kerchiefs on the 2

Before arriving at the 135th Street stop, I looked up from my book and felt like I had been transported to Amish country in Pennsylvania.

There were about seven women, most in their early 20s, dressed in lightweight cotton ankle-length skirts and blouses. The floral pattern designs reminded me of the material Mami used to make curtains. No, not like last week, either. I'm talking about the mid 70s at a military base in Germany. But by the looks of these ladies, I don't think there's a Jo Ann Fabrics anywhere near their home.

Not being up on the latest in "modest wear", I couldn't really identify which fundamentalist Christian sect they belonged to. They weren't handing out anything and kept to themselves so I didn't get the impression they were doing any kind of missionary work either.

I stopped reading and removed my earbuds to conduct some in-depth research. Because of the distance between us, I wasn't very successful. All I could make out was that they spoke English. And that they were incredibly pale in comparison to the other folks on the train. (Until we got to 96th Street, that is. But even still, those folks visit a beach every once in a while or spray it on!)

So, I just had to resort to glancing in their direction occasionally. The thoughts running through my head: Where are they from? Why are they in NYC? And, on the subway in the Bronx?? Would the folks at Nike consider using the "rebel" in the group wearing the swoosh on her feet in an ad campaign?

When we all got off at 42nd, I smiled to myself, hoping the ladies were heading over to the garment district to stock up on material for the winter line...

Wait, was that my Mr.?

As I quickly ran down the stairs to catch the L at 16th Street and 1st Avenue recently, I heard the man next to me say, "Miss, I love you, Miss. How can I share my life with you?" Not sure if he was talking to me, I kinda glanced over, but kept going. He repeated the come-on line again.

I responded with, "Excuse me?" Those of you that know me well, can see the face I was making at that moment.

Again, he said, "How can I share my life with you?"

I came back with, "Right now, at this moment in time*, you are. That's how you can share your life with me!"

"Huh?", he asked, not getting it. So I clarified. "Right now, on this staircase, at this exact minute*, you are sharing a part of my life!"

I hurried along and jumped on my waiting car alone...

*props to Sermier and my NUF family

the angelic voice on the 2

Last week, a co-worker and I got on the train with a young lady wearing the required subway gear - an iPod. She was so in her groove, and she didn't seem to realize that she was on a hot, cramped subway car. Or she just didn't care! My co-worker and I got seats right when we got on, but she didn't. She stood directly in front of my buddy for several stops before the seat directly next to him opened up. I thought he was going to kill her. I tried making out who the artists she was karaoking to were, but couldn't. She knew them really well, not missing a single "uh, uh, uh", "oh yeah, oh yeah" or other filler phrase.

When my buddy got off at 110th, I told him to get a good look at her, because she'd probably be auditioning for American Idol soon.

Tourist tip: If you wanna pass as a native, bring your iPod with you. Especially if your stop is above 96th Street. Listening to something besides the ghetto dissertations helps keep you sane.

my celebrity encounter on the mega bus

Last Friday afternoon in Boston, a couple walked up to the small group that was waiting for the mega bus to head out to NYC. They seemed a little disoriented and frustrated. It didn't help when I told them that the line formed behind me. Not my usual style to speak up, but I guess living in the city has had an effect on me.

The husband looked like he wanted to jump me and his wife tried to calm him down by offering him a cigarette. He was probably in his mid-60s and she looked like a botoxed 50-something. Yes, he was my elder but it was his sense of privilege that bothered me.

She, without being asked (but appreciated by me!), started venting about the long day they'd had. They were afraid they'd miss the bus after being given wrong directions in Hyannisport.

Segue to the conversation in my head: "Hyannisport? Like where that morning they'd buried Eunice? That Hyannisport?!"

So, using my in-depth reporter style I asked the hard question, "Isn't that where the Kennedys live?" And she bit, "Yeah, we went to the funeral. My husband's best friends with Arnold."

Now, for you recent out of the cave folks, Arnold would be Schwarzenegger, husband of Maria, daughter of Eunice, the late sister of John, Robert and Teddy. How cool, huh? Then I thought, why the hell are you on the $20 mega bus if you're pimp tight with the Governator?

a nickel is more than five cents

I rode the mega bus from Penn Station to Boston last Thursday afternoon.

When I arrived, I had to ride the T to the stop nearest my girlfriend's apartment. She had suggested I ride a cab to her place. Trying to save every penny possible, I decided to research the bus routes when I got off the train. After getting a copy of the schedule for the correct bus, I started walking back to find the spot where the next one would arrive.

A gentleman passed me flashing a dollar bill. He asked for change, saying he only really needed 25 cents in order to get on the bus. A lady that was waiting handed him 20 cents. So, I thought, I can help him out with a nickel. I placed my bag on top of my rolling suitcase to search for my coin purse. The guy was anxious, motioning that the awaiting bus was the one he was trying to get on.

As I kept looking frantically as the guy hovered over me until I told him I didn't have it because I'd lost my coin purse. His reaction: he said, "Never mind, that was my bus" as it drove off. Then he kicked a post or something (I didn't really wanna see) and yelled the f-word at the top of his lungs over and over again. Followed by, "I help people out all the time and when it's my turn, I get f***ed!"

