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.

Monday, Monday

Throwing out the garbage is always a decent way to commence the week (although one must ask: why wasn’t it already thrown out the night before?).  Downstairs in the basement I run into Willie and we chat about Mondays. No one likes going back to work on a Monday, and no matter how much rest one has gotten on Saturday and Sunday, the start of the week is always tiresome.

Outside, dozens of children are on their way to school.  I walk to the A station and pass Ezra B. at the bottom of the steps.  He is engrossed in the New York Times.

I am still walking towards my spot when Sara C. sneaks up behind me.  As with Willie, we also talk about Mondays and I ask her if she went rafting yesterday with a bunch of our friends.  She doesn’t like rafting anymore, and reminds me of our rafting trip last summer (or was it two summers ago), when I almost tore my rotator cuff and had to spend a few weeks in physical therapy.  We also talk about fantasy novels, which she enjoys reading, though she thinks Lord of the Rings is a bit childish and the poetry far too long for her patience.  I solemnly admit to skipping some of the poetry myself, but remain steadfast that it is my favorite trilogy both in book and in movie form.

As I’m talking to Sara, I notice Moshe L. on the platform, in the distance.  Sara and I board the train together, but we find seats apart and I don’t speak to her again until we get off at 59th.  I transfer promptly to the B train, where one stop later I run into Yaffa Z. just as she gets off.

Sidewalk Skirmish

Sometimes when I leave the apartment I feel like I just don't know what's wrong with me. Why am I consistently leaving for work later than I would like to?

On 186th street, I walk on the right side of the sidewalk, hugging the building next to me. A woman streams past me on the right, squeezing between me and the building and almost knocking into me. I ask why she couldn't pass me on the other side, where there is plenty of room, and she responds that she “always walks on the right.” For a moment I consider informing her that only cars need drive on the right side of the road and that even if she were, in fact, a car, passing is done on the left, but I decide to let it go. She doesn’t, and after a few more steps she turns around and asks “what, are you always going to tell me what to?” No, I’m not your spectacularly insane boss, your abusive boyfriend, or any other reckless person in your life. “Just don’t run me over,” I say in as calm a voice as I can muster.

Zev S. walks by and, having witnessed the prior exchange of some words, asks what was going on. I recount the story and Zev asks if I realize that the woman is but ten feet ahead, staring unkindly upon us.

At the tunnel in the train stations, I see Estie K. for the second time this week. The train is heard screeching onto the platform and everyone makes a run for the turnstiles. I make it on board and squeeze into a middle seat.

At 59th, I run into Sara S. and tell her that last night I went to Café K. and, since Sara and I frequent there so often together, the waitress was shocked to see me with someone else. We laugh.

Burp

It's another day in the neighborhood: cloudy skies, mild temperatures, and I'm late for work again.  Avi N. is getting into the elevator of my building just as I'm getting out, and wishes me a hearty good morning.

Outside, I accidentally let out a tiny burp and look around to see if anyone might have noticed.  A heavy set lady in a checkered coat is the only person within earshot, but I don't think she heard.

Sara C.  waves to me from the corner of 186th and Overlook.  I mail some letters out and walk to the station, two young men trailing behind me.  One of them, unapologetically, lets out a belch.

Is it Done?

Having taken care of a few random items, I am super late by the time I leave for work. On Overlook, I hear loud footsteps. Turning around, I’m surprised to see it’s Sara S. and even more surprised that I can hear her from a full block away. I wait for her to catch up and she tells me that she was up late watching skating championships.

Sara and I walk into the station together, passing Marc R. at the foot of stairs which lead down to the platform. Yaffa J. comes over and we all talk about lateness. When the train arrives, Yaffa walks towards her spot, while Sara and I ride together. We talk about various work projects, and I tell her how it has become common at my office to ask whether a project is done or “done d'done d'done done," meaning all the loose ends have been tied. It takes some effort, but I try not to think of all my loose ends, just days before heading out on vacation.

No Vitamins Today

I let the cleaning lady into the apartment this morning and, after a short chat, I leave for work. Downstairs, I run into Willie, the super, and then into David M. across Bennett Ave.

Sara K. leaves her building on 186th, and on Overlook I see Rabbi H. looking into the engine of his station wagon. Once inside the train station, Newspaper Guy says hello as I walk past him. Doron S. is also there, running after his son, and doesn't notice me or the fact that he’s wearing same coat as me.

A short woman with curly hair and a leather jacket smiles at me at bottom of stairs. Margie C. is also on the platform, and we ride the train together, discussing random topics. Of particular interest is the source of the strange smell in the car.

At 59th, I see Doron again, sans child, but still don’t get a chance to say hello. I transfer to the B, and get off near the bagel store, where I run into Will Y. To my deep dismay, they are out of vitamin water.

