds the door open for me at the station. On the platform I run into Josh and Malka S. I'd normally stop and chat with Josh for a while (he is one of my favorite fellow techies and an old time friend) but I don't want to interrupt their conversation.

The train is crowded and I'm standing shoulder to shoulder with a few people, including a pregnant woman of about my height. She is wearing a gray maternity size t-shirt, black pants, and flat shoes. Her fingers are chunky. Some nearby offers their seat to the pregnant woman but she declines.

I switch trains at 59th and get off at Rockefeller. Exiting the station, on my way to get some breakfast, I unexpectedly run into Aliza B. She says hi and asks how I'm doing and we chat for a brief moment before she turns off onto 46th street and I continue on my way.

Aaayyyyyy

A few minutes before I leave my apartment, I get a text from Aliza G. reminding me that we planned to take the subway together this morning, since she has an interview downtown. We meet up at Dunkin’ Donuts and I get a cup of coffee to help me get started with the day.

At the station, we spot Sarah M. all the way at the other end of the car. I’ve been helping Aliza get started with her new blog and we discuss it for much of the ride, along with random other gossip and talk. Aliza doesn’t notice that the women sitting next to her is smiling at me and laughing at all my jokes.

At 59th Street, Aliza and I split up. I take the next train to Rockefeller, and get off at my usual exit on 48th. Halfway down the block, I see Henry Winkler. He is sharply dressed and clean cut, though obviously looks much older than I remember him. He seems such a sweet man, taking pictures with all who ask and chatting with them at length. Sadly, he is practically inside his car by the time I get my own camera out.

Captain Jack

The only thing worse than needing a shot of whiskey to get your day going, is needing a shot of whiskey to get your day going and not having any.

Outside, snow is falling heavily and it isn't long before a chunk of it has slipped inside my dress shoes. A flake hits me in the eye, and my coat is completely surrounded. I am under attack. Luckily I am from Miami and know how to deal with snow.

At the entrance to the train station, I run into Aliza A. She is waiting for the Yeshiva University (her employer) shuttle van to pick her up. I talk to Aliza for a bit, mostly about the material makeup of my hood, which she has asked about. As we part, she smiles and warns me to stay warm. "You too" I holler behind me as I go in. Sometimes, a short moment with a friend can make all the difference in starting your day.

Almost Over

I am not just tired; I am downright wiped, and late. Glad that the week is finally coming to an end, I try to maintain some semblance of a positive outlook as I leave for work.  On 186th street I see Sara R. leaving her building, her hair up in a bun.

Turning onto Overlook, I see Jessica S.  Her hair is wet and she looks as though she is utterly freezing, as she hugs a garment bag close to her body and her lips slowly turn into a pale shade of blue.

Inside the station, I hear the train approaching and run for it, getting a seat in the first car.  Scott and Sam S. are sitting together, nearby.  Sam smiles and waves and I wave back to her.  At 59th, I get off to switch to the B/D and run into Aliza B. on the platform.  She also smiles and waves.

Leaving the subway, I walk to Milk and Honey for a bagel.  Micah G. is eating breakfast in what might be a business meeting.  I haven’t seen him in ages and actually thought he was still living in Israel.  When he gets up to ask for more milk in his coffee, he spots me and says hello, though I think I might have taken him a minute or two to figure out who I am.

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.

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.

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.

Rain Friday

It's raining but I am too lazy to carry an umbrella, and from the looks of it I can manage without. I see Aliza G. just outside my building. She is spending a few weeks out of town, at her parents, but came in for one night, to attend an interview.

On 186th I see Lisa K. and she waves from across the street. There is a woman in sporty clothes on the porch of 45 Overlook, presumably stretching before a run, but she actually seems to be engaged a full Pilates session. I keep walking and see the Station Homeless Guy in front of the entrance to the A. He asks for charity, and I wonder where his girlfriend is. Inside the station, I also begin to wonder if he is responsible for the putrid smell of urine that permeates the tunnel.

I go through the turnstiles and down to the platform, where Alisha K. is thoroughly engaged, like other Orthodox subway-riding women, in her morning payers. I walk down to my spot, praying the rain will have stopped by the time I get out.

