Guest post by Very Smash:
I saw this as someone’s Google Talk Status Message:
Tip #42: How to secure a seat on a bus [or train] in NYC. Talk loudly on your phone about your recent trip to Mexico, while coughing and sneezing….
The next day it was edited to say:
Apparently tip #42 doesn’t actually work
If you want a seat on the train, you certainly need luck, as I have mentioned previously. But you also need to be proactive and do your hishtadlus. Namely, when the train is pulling into a station, look around. Try to spot that woman reaching down to grab her purse’s handles. Try looking for people drawing their feet back, a telltale sign that they’re about to stand up. (Often, you can know who will be getting off at which station long before any physical movements are seen. This involves associating the individual with the neighborhood. I hope to post about this topic more in-depth in the future.) When you see a spot about to open up, head for it with all your energy. Pretend that you don’t see the 10 other people who are closer; go for it. With enough momentum, you can time it just right and pounce on the seat before others can react.
I successfully pulled this feat off earlier today. I saw a man look up and begin to stand. That’s when I made my move. I sprung forward and got the seat. A woman who had been standing much closer than me looked down, shocked to see me already seated in place. She definitely had a confused expression on her face, as if to say, “How did you get there so fast?” Ha! She thought the seat was hers. You need luck but also technique. Thankfully for me, she had no technique.
I know that for long-term sustainability of basic infrastructure, it is necessary to conduct routine maintenance from time to time. I am not against the concept of road repairs and construction; they are indeed important - but boy, they sure can be annoying. They’re currently doing some kind of road work right by the subway station at the intersection of Union Turnpike and Queens Boulevard. In the morning, Union is terribly backed up. On Wednesday, as the Q46 was inching its way forward, little by little, stop-and-go style, I noticed two people walking on the sidewalk, going in the same direction as the bus. I decided to play a silent and prizeless contest: to see who would reach the top of the hill (where the station is located) first. For a while it seemed like a pretty fair matchup. We on the bus would move forward, accelerating past them, and then stop suddenly. Then I would see them again, coming into view through the right side of the window, watching them move across from right to left, then disappear from sight. After a little bit, we’d go again and pass them. Then they would overtake us once again. This routine repeated itself numerous times: us, them, us, them, etc.
But in the end, we didn’t even come close. They whooped us.
I even watched through the windows as the bus in front of us discharged passengers halfway up the hill, in middle of the block, nowhere near a bus stop. Traffic had come to a total standstill, and that bus driver was kind enough to break the rules and allow his passengers to disembark right then and there, so at least they’d be able to hoof it to the subway and possibly get to work on time. All those passengers beat us to the station by a wide margin too.
The subway portion of the commute was a disaster as well. The train was incredibly packed. In fact, when I first boarded the train (this is before Roosevelt Avenue!), I didn’t get a pole to hold onto. It didn’t matter. There were so many bodies pressed up against each other in such a tight area, to the point where my balance was secure. I didn’t need to hold anything. The very moment I would start to wobble, I’d be up against someone else, in any direction. We weren’t stuffed in like a can of sardines. Sardines are packed into cans like rush-hour commuters on the E train.
Overall grade: F
I hate homeless people. Uch. They take up space, they smell up that space - as well as all the surrounding space - and are unpleasant debris. The other day on the subway, I encountered one such thing. It was very noticeable: no one was standing near it, despite the fact that the train was packed. My first thought was, “Oh, that’s gross! This is a brand new E train, and now they’re going to have to get a new one already.” Then I turned my attention to the pile itself. There was a mound of dirty clothes, underneath which resembled the shape of a human, with two garbage bags next to it. It was seated but sprawled over at an impossible position, managing to take up three seats. I realized why people were avoiding that part of the train. There were 2 reasons: (1) The smell. (2) It’s rare, but occasionally you can get lucky on the train. If a seated passenger gets off before your exit, you have a mathematical chance at securing that seat. We all knew that homeless guy wasn’t leaving; if he disembarked from the train, he’d be homesick. So nobody in their right mind wanted to stand near a filthy section of 3 seats that was guaranteed to remain taken.
The ride home earlier today was weird. I guess that’s the best way to describe it. Well, it started out innocently enough. The E came right away, it was one of the new trains, and I got a seat. It was a wonderful surprise; the train portion of the commute was actually quite tolerable. But then when I boarded the Q46, the most bizarre thing took place. After the bus filled up with passengers, nothing happened. Nothing at all. We were just waiting there, standing, holding onto the handlebars, expecting to depart. But we didn’t. Finally, I noticed a commotion and saw several people leaving the bus. They seemed to be muttering something about a mechanical problem. Seeing that we weren’t going anywhere, I too exited. That’s when I noticed a peculiar void: the bus driver was nowhere to be seen. Indeed, the driver who was there when we boarded had disappeared. He simply got off the bus without making any announcements. The next problem was the fact that I had already used up my free transfer when I swiped my metrocard getting onto the bus, and there was no one to give me a transfer card. So when getting onto the next bus, I explained the situation to that driver, who appeared to be a long-time bus driver (judging from his apparent advanced age). He was very nice and politely replied “Sure,” but he also was surprised at the story. He said, “Really? Wow. Huh.” This old timer had thought he’d seen it all before. Ha! Until you ride with me, there will always be something you’ve never witnessed.
