He’s twelve and is already wearing jeans and sneakers on weekends, I’m worried about him.

What started out as a miserable subway ride with a small child and her loud toys turned into an amusing and entertaining adventure with the two little Jewish ladies sitting next to me.  Adorable.  They managed to criticize nearly everyone in their families with the twenty minutes I shared a seat with them.

The one woman was particularly worried about how her young, 12-year-old nephew was starting to fall in with the wrong crowd (hence the comment about his apparel).  Her friend suggested talking to the rabbi, which went over pretty well.  Honestly, they sounded so disappointed with the kid that I hope they manage to get him back on the right path, for their sake and his.

They also used the word “yenta”, which was thrilling.  I wanted to start gabbing with them, but I think they were secretly judging me on my capris.  Yes, they came just above the knee, but they’re Banana Republic, fancy, and certainly work appropriate.

The Scene: I just barely make the train, as I’ve never gotten on at that stop and wasn’t aware I’d already made it to the Brooklyn bound side of the platform.  Therefore, my choice of car and of seat were compromised by my desire to just hop on and go.  I sat between a sleeping man and a woman with both a stroller and a young girl.  The baby in the stroller was happily giggling as her mom dangled a big stuffed animal.  The little girl seemed pretty happy too.

Until the sippy cup fell on the floor.

It rolled by my feet, and I felt it was my civic duty to pick it up and hand it to the mother, so she didn’t have to get up to retrieve it.  For the record, I didn’t see where the fall originated, whether the baby was holding it, whether it was in the stroller, or whether the sister was in possession of it.  I got a big old “oh, thank you so much!” from the mother in a sincere tone.  She seemed grateful.

And then she proceeded to hit her daughter (the non-baby, the one sitting next to her), with said cup.  And it looked like she hit her pretty hard.  I didn’t understand how she went from sweetly thanking me to taking out her irrational anger about the sippy cup drop on her daughter.  The damn cup was empty anyway, the baby wasn’t going to be drinking from it!

She practically pushed her off the train at the next stop, but once again thanked me very nicely before she left.  I kind of just stared and nodded.

Ohhh, what a lovely evening on the 2 train.

In other subway woes, since I don’t ride the F train as frequently anymore, I trust my friend Clare to keep me posted.  Sure enough:

there was a guy smoking on the f train. f my life…literally.

Come on, F train, get some class!

Because now that I’ve moved, I’ve jumped in bed with the 4/5/6, and I miss you terribly.

I get on the 4/5 at a busy stop, and then I transfer to the 6 at a busy stop.  I haven’t sat down during my commute (morning or afternoon) in a week.  On several occasions I’ve been smashed up men and their junk.  I’ve been so close to puny high school boys and their earbud headphones that even if they’re listening to their music at a reasonable level, I’ve been forced to listen to Lady Marmalade. On repeat.  The F was relatively empty at both of my stops, I usually got a seat; sometimes next to a smelly patron or a crying baby, but it was still a seat.

The 4/5/6 is also significantly tighter.  This is because the numbered trains are the former IRT line, and their cars are about a foot shorter across, leaving me with a constant feeling of claustrophobia.  The lettered trains are former IND and BMT lines, and suddenly feel like spacious mansions.

My commute time is about ten minutes shorter, and my number of stops was cut from 19 to 11.  Perhaps my complaints are unwarranted, maybe I’m just a whiny bitch who needs something to be annoyed about.  But I don’t think so.  Now I’m simply another member of the “when is the 2nd avenue subway line opening?” bandwagon, hoping maybe that will remove some of the congestion on my train.  In fifteen years or so, when it actually happens.

Again, F train, I’m sorry.  Will you ever forgive me?

Yes, I’m bashing the goshdarn F train.  I, a stauch supporter of it.  I, the one that never minded it before.  Why?  Because I think every single freaking sick train passenger in the last three weeks has been on the F train.  I’ve almost been late to work three times, and I’ve had to reroute mid-commute twice.  On the way home I’ve gotten stuck on a few as well, including a momentous day when I was sitting at the Smith/9th street station for half an hour.  The doors were open, it was cold.

Why, subway system, have you forsaken me?  I had such faith, and now I am simply another in a myriad of skeptics.  I am hoping that my new express-to-work commute will restore my love, but I have my doubts.  Doubts!  Skepticism!  You heard right.

A few notes:

1. I’m adding the most wonderfully wonderful blog to my links, if you loved the Baby Sitters Club and have a sense of humor, check it out. http://www.whatclaudiawore.com/
2. I’m working on a foodie tumblr, because food is my first love at this point (well, behind health, family and boyfriend).  I’ll link to it when it’s set up.
3. In “there are some decent people left in this world” news, I overheard a man on the subway that I found truly inspiring, with a possible entry on him alone later to come.  Essentially, he has no family or children (not the inspiring part), but for the last ten months he has voluntarily been working 10 days and getting paid 9 every two weeks.  Why?  So that his small company didn’t have to lay off workers that do have families. Delightful.
4. The House of Seven Gables is a terribly long, dry book that I just cannot get through, and my “already read list” and its lack of headway recently is upsetting.

