Going to sleep early, and waking up early, doesn't actually give you more time to do things. That's why I'm still frustrated at getting locked out of my apartment building for 45 minutes earlier this morning, an event that has dominoed into my morning commute. I am now 45 minutes late despite the fact that I was up before 3:00 A.M.
I rush to the train station thinking of nothing but the fact that my new watch is too thick to fit underneath any of my shirt sleeves. In the tunnel at the station, I pass Michael Z. and his daughter, and on the platform I pass Tzivia H. talking to her husband. Rachel L. is also here. She is quietly reciting her morning prayers, so I walk right by without saying hello.
Sarah M. is standing near my spot. I stop and wave, and when she waves back I see she is also busy platform praying. The train arrives and we both get on the same car. I find a seat, but she heads in the other direction and ends up standing.
Showing posts with label Michael. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Michael. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 26
Wednesday, May 5
Brown and Out
We all have those days, when we leave home feeling slightly substandard. Usually it's about the way we look, or at least, that's how it emanates. I have a friend (male) who can go through 15-20 (no exaggeration) different outfits before settling on what to wear. I can relate - I've done the same at times - but before work that's never an option. On weekday mornings I give myself half a minute, a full one at most, to choose my clothes. And today my very brown choice feels crappy.
In the station, walking through the tunnel, I see Michael Z. and his daughter. I do not believe - though it's just a hunch - that he is still a practicing Orthodox Jew, yet his daughter is dressed so incredibly yeshivish.
On the platform, I wait patiently for the next train. I'm over the clothing bit, and one thought permeates my mind: if you're wearing dark sunglasses but staring, do people know you're looking at them?
At 59th, I run into Eido J. He says hello and shakes my hand as he hurries by. After a short ride on the B train I exit at 48th, where I am greeted by a band of Cinco de Mayo applauders in traditional charro suits and sombreros. I notice an unusually strong police presence too, and one officer sends me across the street, past two mounties and slew of other cops. It turns out that Barbara Bush is in NBC studios.
Just before crossing Park Avenue, I hear someone calling my name from behind. It's Lovey E. in jogging clothes, sneakers, and her trademark giant backpack. She walks to work and dresses sporty for the occasion, changing into something more business-appropriate when she gets to the office. We chat and catch up for a bit, and agree to meet up for lunch sometime soon.
In the station, walking through the tunnel, I see Michael Z. and his daughter. I do not believe - though it's just a hunch - that he is still a practicing Orthodox Jew, yet his daughter is dressed so incredibly yeshivish.
On the platform, I wait patiently for the next train. I'm over the clothing bit, and one thought permeates my mind: if you're wearing dark sunglasses but staring, do people know you're looking at them?
At 59th, I run into Eido J. He says hello and shakes my hand as he hurries by. After a short ride on the B train I exit at 48th, where I am greeted by a band of Cinco de Mayo applauders in traditional charro suits and sombreros. I notice an unusually strong police presence too, and one officer sends me across the street, past two mounties and slew of other cops. It turns out that Barbara Bush is in NBC studios.
Just before crossing Park Avenue, I hear someone calling my name from behind. It's Lovey E. in jogging clothes, sneakers, and her trademark giant backpack. She walks to work and dresses sporty for the occasion, changing into something more business-appropriate when she gets to the office. We chat and catch up for a bit, and agree to meet up for lunch sometime soon.
Wednesday, March 24
Back On
I can tell from the lights on the elevator panel that it’s headed in the opposite direction, so in an unusual maneuver I take the stairs to the lobby. I just don't have the time to wait.
Outside it's chillier than I thought it would be and not nearly as bright as I expected. I flip my sunglasses to the top of my head; it's the first time since the onset of spring that I wear them.
Michael Z. is walking, holding one of his children's hands, outside the A station. I first met him sixteen years ago but haven't spoken to him since, despite living in the same neighborhood for much of that time.
On the platform, a girl with a flowery white skirt is walking in front of me. She is wearing unseasonably dark fishnet stockings that simply do not belong with her solid flats.
I see Benny S. further up on the platform, the second day in a row. "We're back on," I say, referring to a recent conversation we had about how we always used to see each other on the train but then hadn't for a long time. "Yup," he responds, "we're back!"