No, "Ma'am, I'm sorry you lost your wallet. That sucks!" I initially thought, "What a jerk! What about me!" Within the hour, I'd already called the subway line's lost & found and disabled my debit card. I had no cash, no access to any money and no ID. But I was okay. My friend was coming to pick me up, I had my phone and a place to spend the night.

Thanks, nickel guy! What would've happened if I would've hailed a cab...

Elmo is a Blood

On Sunday nights, one of my co-workers and I ride the 2 train home together. It was around 8:30 and we pre-walked to the front of the platform to find seats.

At around Times Square, this young man got on that immediately caught my buddy's attention. To me, he was just another one of the many young riders that get on with the iPod on, bopping away in their own little world.

But my friend kept giggling as he watched him dance. At first the young man just swayed but at one point he made the area in front of the doors his own private ballroom.

The young man had on well-ornamented black jeans (not riding low, thank God), a red t-shirt and a red baseball cap. I commented to my friend about how the kid might be a Blood wannabe.

I never saw his face because he was standing away from us. Instead we were greeted by Elmo's face on the cap he wore backwards. It was almost as if Elmo was saying, "Don't worry my brutha, I got your back!"

Rest in peace Jim Henson...

Are you sure?

Sometime last week, I was riding the 6 train in to the city sometime before noon. I found a seat immediately.

About two stops in, the lady sitting diagonally in front of me asked the person sitting to her left if he knew how to get to Bellevue. The person didn't respond. Then she asked the one to her right. Again, no response. She cupped her hand over her mouth when she asked each of them, yet she didn't use an inside voice to ask the question. I immediately thought one of two things: language barrier or they're like, "Hell no, I don't talk to crazies."

Side note: For the youngsters or those that just came out of the cave, Bellevue is the oldest public hospital in the United States. It's well known for a lot of firsts but usually what comes to mind is their psych facility.

So me, with my self-appointed responsibility to help my fellow rider, answered her question. She'd been told to transfer to an express train at 125th and go to Times Square (which is not even on this line). For the next four stops in the Bronx, this gentleman (the other self-appointed pendejo) and I kept trying to reassure her that the best way to get there (being careful never to mention her destination) was to stay on this train, get off at 28th and walk over to 26th and 1st Avenue.

I even went so far to write down the directions for her. A bit of the conversation, as I recall:
- "But will I see it?"
- "Yes, ma'am. It's huge. You can't miss it. There are signs and it takes up several blocks."
- "Are you sure it's Bellevue?"
- "Yes ma'am."
- "But I don't wanna get lost. Are you sure? Is there more than one Bellevue?"
- "No, ma'am. There's only one."

I caught myself at that point before saying, "I know, I've been in there." Folks on the train are never going to understand that, "I know, I've been in there (Bellevue)" can mean, "When I was completing a nine-month mentorship in grad school I attended meetings and workshops at the hospital", as it did in my case.

Mind you, Bellevue is a huge facility with every health care service imaginable. Giving her the benefit of the doubt, this lady could have been going to visit her new grandbaby. But instead I thought of my brother David's constant advice to stop talking to people on the train, and transferred to the 5 at 125th.

I was sure.

The secret to getting a seat on a crowded train

A couple of days ago, I got on the 2 train as I do every Saturday morning to head into work. I had started pre-walking (subway lingo I learned from Subwayland, a book written by Randy Kennedy - gotta give the props) but ended up entering a car that was somewhat full.

I got in and was happily surprised to find that the two-seater to my left was completely empty. So I sat down and started reading my book. The folks that were sitting directly across from me were packed in like sardines and I immediately wondered why no one had moved across to the bench I was on at my stop.

On my first inhale, I realized why! The smell of piss was intoxicating. I quickly realized I was sitting on the bench where someone with a bladder control problem had probably just gotten off! So, what do I do? Those of you that are pimp tight with me already know that I carry a little perfume bottle with me at all times for just these occasions. So I sprayed a little bit on my finger and spread it right above my upper lip. That helped somewhat.

But, then the real problem. As we stopped at the other stations, folks would get on, but no one would take the empty seat next to me. I was getting looks from my fellow riders, that I interpreted as one of two extremes: "Girl, that's so gross! How can you sit there? Aren't you about to pass out?" or "Gosh, you don't look like you're homeless, but, damn, you stink!" And then the thoughts that were going through my head: "I'll move to a seat on the next stop. This city is full of filth; sitting in the stinky spot ain't gonna kill me. There's no actual liquid, so my clothes aren't going to get ruined. Why don't these people stop staring at me???"

Then I went back to thinking about my clothes. Will the smell of piss smell linger from one person's clothing to another? I decided to stay seated until I got to my stop because I didn't want to run the risk of getting up, standing next to someone and have that person think I'd pissed on myself! So instead, I decided to scoot up to the edge of the seat, hoping that my clothes wouldn't get all Pepe LePew'd by sitting all the way back on the bench.

I finally found some relief when a young man got on and sat next to me. I felt redeemed by thinking, "You guys are the pendejos for not taking a perfectly good seat on this packed train." Soon I realized he only sat down because he had a heavy ass backpack on and needed to finish filling out some form before he got off two stops later.

Anyway, at 42nd Street, I had to transfer to the local, the 1 train. I took a whiff of myself and happily discovered that the funk was going express...