The Cranky Commuter

Normally my commute is an “easy” two hour door to door shuffle. I put on my iPod, pull out my Kindle, and hunker down into my own isolated world for the duration.

Well then, Mother Nature throws a “Brooklyn Tornado” of a curveball…and things get…well…cranky.

So…thinking I’m a smart commuter, I decide, “Ok, subway to Jamaica. Lets go.”

Of course, that means you have to know which “Jamaica” you are going to (because on the NYC subway line there are about…5  ”Jamaicas.”)

So being the saavy New Yorker I am, I hop on the E train….

20 minutes later, I realize Im going downtown instead of uptown.

Why's this train so empty? I must be super smart...

Sigh.

Get off, walk under, hop on an uptown train. …

Now, I think I’m pretty clever here.

Knowing, that everyone-and-their-mother living on Long Island  is looking for a way out;  I figure, I am Miss-Smarty-Pants. I figure, by going downtown, waiting for the train to clear out, getting a seat, and then heading back uptown, I’ll be in the clear. (That’s my reasoning, I’m sticking to it.)

Awesome…until umbrella-snotty-pants walks on at 34th Street. Umbrella-snotty-pants has fleece jacket on and is carrying about 5,000 bags with her. Obviously a newbie commuter, I figure the two men sitting next to me will give up their seat.

Wrongo. For the next 1.5 hours, she stands in front of me giving me the stink eye (not to mention the stinky armpit).

When she reaches for the bar above my head, her umbrella, hanging precariously from the crook of her arm, swings dangerously close to my head. I try to ignore it, judging its trajectory to be well enough away from my face,  (as long as I smash my back as flat against the back of the seat).

A few stops roll by. More people smash into the car. The umbrella moves down towards the man next to me. Im still the subject of stink-eye-and-armpit.

Then the snotty-slurpy-nose-runs start.

Great.

So now, I am faced with the swinging umbrella, and a drippy nose. Fantastic.

I continue my “Zen commuter state” and crank up my iPod and pretend to read. Soon she’s snotting so near my head I have to say something.

“Do you want to sit down?”

Stink-eye, sigh. “No.” (subtext: “What do you think, biatch?”)

Back to my book.

Eventually we get to Forest Hills on the E.

Well, the geniuses running the Subway decide that despite the giant blinking “E” outside the train, this train oughtta be an F – which  if all the crankys were to stay on, basically puts you no where near where you intended to be–but still in Jamaica. (Of course!)

Everyone piles off the E-cum-F train and onto the sweltering platform, where across the way, an R train sits, being “cleaned.” (Mind you, the bucket and mop they were “cleaning” with, were as dirty as the East River.) The “F” train rolls out of the station.

Wait….wait……..WAIT……..SIGH…….WAITTTTTTTTTTT…sweat…..

Finally an E train.

Only, guess what folks?

It’s packed to the gills.

People shove their way on, squeeze their largess-into-little-seats…and I’m still standing on the platform. No way I’m getting on there.

Wait…wait…..WAITTTTTTTTT….sweat……

Another E…ok I’m getting on this one. I swear if the woman behind me bumps me one more time with her bag I’m going to take it and hurl it onto the electrified track and see what happens.

Im shoved onto the subway…and out we roll.

Of course there’s the older woman who has not taken the subway in 25 years (seriously, she told us that.) who decides that I look friendly enough to be chatty.

She smiles. Makes eye contact. Tells me its been 25 years…twice. Asks me which stop we get off at….

I  explain it 3 times.   We have to get off at Jamaica Sutphin Ave, go upstairs and get the trains.

I feel bad for her, despite the fact that I really just want to get off the damn subway.

Then we get into a discussion (translation: she talks at me) about the long commute to Huntington and how much people have changed since she used to ride the rails.  She’s so friendly, I’m starting to worry that she might just start pulling out the wallet sized photos of her grandkids and invite me over for dinner.  Thankfully we arrive at our stop.

Only…it looks like this:

Train after train roll into the station belching more commuters onto the platform. Finally the MTA figures out that the down escalator can be turned off to become a stairway, and all the commuters cheer. (Seriously, part 2).

Things are so bad, people are wandering to the top of the stairs, turning around and snapping pictures of us caged animals as we mooooovvveeee oh so slowly up the stairs.

I’m grateful when we get outside, and then…its time for the “Which Track Will it Be” game.

This one is fun….

Find an MTA employee in an orange vest…ask him or her where your train line is…they point at a colored screen that tells you the names of the lines, but nothing else. When your train line shows up, guess what? Its off to the races for you. Hope you are in good cardio shape…cause you are sprinting up those stairs with every other commuter in the world.

Lucky for me, I’m faster than the average bear.

I sprint up the stairs the moment the train is announced–and even land myself a 2 seater!

A half an hour later, this is my view.

Standing room only on the local

I was grateful for a seat.

Five and a half hours later…Im home…only to do it again tomorrow…

Oh joy! Thanks a bunch Mother Nature. I wanted a 5 hour commute home. Really. I did.

***

Got a good cranky picture or post? Send it my way thecrankycommuter@gmail.com