Mornings on the T
I don't mind taking the subway to work at all. The probability that something extraordinary will happen is around 50%. This is to say that, after a while, things that you might consider ridiculous become everyday occurrences, like a homeless man blowing his nose into a clear plastic poncho in a car packed with people. When the pair of Brazilian teenagers across from you begin whispering sweet nothings to each other in Portuguese and picking at each other's facial acne, you sit there and smile to yourself instead of screaming "LOOK AT YOURSELVES!" at them.
If riding the subway tells you anything, it's that nothing is funnier than real life. The T is a never-ending source of small comedies and dramas that play out over the course of three or four stops. I love being a spectator to most of them. We live in an increasingly lonely society, one that often leaves us in silent observation of what goes on around us. Most of this is dependent on people’s strange willingness to be candid in the presence of strangers who will exit their lives forever in ten minutes.
One of my dad’s maxims as a baseball coach was “God gave you two ears and one mouth for a reason.” You can always learn more by listening than you can by talking. At the same time, though, you may find out things you never wanted to know. I don’t listen to my IPod on the train anymore because I like to pay attention to the people around me. My favorite repeated occurrence is when someone is on the phone and has absolutely no qualms about talking as if nobody else is around them. I’ve heard enough half-conversations about failing relationships and doctor’s appointments to last a lifetime.
Nothing will make your day like the watching a fat businessman land-surf down the staircase and flail across the platform, arriving just as the train’s doors close. The look in his eyes is priceless – it’s like he goes through the stages of grief all in the course of two seconds. First there’s the blind hope that the conductor will see him coming and hold the train. Then there’s the rage at the conductor for closing the doors when he probably saw him coming, generally punctuated by a halfhearted bang on the door, followed by the acceptance of the fact that ten minutes of his life are going to be spent waiting for the next train.
Then you accelerate out of the station and never see him again. Which is probably good, because there’s a good chance he wouldn’t appreciate the sight of you laughing at him from inside the car.
If riding the subway tells you anything, it's that nothing is funnier than real life. The T is a never-ending source of small comedies and dramas that play out over the course of three or four stops. I love being a spectator to most of them. We live in an increasingly lonely society, one that often leaves us in silent observation of what goes on around us. Most of this is dependent on people’s strange willingness to be candid in the presence of strangers who will exit their lives forever in ten minutes.
One of my dad’s maxims as a baseball coach was “God gave you two ears and one mouth for a reason.” You can always learn more by listening than you can by talking. At the same time, though, you may find out things you never wanted to know. I don’t listen to my IPod on the train anymore because I like to pay attention to the people around me. My favorite repeated occurrence is when someone is on the phone and has absolutely no qualms about talking as if nobody else is around them. I’ve heard enough half-conversations about failing relationships and doctor’s appointments to last a lifetime.
Nothing will make your day like the watching a fat businessman land-surf down the staircase and flail across the platform, arriving just as the train’s doors close. The look in his eyes is priceless – it’s like he goes through the stages of grief all in the course of two seconds. First there’s the blind hope that the conductor will see him coming and hold the train. Then there’s the rage at the conductor for closing the doors when he probably saw him coming, generally punctuated by a halfhearted bang on the door, followed by the acceptance of the fact that ten minutes of his life are going to be spent waiting for the next train.
Then you accelerate out of the station and never see him again. Which is probably good, because there’s a good chance he wouldn’t appreciate the sight of you laughing at him from inside the car.
posted by Dan at 3:18 PM
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