PATHs of Ignominy

A chronicle of the series of petty humiliations we call commuting

 

I'm now done with PATH and NJTransit, excepting the occasional trip home. But I see that as no reason to remove this page. First off, I don't forgive that easily. Hold on to hate, that's what I say! Second and more importantly, remembering how much I hated spending that much of my day just getting places keeps me properly grateful for my current living situation. There is a feel-good (sorta) story in here. But, as in life, you have to go through the bad to get to the good.
NOTE: None of this is to be taken as Jersey bashing. That state has been nothing but good to me. I liked growing up and living there. I just really hated living there and working in New York.

 

 

Coming home from a friend's birthday gathering, I saw a man on the PATH carrying a refrigerator door. I asked if I could take his picture, because it just seemed to me to be the darnedest thing in the world to be carrying around. He was very friendly about it and accommodated me.

I then spent about an hour on a New Jersey Transit train pondering why, exactly, the man might have had the door. Was there a refrigerator door black market of which I was naively unaware? Was he moving the entire fridge piecemeal to a new apartment? Could it, perhaps, be intended for self-defense? I never did come up with a satisfactory answer, which I take to be an indicator of sound mental health.

 

Things Are Tough All Over

Subject: Open Letter to a Man on the Subway
To: Devin, Adair, Jonna
From: Alanna
Date: Tue, 29 Jan 2002 09:18:30 -0500


Dear Man on the Subway-

Do my eyes deceive me or are you REALLY wearing a fanny-pack? Unless you have just comitted a jewel heist a la the Great Muppet Caper and you need to keep the stolen gems near your g*oin for safekeeping, this fanny-pack is totally unacceptable....THERE, I said it.

I can't help but notice the wedding ring. Does your wife know about the fanny pack? Does she still sl*ep with you? I have $5 that says "no". And she is an enabler.

I don't even know you, but I do know that you need to expect and want something better for yourself. I DO have to thank you for not breathing on me or to*ching me inappropriately, which is what I would have predicted from someone wearing a fanny-pack.

Yours Truly-

Girl Doing Tiny Crossword on Jerky Train

Subject: Re: Open Letter to a Man on the NJT
To: Alanna, Devin, Jonna
From: Adair
Date: 29 Jan 2002 09:32:33 -0500


Dear Man on the NJT,

While I appreciate your efforts to keep me informed of current events, whether I will or no, I do feel that your current instructional method--shoving the paper repeatedly into my personal space--needs to be revisited. I simply can't read when you're shuffling the paper back and forth, occasionally hitting me in the face. I know you think I'm just making excuses; doubtless, this is why you persisted in holding the paper before you, elbows out, even after I politely requested that you make a greater effort to take up only one or two seats. You were forcing the paper into my space as a kind of tough love. But dear, kind sir, I do assure you I am conscientious about keeping up to date with world affairs, and your well-meaning intervention in such matters is not necessary. Feel free to remove your paper from my face, your elbows from my side, and your aftershave stench from my atmosphere at any time.

Warmest regards,

Seething Somnambulant Girl Sitting beside You

 

Other Emails I Have Sent Post-Commute:
After having to leave a show--I think Luna?--in Hoboken early:
. . . Tell me again why, even on weekends, the last NJT train from Hoboken leaves at 12:30? We had to leave Maxwell's before the encore . . .and sprint. Would that the frat boys had not taken all the cabs . . .

I got bitchslapped by NJT this morning. I came in to work 25 minutes late and twitching with anger.

I thought you might like to know that I nearly went completely psychotic today. A (what else?) middle-aged businessman stepped onto the train and, being a middle-aged businessman, decided that he'd rather sit between me and the woman two seats down from me than ask the middle-aged businessman seated in front of us to take up one seat instead of three. So, he sat beside me. And began throwing his elbows about and heaving great sighs and exuding an unpleasant smell. I tolerated all of this with total calmness, as this, at least, I am accustomed to. Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly, (most) middle-aged businessmen gotta be over-entitled jerks. Thus I remained silent and offered him nary a glare, despite the fact that he was quite stenchy and kept elbowing me in the boob. Then, about 10 minutes into the ride, he began to stir again -- bending over to fish through his briefcase, fussing with his coat, throwing his limbs about willy-nilly as he fetched a newspaper. He then sat up and, deciding he needed to set something aside in order to continue his excavation, put his newspaper on my lap. Not handed it to me with a sheepish grin, mind you. PUT IT ON MY LAP. Well, one can only suffer so long in silence. I had sailed right past explosive fury, however, and spoke with more of a barely leashed and, with any luck, menacing fury:

Me: Remove. Your. Newspaper.
Middle-Aged Businessman: What's your problem?
Me: Remove your newspaper from my lap.
MAB: What?
Me: Had you asked me to hold your newspaper, I would have obliged you. But I am not a shelf. Remove your newspaper. Now.

That seemed to do the trick. I don't know if it's what I said or the fact that my jaw was clenched as I said it, but he stayed quiet and reasonably spasm-free for the rest of the ride. Still, I must ask: what kind of asshole thinks that kind of behavior is appropriate? Does he have fucking servants and just rides the NJT for kicks? I hate him.

And, lastly, the most gross--yet life-affirming--of all:

From: Adair
Date: Tue, 19 Mar 2002 10:13:07 -0500 (EST)
Subject: United by shit.


Since so much of my time on mass transit is spent restraining rage, I feel compelled to share this anomalously encouraging story of my PATH trip yesterday afternoon.

There's no delicate way to introduce this, so I'll just say it: at the base of one of the platform poles was a big ol' pile of shit. With a dorie streak down the pole. Very gross. But, strangely, not very smelly, which may be why one distracted commuter went right up to the pole and started to lean. This excited cries of "Ma'am!" "Miss!" "Lady!" "Your feet! Your feet!" "Don't lean on that!" "Watch out!" and "That's shit!" from those of us near enough to intervene. We got her attention just in time, thankfully, and though shaken she was unharmed. The rest of us, meanwhile, in trying to avert her catastrophe, had bonded. There was discussion of our various feelings--revulsion at the dung heap, sadness that anyone would have that as their best option, a deep desire for the train to arrive already--and a generally friendly atmosphere. Then! The woman who almost stepped in it, attempting to save others from making the same mistake, covered the turd with newspaper. This was fine, until a train went by the platform across the way and caused a gust of wind on our side. All of a sudden, we were all dodging a flying shitrag. But you know those bigass umbrellas middle-aged businessmen are so fond of? The ones with big, pointy metal ends that are almost always carried parallel to the ground so as to cause maximum damage to unwitting pedestrians? Well, one of my fellow commuters had one of those, and--using this instrument of evil for good--fenced with the wind until, finally, he was able to send the crapsheet to its death on the tracks. But the spirit of goodwill and camaraderie? That was alive and well all the way to 'Boken.