The Black Eyed Peas "I Got a Feeling" is stuck in my head this morning, after hearing it twice last night - once at the company holiday party and a second time at the after party. Surprisingly, I didn't drink too much but, not surprisingly, I am late to work nonetheless. I will lose my bet with Colleen, the receptionist, that I can get to work on time despite a very late night out.
At the entrance to the train station, a women with a baby carriage is passing just ahead of me and I rush to hold the doors open for her, and she thanks me profusely for it. It's nice to be appreciated, even for something so insignificant and which any decent citizen would easily have done just as well.
I walk past Jill V. on the platform and board the train when it arrives, taking a seat next to a woman in a full length fur coat and matching fur hat. As if that isn't appalling enough, she is reading a Daily News article on Tiger Woods' sexual preferences. It's one article I prefer not to read over anyone's shoulder.
Friday, December 11
Thursday, December 10
All Dressed Up
Tonight is the company holiday party and I'm wearing a suit. I've also put on my fancy winter coat, the only one I own which extends below the jacket of a suit. It's also my warmest coat, and at today's temperatures I would have worn it regardless. I head down to the basement to throw out the garbage and run into Willie, the building superintendant, in the elevator. We wish each other a good day and I head out the back door, running into Willie again as I walk around the block to the front of the building.
At the train station I see Nomi M. standing near the entrance, talking on her cell. I smile and wave to her, and she waves back with the pinky of the hand holding the phone.
The train arrives right away and I board. Just as the doors are closing, I am jabbed by a horrible stench. The source is immediately obvious - a homeless man sleeping nearby. I head to the opposite end of the car, where the smell is somewhat tolerable, and hear a mother tell her child "don't worry, we'll move to another car at the next stop."
Sitting across from me is a woman in a plaid blue coat, brown corduroy pants, silver shoes, and giant sunglasses. A white knitted beret covers her hair, which is large, full of dreads, and painted blue to match to the coat. She is covering her mouth and nose with a handful of dreadlocks to avoid the stench wafting from the other side of car.
Dido's "Mary's in India" starts to play over my headphones, and it reminds me of someone I cared for long ago.
At 59th, I see Benny S. on the platform, as well as Suri G. She usually takes the 1 train but today it was having issues and she is on the 8th avenue line instead. I had just seen Suri the other night at a Cuban-Jewish event hosted by the JDC, which we both attended. The B train arrives and I get on, leaving Suri behind to wait for the A.
Wednesday, December 9
Kix and Drinks
The only thing I hate carrying more than a bag is an umbrella. Sure, it keeps its bearer dry, but it’s so awkward to carry around in crowded subway car. Even someone lucky enough to get a seat has nowhere comfortable to store it during the ride. On the few occasions, like today, where the rain is so fierce that I must take one, I usually end of leaving them at work for want of not carrying them back.
In fact, I have only one umbrella left at home – a medium size semi automatic with a hooked handle. Right outside my building, fidgeting to get it open, I see Judy R. walk by, pushing one child in a stroller and her eldest lagging a few feet behind. He is proudly holding up a colorful brolly of his very own.
The rain is really pouring down, making me grateful for the three scaffolds along the way: 115 Bennett, 110 Bennett, and finally the one right outside the train station. I stop underneath the last one to undo my umbrella and Emily T. is there, talking on her cell phone. “I love you,” she says, and heads inside.
On the platform I see Emily again, as well as David M. who passes me and wishes me a good morning. Next to me on the bench is an Orthodox Jewish woman with a light blue bandana covering her hair. She is eating what looks like Kix and milk, out of a plastic cup. The train doesn’t come for a long time, and the platform starts to crowd. An announcement about the next train being out of service turns out to be incorrect, however, and I board alongside a cute girl who’s name I don’t know but that’s been written about in my blog before.
At 175th, an elderly woman with dyed hair and thick glasses get on the train. She stands next to me and, being the quintessential “grumpy old woman”, starts muttering and cursing when the train doesn’t immediately move. The conductor announces for someone at the font to stop holding the doors open, and the woman increases her rants. Although comic and somewhat enjoyable, I put my headphones on to ignore. That is when she smiles at me, the sweetest old-woman smile possible. In an instant she has become the angelic grandmother, and I am sad to see her get off just one stop later.
A scruffy middle aged man takes her spot next to me. He is well dressed, business casual, but his eyes are terribly bloodshot and his breath wreaks so powerfully of alcohol that one might imagine he’s come straight from the bar without ever stopping at home last night. He is reading Metro NY while strangely licking his lips, and once or twice he coughs violently enough that I think he might throw up on me. I turn up the volume on my music and push my body into the wall behind me – as far away from the drunkard as it can go.
In fact, I have only one umbrella left at home – a medium size semi automatic with a hooked handle. Right outside my building, fidgeting to get it open, I see Judy R. walk by, pushing one child in a stroller and her eldest lagging a few feet behind. He is proudly holding up a colorful brolly of his very own.
The rain is really pouring down, making me grateful for the three scaffolds along the way: 115 Bennett, 110 Bennett, and finally the one right outside the train station. I stop underneath the last one to undo my umbrella and Emily T. is there, talking on her cell phone. “I love you,” she says, and heads inside.
On the platform I see Emily again, as well as David M. who passes me and wishes me a good morning. Next to me on the bench is an Orthodox Jewish woman with a light blue bandana covering her hair. She is eating what looks like Kix and milk, out of a plastic cup. The train doesn’t come for a long time, and the platform starts to crowd. An announcement about the next train being out of service turns out to be incorrect, however, and I board alongside a cute girl who’s name I don’t know but that’s been written about in my blog before.