Constitutional

The clock keeps ticking as I wait for Willie to come upstairs and get my key, so he can fix my leaky faucet later in the day.  At 8:15, I call him and it turns out he had an emergency to deal with.  He apologizes and sends Antonio to fetch the key.

While walking to the subway, I send emails to a few friends who are coming with me to a taping of the Daily Show later tonight. I won four VIP tickets at a Mount Sinai Panoply and want to arrange where we’ll be meeting.

Inside the station, Newspaper Guy says hello.  Marc R. is at the foot of the stairs and also says hi.  He asks if he’ll be mentioned in my blog and we briefly discuss the new draft of the Mount Sinai constitution.  Marc led a campaign against the first draft, which failed to be voted in by the synagogue membership.  He tells me that not all his issues have been addressed in the latest revision, but the most important ones were and feels comfortable with it.

I start walking towards my spot and pass Zippy K. sitting on bench while listening to music and sipping coffee from a Dixie cup.  She waves hello.  Sara R. is also nearby and says hi. Today, her hair is wavy. I wonder what is she doing in the middle of the platform; she is always near the stairs. 

David M. waves as I pass him and the train arrives just as I get to my spot.

Riding with Rachel

I seem to be back on schedule and should make it to work on time, though I skipped breakfast just in case. It’s hot in the elevator and so, despite the rain, I enjoy the cool air when I leave my building. Just outside Will A. is walking down Bennett Avenue with his wife.

At the station, I spot Sara R. near the bottom of the platform steps. Her hair is down and wavy. The train arrives right away and just as I get in I see Doron S. and his son walking out from a different door.

I am sitting in the train when Rachel W. comes over and says hello. Her rain boots are ultra-funky, full of psychedelic colors. She tells me her mom bought them for her, then takes my book to read the back. Rachel is with a friend and introduces me, and then she and I spend the rest of the ride discussing Broadway, weekend plans, and random parties. The ride feels short and I even have enough time to pick up a bagel before I go in to the office.

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.

Smelly Brew, Lacking

Lately, I’ve been making breakfast and eating at home or, in a pinch, wrapping it up and taking it to the office.  Today, however, I decide to be lazy and pick something up once I get to Midtown.  

On the way to the train station I see Rabbi B. rushing inside a building. Just inside the tunnel, the AM New York Lady is chastising a 17 year old boy.  “Didn’t I tell you yesterday how important this is?” she hollers.  “You need to know what’s going on.  Read the paper.  Here, take it.  You can read it on the subway.  Just take it!"

Sara C. is on the platform, wearing a turquoise hat with a little flower on it, a long black coat with a furry hood, and spicy black boots.   I am about to walk over and say hi but she is far, and the train is approaching.  I stay at my spot.

There are no seats on the train.  A girl standing near me is wearing a colorful scarf with an otherwise bland outfit, and her head is furnished with large Skullcandy headphones.  Also near me is a tall man with a tall cup of coffee and I can smell the brew.   Delaying breakfast was OK, but it’s clear now that delaying caffeine intake was a poor choice.  I struggle to keep my eyes open, even as new passengers boarding at the next station bump into me.

A New Sign

Having just missed the elevator, I take the stairs down to the lobby.  Outside the building I see Avi N. walking back from synagogue, alongside someone else whose face I can't make out from the distance.

On the corner of 186th Street and Overlook a primitive "Raise Plow" sign, painted on a plank of wood, has been attached to a lamppost.  I am pondering its origin when a car pulls up next to me.  My next door neighbor Shaindle S. rolls down the window and, as other cars behind her start honking, she asks if I can drop a letter into the mailbox for her.  I happily oblige and use the opportunity to further examine the sign, which is actually just above the mailbox.

Further ahead, I see Nomi G. on her cell phone as she enters the train station.  I make it to the platform and spot Sara R. at the bottom of the stairs.  Her hair is perfectly straight.  Walking to my spot, I pass Giti L. and she waves.  I wave back and, continuing on, pass Nomi, who is now talking to someone else and doesn't notice me.  The train pulls in just as I reach my spot.

At 59th, I sit on a bench to wait for one of the Orange-line trains.  I think that’s Bonnie G. who has just passed me, in a pristine white coat and high heels; she walked by too quick to tell.  I'll email her later and find out.

T'Was The Night Before

It's officially very cold outside.  I walk to the train station and see Mrs. H. near the entrance, grabbing a copy of AM New York.  Ariel F. is also at the entrance, just inside, speaking on her cell phone.

Past the tunnel Estie T. is buying a metrocard.  As I walk through the turnstile, Rebecca G. walks out and says hello.  She works at the nearby Yeshiva University.

On the platform, right at the bottom of the stairs, I see Sara S. She smiles.  It's her birthday today, and Sara looks like she is dressed to celebrate.  A black shirt, gray skirt, and sexy red scarf are immediately noticeable.  Her boots are black, with a furry trim at the top.

