Ominous Weekly

I'm super late once again. There seems to be no way around it; without jetlag assistance, I'm hopeless. Downstairs at the lobby, a neighbor holds the door open for someone else but not for me, and I can't help but wonder if it’s an ominous sign of the day approaching.

I text Aliza to see if she wants to take the subway together, since she usually leaves at this hour, but it turns out she’s running even later than me so I head over to the station alone. At the entrance, I see Josh C. pacing around, as if he is waiting for someone.

On the platform I walk past Yaffa J. She is saying the morning prayers and doesn’t see me. Neither does Karen L. when I walk by her. The train arrives quickly and I find a seat, don my headphones, and get ready to watch the next episode of "True Blood" on my phone.

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.

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.

Accordion

I've taken to eating a challah roll while walking to the subway. They are fattening and high in cholesterol, but they are also very filling and at least I'm eating the whole wheat kind. It’s a sort of emergency measure: I'm too late for work to eat, or even buy, a proper breakfast, and I've got a package of rolls that will go to waste if they aren't consumed in the very near future.

The roll is gone by the time I enter the station. Naftali P. is at the metrocard machine. On the platform, I recognize a tall chap I met a few weeks ago at Susanne's place. I don't remember his name, just that it’s funny sounding.

On the train I sit across from a gray haired Orthodox Jew in business casual. He is intently studying a volume from the Talmud while holding the hand of the woman next to him, who's head is resting on his shoulder. He is wearing a wedding ring, she is not.

At 59th, I see Yaffa Z. and saw hello. She seems busy reading, and I'm too tired to talk to anyone anyways, so I walk a bit further down the platform.

An elderly man is playing Jerusalem of Gold on an accordion and I wonder if he knows the song because he is Jewish, or if he has learned to play it because so many Jews traveling on the MTA will recognize it. A little blonde girl is sent by her mother to drop a few coins in the man's cup. I, for one, am not particularly fond of the accordion sound and although I like the song, I eagerly board the B train as soon as it comes.

Return of the Tunnel

It feels daunting, after a four-day hiatus (thank you, Bronchitis) to be back on the way to work. In the elevator, I have a conversation with my neighbor's four year old, and then head out onto a cold street. I'm thinking about the weather as I walk into the station and wow, the tunnel is back to its full glory and splendor! For the past two years the southern half of tunnel was walled off and used to store construction materials and equipment, all of which has now been cleared. I'd forgotten how un-cramped that tunnel used to be.

Newspaper Guy says hello as I pass him. Down on the platform, there is a Hispanic couple making out just at the bottom of the stairs. His hands resting on her butt cheeks, she is kissing his neck. I move quickly towards my usual spot and take a seat on the bench.

I'm typing on my Blackberry and an arm is suddenly resting on my shoulder. "Stop blogging on the subway." It's Z. We chat for a bit until another friend of Z's walks by. He is also my friend's friend's husband, which is how I know him, and he is wearing jeans, with an unbuttoned and un-tucked shirt, and Z jokes about him being on the way to an interview. They both head up further towards the front. Tziva H. walks by and says hello. I wave and as the train approaches I get up and am lucky enough to find a seat in a crowded car.

At 59th, I'm waiting for the B or the D when I see Yaffa Z. She complains about having the longest commute ever, and I remind her that I am travelling all the way from WaHi, she is coming from 96th. "Actually," she smirks, "its 91st."

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.

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.