That got me to thinking about what colors might be part of a “subway set”.  You know, if you got a big old coloring book with pictures of the subway.  Not that this particular coloring book will ever be manufactured (if it was, no one would buy it), but it would require certain colors that just don’t come in a Crayola box, even the Big one.  Regardless, I sought to compile these colors.

Without further ado, the “Crayola Subway Collection”:

Ground Level Green – For those times in bad weather when you aren’t sure where the closest subway is, this warm green color is a welcome refuge from the rain.

tRusty Brown – If you’re coloring a picture of the subway and you take a close look at what those rails really look like.

Service Advisorange – When you’re trying to get somewhere on the weekend and you find out that you need to take three extra trains than you need to during the week.

Mellow Metro Yellow – The perfect color with which to swipe away $89 dollars a month before you know it.

I subscribe to these great websites in my RSS Reader, and get notices daily (or even more than once a day) about cheap things going on in the city:

• http://www.freenyc.net/
• http://www.nycrecessiondiary.com/
• http://www.nycdailydeals.com/

They alerted me to Starbucks’ Free Pastry Day.  A free pastry!  All you have to do is order a beverage!  Who can resist that?  Well, I can, because to be honest, I don’t care for Starbucks all that much.  I brew Starbucks at home, but I’m not a fan of their locations.  The artsy, free wifi, frothy beverage vibe isn’t one I need when I’m getting my medium (or “grande”) coffee, skim and no sugar.  I don’t like frills, and I don’t like waiting an hour for the frothy mega cappuccino head in front of me to place their order.

But I love pastries.

And so I found myself printing out the coupon and gathering up some dollar bills.  I had a little less than three dollars in my pocket, good enough for my tall coffee and of course, my free pastry.  I waltzed into the Starbucks closest to my job, and staring me in the face is their new Dark Cherry Mocha.  Damnit.

My resistance melted.  Caution to the wind!  Mocha?  I never order mochas.  But dark cherry, well, that’s another story.  Before I even realized what was happening, I’d ordered a small dark cherry mocha.  With whipped cream to boot!  I had to give them my name and wait a good five minutes for my beverage.  Despite my delicious cinnamon chip scone, I still spent more than $4.00 for my drink and pastry, and needed to whip out the debit card to cover it.

My plan had backfired, and their stupid free stuff campaign worked.  Not only did they get me in the store when I don’t care for their product, I spent more than I intended to, all for a freaking scone.  I felt like a failure.  The mocha was too sweet (what did I expect?).  And my $4something dollars couldn’t go to something more useful, like a student discounted cost of admission at the museum.

I’ve learned my lesson: free pastries be damned, from now on I’m sticking with my homemade coffee.  Or I’ll start using the Dunkin Donuts giftcard I got for my birthday.  That works too.

By zoning out, I don’t mean staring into the distance, or unconsciously gazing at the buff construction worker sitting across from me, I just tune everything out.  To me, my morning commute is the perfect time to get some reading done, and after a gift bag full of handsome volumes for my birthday, I have quite a few books to complete.  Recently I finished “The Edible Woman”, by Margaret Atwood.  It is one of those books that is so good it both inspires me to write again, and intimidates me because I know I’ll never write anything so complete.  It takes place in Canada in the 1960′s/1970′s, and it was the perfect distraction from the bums and bratty schoolkids I was riding with.  For that 40 minutes, I was Canadian, eh?  I know not everyone feels the way I do about reading, but to me, nothing makes a commute go faster than being transported to another century, another country, another person’s drama.

When I’m not up to my eyeballs in Canadian literature, I have my trust iPod by my side.  Normally I wear my earbuds regardless of whether I’m listening to music or not, but this morning I put it on and picked an artist I hadn’t listened to since high school, really: SR-71.  Boom, I was back in school.  The second song put me in ninth grade bio, to be exact.  The cute old Jewish man sitting down the aisle from me was no longer a cute old Jewish man, but my bio teacher, a ready-to-retire-so-I-don’t-give-a-damn kind of man.

I loved that class.  I don’t even speak to most of my classmates anymore, but this morning I felt like they were in the same subway car as me.  I daydreamed about the fetal pig we dissected (his name was Mofo), about how lucky we were that we didn’t have to watch The Miracle of Life like other classes, and how we watched World Cup matches instead of doing assignments.  Before I knew it I was at my stop and the doors opened to my redbrick station.  I had aged nine years by the time the automated voice informed me we were a Queensbound train.

So I guess that’s why I don’t mind the train all that much.  When else am I going to get an hour-long chunk of time to daydream, read, and ponder what might have been after high school?  If you’re reading this, dear Place of Employment, I don’t do that sort of zoning out at work, I promise.