Someone is playing classical music further up on the platform, but Sara has been listening to "All Star" on her iPod.  We ride the train together, discussing everything from the trips to weddings to the meaning of life.

We switch to the D train at 59th and then get off at Rockefeller.  I walk to Milk and Honey to get a bagel, and on the corner of 5th I run into one of my neighbors.  I don't say hello, since I don't really know her, then make my way to Starbucks and finally to the office, the last day before the long weekend.

New Suit

I hate carrying bags and normally try to avoid it at all costs. My new suit, however, has just been tested for shatnez, and in the process some sections of the seam were torn and now need to be repaired. Since I don’t trust any of the local talent, I’m carrying my bag - suit inside - to a midtown tailor.

Downstairs in the lobby, I run into Ilan R. with his child, and on 186th I see another parent. This time it’s Esther D. and her baby, being pushed inside a stroller. I turn onto Overlook and there is Sara S. walking towards the subway.

Sara and I walk to the station and onto the platform together. Waiting for the train, Ezra B. walks by and says hello. I also see Aviva P. and Emily L. but don’t point them out as Sara is clear her desire to avoid unnecssary morning coversations. On the train, we talk about Mt. Sinai politics, weekend plans, and various other random topics. After switching to the orange line, we end up at Rockefeller and I head towards the cleaners in the underground concourse.

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.

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.

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.

The Fall, Almost

It may still be a while till the autumnal equinox, but for most New Yorkers this is this last week of summer. Maybe that’s why there are so many white pants about on my way to work today. There’s a well known rule that white pants are forbidden in the Northeast after Labor Day, and people are trying to squeeze as much summer as they possibly can into these final seven days. More beach, more outings, more summer flings. More white pants.

As I walk into the station I spot Scott S. about a block behind me. I can hear a train pulling into the station and there is a mad rush to through the turnstiles. I don’t understand, since the train is an uptown, but I get closer and I see there is also a downtown train and I run downstairs. I make the train, but only because it is being held at the station.

An Orthodox woman with a black top and flowery skirt runs into the train just as the doors start to close, and her red leather handbag gets caught in between. She grabs hold of the straps with both hands, leans back, and tries to pull it free, like a little girl playing tug of war. The woman is scolded by the conductor before the doors open just wide enough to free the bag.

Sitting across from me is heavy set Hispanic woman, wearing black pants and a black t-shirt with a blue sweater above it. The sweater does not match, and the metallic clasps on her sandals make me cringe when I notice them. The woman is eyeing me suspiciously. I eye back. She looks away momentarily then shuts her eyes for two minutes, and we repeat the process a few more times before she finally gets off.

At 59th I run into Sara S. and we talk about the weekend. She went parasailing with some friends and I went biking and visited my friend Rachel who has just moved into a new apartment. As far as end of summer activities are concerned, she definitely has me beat.

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.

Slimdown

My pants don't fit. I'm already running late and struggling to buckle them so I decide to leave them as is. I strap on a belt and problem solved - the buckle covers the open button - and I head downstairs. In the elevator a neighbor is telling his son about the largest cucumber known to man, which has been grown by a farmer in Israel.

Halfway to the A train I see Sara Ch. about a half-block behind me. I also see that the top of my pants are sticking out above the belt buckle, and I have to suck myself inwards to snap them shut. Does she see me? A few minutes later I turn around and she waves.

Just as I pass through the turnstile, Sara catches up and swipes her card. Insufficient fare! She turns back for a new metro card. We've just missed the downtown so I wait up and when she finally gets in we walk down the platform together. We talk about the wedding in Chicago everyone is going to this weekend. The only time she's been to the Midwest was a September trip to Milwaukee, and she was very cold.

I get to my usual spot and Sara keeps going. Karen L. is here and I take a seat next to her on the bench. We chat about the Chicago trip as well. She can't go because she and her husband need to be in Boston. Karen is reading "Nicholas Nickleby" by Charles Dickens, a giant of a book which she's almost finished. She thinks it's a terrible book for the subway, because it's too heavy to carry.

Karen and I are still chatting when Zehava K. walks by. She says saw me earlier, from her window, walking to the subway. To other people this might feel creepy but to know Zehava is to know the great joy she gets from watching the pedestrian traffic from her Bennett Avenue abode. She will also be at the wedding and as the three of us chat I notice Zehava has lost weight. Last Sunday, the two of us went bicycle riding over the George Washington Bridge and into NJ. I had trouble keeping up and although I'd like to blame my knees or my less sporty bike, I am just not up to snuff yet.

We hear the train approaching in the distance and Zehava leaves to get closer to the front. Lisa K. shows up and says hello but quickly disappears as Karen and I wait to board. The same tall girl from last week is here too. Further on the platform I can see Shosh P. but she is too far away for me to get her attention, and it's too bad, especially since she knows about my blog. I can't help but wonder if, when it comes to seeing her own name in print, she would prefer a day of anticipation or a surprise at night.