At 175th, an elderly woman with dyed hair and thick glasses get on the train. She stands next to me and, being the quintessential “grumpy old woman”, starts muttering and cursing when the train doesn’t immediately move. The conductor announces for someone at the font to stop holding the doors open, and the woman increases her rants. Although comic and somewhat enjoyable, I put my headphones on to ignore. That is when she smiles at me, the sweetest old-woman smile possible. In an instant she has become the angelic grandmother, and I am sad to see her get off just one stop later.
A scruffy middle aged man takes her spot next to me. He is well dressed, business casual, but his eyes are terribly bloodshot and his breath wreaks so powerfully of alcohol that one might imagine he’s come straight from the bar without ever stopping at home last night. He is reading Metro NY while strangely licking his lips, and once or twice he coughs violently enough that I think he might throw up on me. I turn up the volume on my music and push my body into the wall behind me – as far away from the drunkard as it can go.
Tuesday, December 8
Shake It Up
I head downstairs and, at the corner of 186th and Bennett, I see Julie W. She is standing near the girls school and I try to get her attention but she doesn't see me. I continue towards the station and when I turn onto Overlook, I see Jon E. walking in the same direction.
At the station, I head through the turnstiles and down to the platform, then sit on a bench to wait for the train. A woman with short blond hair and blue eyes is sitting next to me. I can hear the music blasting through her iPod headphones as she sways her torso to the rhythm, occasionally shutting her eyes. She is wearing gray pants, brown loafers, and a long black overcoat, with sleeves that give way to sharp leather gloves.
Also nearby and also listening to music is another, younger, woman, short and with a head that is slightly large for her body. She is wearing giant headphones that can distract almost anyone from noticing how cute her black shoes are. They are the perfect match to her black scarf and black tights.
I notice a rat scurry on the track just before the train arrives.
At the station, I head through the turnstiles and down to the platform, then sit on a bench to wait for the train. A woman with short blond hair and blue eyes is sitting next to me. I can hear the music blasting through her iPod headphones as she sways her torso to the rhythm, occasionally shutting her eyes. She is wearing gray pants, brown loafers, and a long black overcoat, with sleeves that give way to sharp leather gloves.
Also nearby and also listening to music is another, younger, woman, short and with a head that is slightly large for her body. She is wearing giant headphones that can distract almost anyone from noticing how cute her black shoes are. They are the perfect match to her black scarf and black tights.
I notice a rat scurry on the track just before the train arrives.
Monday, December 7
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 2
The Lone Star State
Some people have no sense of where they are, and in particular when it comes to riders of New York City’s subway system. More specifically, I am often cutoff at the turnstiles and that is exactly what happens today as I swipe my metorcard and walk through. The man one turnstile to my right – middle aged, tall, and with a tennis racket emerging from his backpack – walks through on his side and then immediately moves in front of me, for no obvious reason and oblivious to the fact that I am there. I narrowly avoid colliding the handle of his racket.
On the platform I see Adina S. sitting on a bench and walk towards her. Emily T. is also near nearby. By the time I reach Adina, a train has pulled into the station and we board together. There are numerous available seats, but most are singles, and only one pair of adjacent seats is open. Emily unknowingly sits on one of them, leaving Adina and I to sit separately, and so instead we choose to stand. At the next stop, someone gets off the train, creating a new pair of adjacent seats, which we take.
Adina has been to Austin for the Thanksgiving weekend and we talk about her trip and compare notes about kosher food throughout Texas in general. I have been there many times for work and tell her the story about one particular trip with a Russian colleague who had flown in to join me on several meetings. Although I insisted it was unnecessary, he was kindly adamant on accompanying me along a forty minute drive to the nearest kosher restaurant. The second night was a repeat, I asserting once again that he need not join me, and he resolute that no one should eat alone. At dinnertime on the third and final night, he turns to me and says, in a thick Russian accent, “twice we go Kosher, tonight we go Hooters.”
On the platform I see Adina S. sitting on a bench and walk towards her. Emily T. is also near nearby. By the time I reach Adina, a train has pulled into the station and we board together. There are numerous available seats, but most are singles, and only one pair of adjacent seats is open. Emily unknowingly sits on one of them, leaving Adina and I to sit separately, and so instead we choose to stand. At the next stop, someone gets off the train, creating a new pair of adjacent seats, which we take.
Adina has been to Austin for the Thanksgiving weekend and we talk about her trip and compare notes about kosher food throughout Texas in general. I have been there many times for work and tell her the story about one particular trip with a Russian colleague who had flown in to join me on several meetings. Although I insisted it was unnecessary, he was kindly adamant on accompanying me along a forty minute drive to the nearest kosher restaurant. The second night was a repeat, I asserting once again that he need not join me, and he resolute that no one should eat alone. At dinnertime on the third and final night, he turns to me and says, in a thick Russian accent, “twice we go Kosher, tonight we go Hooters.”
Tuesday, December 1
November Rain
December took me by surprise today. Isn't November a month that should have 31 days, despite the song we learn as children? At least the air, when I get downstairs, feels more like winter.
I walk to the A station and through the turnstiles. Jenny R. is in front of me, walking down the stairs, but she doesn't see me. On the platform, I see the curly hair girl I met two weekends ago, her name now completely escapes me. She waves. Also on the platform is Caryn L. She is sitting on a bench, reading. She doesn't see me and I continue walking to my spot, board the train, and get to work on time for a change.
I walk to the A station and through the turnstiles. Jenny R. is in front of me, walking down the stairs, but she doesn't see me. On the platform, I see the curly hair girl I met two weekends ago, her name now completely escapes me. She waves. Also on the platform is Caryn L. She is sitting on a bench, reading. She doesn't see me and I continue walking to my spot, board the train, and get to work on time for a change.
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