Tounges and Hair

It's another day late to work. Although it's a drag just to get downstairs and out the building, I am excited my first full week back at work is now more than half over. Just outside I see Aliza B. but she is walking North on Bennett, away from the train station.

At the corner, I run into Mirele D. who greets me by sticking her tongue out. She is jolly as ever and the world would be so much better if we all could smile as much as Mirele does. I reach the next corner and the Con Ed crew from yesterday is still there.

To get a seat on the train, it's important to know exactly where on the platform to stand, but the real trick is to always know exactly where you are going to go once inside. That means quickly scouting out the car, even while it's still moving and before the doors open. The technique lands me a seat across from a young Asian women wearing striped pants and a pink short sleeve shirt.

The woman's hair is in a poof, an accidental spike of unwanted tresses and locks. She somehow realizes this and while glancing and me glancing at her, she pushes it down with her hand. The woman quickly checks her reflection in the window, then looks at me again and smiles.

Red

I’m almost out of clean clothes, which is not a good thing considering I've reverted to my "late every day" schedule. I drop my laundry at the Laundromat, and the woman asks about delivery, to which I concede and then head back down Broadway. Behind me I catch the glimpse of a young woman in light colored shorts and a gray t-shirt. Her legs are long, and her hair is an intriguing, fiery red. I can't tell if it is natural or not but I am apprehensive to turn around and check. I do it anyway, sheepishly trying to look poised when I do, but it turns out she is too far away and the mystery persists. I slow my pace, then try again. Up ahead, near Key Food, I spot Avi Z. all dressed up for work. I can’t remember ever seeing him in anything but casual, except in synagogue.

Back on Bennett, I am almost entirely sure that is Ayala S. walking ahead in the distance, her back to me. Near the subway station, I spot Estie H. She is wearing a long black skirt and dark long sleeve shirt. I want to say hello but she is ahead of me and once inside she takes the upper catwalk above the platform. Once upon a time, I would frequently use the catwalk in the mornings, to avoid running into people. This was better than the risk of spending the entire commute forced to talk with some socially awkward neighbor I barely know. I don’t think she has even seen me, but for a moment I wonder if she is avoiding me on the catwalk.

On the platform, I am convinced I see Lisa K. until I am close enough to realize the person in question looks nothing like her. I do see Aliza B. who waves and asks how I’m doing. We board the train and there are no seats, but at least I get the best stand in the house – right next to the connecting doors at the end of the car. At 175th, Aliza gets a seat, not too far from where I’m standing and one stop later, I am lucky to get a seat of my own as well.

Sara, Sara

I'm just out the door and there is Esther T. across the street. I would wave but she does not see me, so I keep going. Just ahead of me, still on Bennett, is Aliza B. I'm emailing on my Blackberry as I walk, so she is much faster than me and before long I lose sight of her.

At the station I can hear the train approaching and I make a run for it. It's rare for me to run for a train but I'm insanely late this morning and feel encouragingly fit after yesterday's 10 mile bike ride. As I get down the stairs I see Aviva W. and Josh C. but I zoom past them, trying to get towards my spot on the train. They are always together.

I switch trains at 59th and when I finally get off at Rockefeller, I run into Sara S. Seeing her on the train means I am even later than I originally thought. She is wearing a pretty blue top, black skirt, and sandals with a flower design. Sometimes she wears her hair up in a pouf and I make fun of her but no such luck today, it's straight down. We chat for a bit as we exit the station and talk about the weekend. We both spent yesterday afternoon at the beach, although different beaches and with different friends. Before I know it, I'm lost in the labyrinth underneath Rockefeller center and she has to show me out towards 48th street before entering the elevator bank that leads to her office.

Every week, Sara is my Wednesday lunch date, but we also meet up today, along with Dani U. At Cafe K, the three of us chat some more about our respective weekends and upcoming vacation plans. I try, unsuccessfully, to convince them to come to Egypt with me in August. We all order the penne with vodka sauce, which Sara has every time she eats here. A lengthy discussion ensues with waiter about the recent decline in quality of their pasta. He urges us to return the food if it is not to our liking, and we all do. As we wait for another round, the topic shifts from summer plans to personal commiserations and various other topics. The pasta is only slightly better the second time around. We make plans to meet at my place tonight to play Wii.

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.