That was one of the worst commuting experiences of recent memory. The ride back home earlier tonight was an absolute disaster. While waiting for the E train on the 34th Street platform, there was the usual rush-hour infestation of people piling into the station. The problem is that the E wasn’t coming. People kept coming, like a freaking swarm of insects at twilight, but there was no relief. There wasn’t even an E train within sight. Then they announced over the loudspeaker that there was a stalled E, and trains were “running at slower speeds.” The ever-growing crowd became unbearable. I switched to the A (express) track, then back to the local. Eventually I got onto a packed C train (just when I was about to head back for the A) and took it one stop to 42nd Street. From there I could be seen darting past others, weaving and slicing my way through the crowd, through the underpass to Times Square, where I boarded a 7 express train. That train, too, had delays, but at least those were tolerable. Then when we arrived in Flushing and I walked to the Q44 bus stop, I saw that I wasn’t the only one with that brilliant idea. There were far too many people there, and I had to wait for the next bus. If it was good weather, this whole ordeal would have been horrible. But it was raining; the weather [stunk]. I’m still upset about it now, many hours after the nightmare ended. Overall grade: F
Okay, so I bet you’re intrigued by this post’s title. What does the feminist movement have to do with mass transit? Allow me to explain. In America, and much of the Western world, women want to be like men. They want the same jobs as men, they want to play the same professional sports as men, and they want - more than anything - to be viewed as equals. No more of this around-the-house cleaner/cook/all-around-maid. No, sir. The politically correct way of referring to soldiers is “Our brave men and women in uniform.” How many women are there in the military? And how many are in combat positions? Still, it’s “men and women.” Such familiar words as “policeman” and “fireman” are now labeled as misogynistic. For the record, it’s “police officer” and “firefighter.” The last one in particular makes me chuckle. Come on already, does anyone actually believe that women are just as qualified as men to put out fires? Who’d you want to save you from a burning building and carry you to safety - a 6′4″ gorilla of a man, or an idealistic woman? It’s an outrage.
Everything you just read is mysteriously absent on the subway. Somehow, when it comes to getting a seat on the train, the mindset is that a man is supposed to give up his hard-earned seat for a woman. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do. If a man sits down and there’s a woman who’s standing, she will give him the look of death. She’ll gaze at him with piercing eyes as if to say, “How dare you not give your seat to me!” And when a man is the closest one to a seat that opens up, there’s usually a woman who darts over from afar to steal it from him. There’s a certain sense of entitlement. As a woman, she deserves to sit. Let the man stand. My question is this: What happened to equality? Aren’t women and men the same in every area? Shouldn’t women be treated exactly like men, in all circumstances? It seems that the answer is no. Feminists promote equality only when it benefits them. However, if they can gain by being different, then they’ll be 1950’s-era housewives.
By now the excuses are probably getting lame, but I had issues with my computer at home, which prevented me from posting. Recently at work, I simply haven’t had the time to write, but I intended to post when I got back home. Here’s where those aforementioned computer problems became really annoying. I couldn’t access the internet, which prevented me from doing many things - but worst of all, I couldn’t blog! The computer still has issues, but at least the internet seems to be working once again.
By the way, computers can do amazing things. I have yet to come across a non-computer version of minesweeper. Seriously, though, they can be great. However, computers can be the ultimate source of grief. There. I said it. Let’s face it, we’ve all had that nearly-completed paper that got erased because the computer crashed. And that dreaded Blue Screen of Death? We’re talking years of therapy. How many curse words do you think have been shouted at these unreliable machines? I’d bet at least in the billions. How many people have, in their intense frustration, lost a fistfight with the nearest wall? I’d say many. And tears? Forget about it. When they talk about that perfectly normal person who snaps and goes on a killing spree, I wouldn’t be surprised if the rampage was fueled by computer problems. These machines are dangerous. Thank goodness I have a blog to vent; otherwise I’m afraid to think what might happen.
I believe that if you are in possession of something from which others would benefit - especially if sharing it with them would come at no cost to you - you should do the unselfish thing. I am a lucky man; my wife is a phenomenal cook. This recipe in particular is incredible. Don’t worry, I’m not about to use this blog as a platform for expressing mushiness. I am merely mentioning the fact that you need to check out the following recipe for yourselves. Men, you will love it. I guarantee it. Wives, your husbands will be happy men. And, hey, you’ll probably enjoy it too. And now I present to you: Pastrami Potato Kugel.
Trust me on this one, folks. It’s worth a try.
Ingredients: 8 potatoes; 5 eggs; half cup oil; 1 teaspoon salt; dash of black pepper; cut-up pieces of pastrami.
Instructions: Combine all ingredients except potatoes and pastrami. Mix well. Either blend or grate potatoes in food processor. Mix potatoes with egg mixture. Put half of the mixture into a 9″x13″ pan. Sprinkle cut-up pastrami on top. Put remaining potato mixture on top of pastrami. Bake at 350 degrees for 1:15 to 1:30.
This is a serious post. Enjoy!
Some people are incapable of securing employment on the basis of their credentials. However, if they reside in the United States and happen to be from one of the so-called “protected classes,” they need not worry. They’ll land the position while someone more qualified will not. This, my friends, is equality in modern-day America. We are so lucky to live in such a charitable land, where wonderful initiatives such as reverse discrimination prevail over silly, insignificant things like “fairness” and “justness.” This morning on the Q46, I witnessed this first-hand. You know that white line in the front of the bus? I was standing with my foot on it, so the front of my right shoe was about an inch on the other side of the line. The driver – a black woman – turned to me, and said (with some serious attitude), “You gotta get behind that line.” Of course, I complied immediately without saying a word. She seemed noticeably disappointed. She was in the mood for a confrontation, and she tried her utmost to instigate. To her dismay, the white guy didn’t cooperate. Technically, it is against the rule to stand over the white line. And, yes, I suppose that technically I did just that. After all, my toes are indeed part of my feet. But come on already! People like this shouldn’t have jobs. Let them go back to the jungle and swing from trees or something. Ordinary human beings should not have to suffer just because their great-great grandparents picked cotton for some rich white dude in Alabama.