An Asian, a Jew, and a Latina

Walking to the subway I miss a large pile of dog poo by only a slight margin. It's a lesson for me, to watch where I'm going when I'm typing on the Blackberry, even if no one else is on the street.

I've made the mistake of taking a jacket today - blame it on the overcast skies. I enter the station and it's too hot, I have to take it off and carry it.

The Newspaper Guy is not here today. There is a substitute, and it shouldn't matter since I've never bought from him anyway, but Newspaper Guy has become a staple in my life. He is always there, selling every major periodical and a selection of candy bars and Duracell batteries.

On the platform, I find a seat on the bench. There is a black bag next to me and a woman, mid-twenties and wearing a maroon dress with gray boots, is standing next to it, hands fishing inside. She is humming a tune and shaking her bottom at the subway tracks behind her.

The train arrives and I board. There are no seats, but I get a spot standing next to the door. Near me there is an Asian, a Jew, and a Latina chatting together. The three woman are discussing Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish new year, and one of them is complaining about someone else, whom she saw buying a bottle of wine for the holidays. "I just don't understand her," she says. I don't understand how the wine continues to dominate their conversation for so long, but by the time they are done I am wishing for nothing but a bottle of my own.

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.

Almost Over

Walking to the train, I see Ruthie W. on Overlook. She doesn’t see me and walks into the station just ahead of me. When I get to the platform, I see Moshe D. L. and we both nod a “good morning” to each other. Further ahead on the platform I see Ruthie again.

Sitting on one of the benches is a woman, in brown top and light colored jeans, using an eyelash curler. Public nail-clipping might be the only viler thing I’ve seen done on MTA property. When the train arrives and she boards, I wonder if she will continue to use the curling device. A little bit of turbulence could render her blind in the eye, yet she seems ready to take the risk.

At 59^th, I see Jerry B. but walk by him too quickly to say hello. When I was in college we both stinted as waiters in the University dining hall. He then went on to marry a hometown friend of mine so I still see him from time to time.

I squish onto the D, wondering what the new Jewish year will bring.

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.

Baby Talk

Walking to the subway, I see Kara G. near the corner of 184th and Overlook. She does not see me, and I continue on inside.

At the platform, I see Malka S. and Shosh P. talking and I join them, surprised to see Shosh on the subway this early. When we board the train there is one empty seat left. Malka says she is getting off soon, and Shosh doesn't want to sit, so I go take it.

The person to the left of the empty seat is large. She is taking up an extraordinary amount of space, holding the morning paper with hers arms wide apart and her legs spread too far. I sit but she is dormant and still - she does not pull herself inward, she does not lean over onto the divider. I try, but am defeated; I cannot squish into this space.

I join Malka and Shosh again, to find the conversation is now focused heavily on baby talk. Crawling and cruising, babysitting and schooling. Malka's son has just started nursery and, while fun at first, he has discovered that it is an ongoing, daily event that he no longer wants to attend. This is the true male species at its best. Offer us something great and we will cherish it forever. Ask us to keep it, and it will be promptly rejected.

Agents Aboard

After a rough, sleepless night I am almost too tired to go to work but at least I am on time when I leave. I head downstairs and when I get out of the elevator, Ken H. gets in and we say hello.

There are two Orthodox Jewish girls loitering at the corner of 186th and Bennett. They both look familiar and I'm almost certain I've been introduced to one of them at some point in the past.

On Overlook, I spot the really tall girl who is friends with my friend Anna. She is meticulously dressed in a black top, plaid skirt, and shiny black high heels. Her glasses frame is funky, and her red leather bag adds the final touch.

Down at the platform, I see Rabbi B. He is a brilliant man, scholarly in Bible and a doctor of Math as well. I'll never forget how often he hosted me at his table during college. He says good morning and I respond in kind, then keep walking towards my spot.

I pass a woman, in beige pants and a brown flowery shirt who at first appears to be wiping her nose on her sleeve. Closer inspection, however, reveals that she is actually trying to peer into her shirt.

When the train arrives, it’s pretty crowded but I'm still able to get a seat. Somewhere near 125th street, as I'm emailing my friend Matt, who now lives in Israel, I hear someone calling my name. Its Tamar E. and her son Ezra R. She is sporting a Kindle, a gift from her job. It’s one of the perks of working for a literary agency. I work for a bank and wonder if they will ever give me money as a perk.

Since Tamar is sitting a few seats away, I get up to talk to her. She is on her way to drop Ezra off at her mom's and then head to work. Ezra, who is just a few months old, looks adorable all curled up and asleep in her lap. Tamar and I chat until 59th street, and I get off thinking this could be my big chance. She's a literary agent, and she knows she's going to be in my blog tonight, so she'll read it! It better be damned well written.

School

I have to leave work early today so I head out of the apartment by 7:30, which even after a laundry drop will get me to the office sooner that any day in the past two weeks.

Adam E. is about a block ahead of me on 0verlook Terrace. Every once in a while, I export my address book to Facebook and "friend" the whole lot. Inevitably, some people don't accept, but Adam actually wrote back to apologize for rejecting me. He uses Facebook exclusively for communicating with elementary school classmates and others from his past, never anyone from the present. His excuse, if real, is a terrible waste of social networking, and I hope he was making it up just to avoid being FB friends.

On the platform, I can see Adam still ahead of me. I'm walking along and thinking of the Facebook incident when someone calls my name. It's loud, as if maybe it had been called out once or twice already and I just hadn't hear it. I turn around and it's Jay B. I just met him yesterday, at the Heightsbridge After Party. He asks what I do, which seems abrupt without some lighter pleasantries and especially this early in the morning. Desperate to get to my usual spot, if only because I'm in such a hurry, I am short with him and don't engage, offering quick answers to his questions. He finally bids me a good day and I continue on.

On the train, there is a girl sitting next to me who I'm pretty sure I recognize from the neighborhood. She is blonde, wearing a white t-shirt with a black hoodie, and blue jeans. She has a backpack labeled "Hot Shot" and is reading a textbook on chemistry. She is up to Chapter 13: Chemical Kinetics and the Rates of Reaction, not bad for the start of a new semester.