Outside it's chillier than I thought it would be and not nearly as bright as I expected. I flip my sunglasses to the top of my head; it's the first time since the onset of spring that I wear them.
Michael Z. is walking, holding one of his children's hands, outside the A station. I first met him sixteen years ago but haven't spoken to him since, despite living in the same neighborhood for much of that time.
On the platform, a girl with a flowery white skirt is walking in front of me. She is wearing unseasonably dark fishnet stockings that simply do not belong with her solid flats.
I see Benny S. further up on the platform, the second day in a row. "We're back on," I say, referring to a recent conversation we had about how we always used to see each other on the train but then hadn't for a long time. "Yup," he responds, "we're back!"
Tuesday, November 3
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.
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.
Friday, September 25
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.
Monday, August 3
My Fare Lady
I'm a bit late and rushing as I go downstairs and run into the building superintendant. I've left the keys with him so he can install a new stove in my kitchen while I'm at work, and as I walk by he slaps me a high 5 and says we are all set to go.
At the station there is a small buildup of traffic at the turnstiles. A women in front of me is trying to get through but the message reads "Insufficient Fare." She tries again. Again. And again. Behind me, a man makes a clicking noise with his tongue against his front teeth, and follows it with a sigh. The fare on the card is still insufficient when she tries a fourth time. Finally, she doubles back to go get a new card and I see she is somewhat attractive. In her late 30's and rather tall, she is wearing uncreased navy pants and a white short sleeve shirt with an orange pattern. Her short, cropped hair is dyed blonde with red highlights.
David M. is on the platform and we wave good morning to each other as I pass him and head towards my usual spot. I also see Michael, whose last name I can never recall, sitting on a bench. He is blond and I remember him from an overseas summer study program we both attended. It was the summer between my Sophomore and Junior years at college, and although we ended up living in the same neighborhood, I don't think I have spoken to him since.
Down towards my spot there is a gentleman playing guitar and singing beautifully in Spanish . The guitar is old but the tone is crisp as the man picks at the strings, and his voice is both soothing and relaxing, a surprise in the New York City subway.
The train arrives, and I sit near a window. The lady with the insufficient fare sits next to me and it is now that I notice her brown leather flats, which have a gator skin pattern. She is of East European decent, or perhaps Russian, it is difficult to tell exactly. Like me, she spends most of the ride focused diligently on her blackberry.
Later, outside the bagel store, I see Chaim H. He is an old friend from college that I started running into when Cafe K stopped opening for breakfast, and I started going to Milk and Honey instead. As I head towards my office I think of the guitar player on the station and wish I had thought to drop some money in his case.
At the station there is a small buildup of traffic at the turnstiles. A women in front of me is trying to get through but the message reads "Insufficient Fare." She tries again. Again. And again. Behind me, a man makes a clicking noise with his tongue against his front teeth, and follows it with a sigh. The fare on the card is still insufficient when she tries a fourth time. Finally, she doubles back to go get a new card and I see she is somewhat attractive. In her late 30's and rather tall, she is wearing uncreased navy pants and a white short sleeve shirt with an orange pattern. Her short, cropped hair is dyed blonde with red highlights.
David M. is on the platform and we wave good morning to each other as I pass him and head towards my usual spot. I also see Michael, whose last name I can never recall, sitting on a bench. He is blond and I remember him from an overseas summer study program we both attended. It was the summer between my Sophomore and Junior years at college, and although we ended up living in the same neighborhood, I don't think I have spoken to him since.
Down towards my spot there is a gentleman playing guitar and singing beautifully in Spanish . The guitar is old but the tone is crisp as the man picks at the strings, and his voice is both soothing and relaxing, a surprise in the New York City subway.
The train arrives, and I sit near a window. The lady with the insufficient fare sits next to me and it is now that I notice her brown leather flats, which have a gator skin pattern. She is of East European decent, or perhaps Russian, it is difficult to tell exactly. Like me, she spends most of the ride focused diligently on her blackberry.
Later, outside the bagel store, I see Chaim H. He is an old friend from college that I started running into when Cafe K stopped opening for breakfast, and I started going to Milk and Honey instead. As I head towards my office I think of the guitar player on the station and wish I had thought to drop some money in his case.
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