The episodes in life that last so many years in memory are often measured in fleeting moments as they happen.
- Steve Summers, late Patriot News sportswriter

It’s been a long time since I sat and reflected on a quote I heard, probably since I had to write “critical lens” papers in high school.  I suppose a “long time” is relative, as I’ve only been out of high school for five years, but it seems so much longer.  I heard this quote yesterday during the USA/Canada hockey game, and I instantly had to search it to fine the exact lines.

I recently celebrated my sixth month anniversary of employment, and I can’t come close to fathoming that half a year has gone by.  It felt as if it took forever for me to get a job after graduation, but here I am six months later.  In the past six months, I’ve

• Gotten a job
• Moved to Brooklyn
• Applied for graduate school
• Gotten approved for my first credit card
• Received my own health insurance card
• Signed up for a gym membership
• Become fiscally independent (for the most part)
• Signed up for a retirement investment plan
• Gotten five vegetarian cookbooks to work my way through

How the hell did this happen?  In the blink of an eye, that’s how.  The only frame of reference in which this timeframe seems long is when it comes down to how much time I’ve spent on my darling little F train (and sometimes B,D,V,G,A,C,4,5,6).  I thought I’d never survive the ‘dark time’ (the three months between college and employment), and here I am, on my own two feet and somehow getting through it.

Yes, graduate school!  I’m trying to save up as much spare change as possible and seeing how much I can pay for with that.  Perhaps my library fee, perhaps a textbook, maybe just a handful of notebooks.  We’ll see.  If it works out, I’ll have a Masters by 2012.  From here that seems awfully far away, but I’m sure it will arrive before I even grasp it.  Except for all the commuting, of course.  That will seem like about ten years worth, by then.

Not a movie, just my trip on the F/C/4/6 lines this morning.

“Wait, Cindie, I’ve read your blog before, you’ve never come close to mentioning that you have to take four trains the morning.”  Precisely, astute reader, I don’t.  I take the F for a gajillion stops to reach my destination.  This morning, however, after crawling through the first four stops (including a precarious full stop for a good two minutes on the Culver Viaduct near Smith and 9^th), the omnipresent voice at Bergen St. announced that my F train would be going on the G line because of the ever popular “signal failure”, so I’d have to get off and transfer.

Excellent, because the F train is the only line that goes through my ultimate destination, I was going to have to think quickly to figure out the best way to get to work.  Which unfortunately resulted in the three transfers.  F to C, C to 4, 4 to 6.  During my first transfer I hardly put my feet on the ground, the crowd moved in a stampede to get to the other platform, and I’m sure that even the greatest crowd surfer in the world has hit the ground sooner than I did.  Moving from the C to the 4 was similar, but nothing could prepare me for the dreading Lexington Avenue line squeeze.

I know the 4/5/6 trains are unnaturally crowded.  I know that they’re the only subways serving the east side, I know that it’s not uncommon to have to wait for a 2^nd train because the first is too crowded.  In piling into the train, my foot was stepped on my a small child and said small child never noticed, so we went a few stops with our feet cemented together.  In case that wasn’t enough (I’m not the biggest fan of kids), each stop there was the token obnoxious man that could clearly see how crowded the train was but proceeded to yell loudly “move into the middle”.  A near riot broke out at the stop I disembarked at (for my 3^rd transfer), involving obnoxious man and a few of the more vocal patrons started arguing, the typical “well, where do you expect us to go?” banter.

One train to go.  I got on and I actually grabbed a seat, quite possibly the first time I sat down ever on the 6 train.  I watched two teenagers make eyes at each other from across the train, and then I watched the car fill up and their gazes broke.  The stop prior to my final destination the train was so crowded that the people getting out nearly didn’t make it, and I began to panic.  It was already 8:50, I had ten minutes to get out, walk a few blocks, and get to my office.  I couldn’t afford to get stuck on the damn 6 train.

Have I mentioned that I also have a backpack today, because I’m heading home to visit my parents?  In case all of this wasn’t enough.

I get out of the train at 8:53.  I just might make it!  I might!  I bolted past strollers and dogs, I believe I would have made my high school track team proud.  I nearly leapt from one sidewalk to the other as I crossed Lexington Avenue.  I walked into my office and looked at the clock on my desktop.

8:59AM.  Thanks freaking goodness.  And a happy Friday to you too, MTA, thanks for making my morning so interesting.

Okay, I’m exaggerating, but still.  I’m on the damn train for 19 stops, if I can’t get a seat, how can I call myself a tried and true straphanger?  Luckily, this rarely happens.  And so, in my infinite wisdom (again, exaggerating), I will share with you the surefire ways to get a seat on even the most crowded train.  Of course, some of these may only work if you are young, or a female, but it won’t hurt to try.

• Find a spot and stick with it.  If you’re in the same spot for a number of stops, the person you are standing in front of is likely to notice and feel some sympathy, so that when they do get up, they gesture at you specifically to take their seat.  You’ve earned it.
• Claim a space between a few people.  On the new subways this is more difficult, what with that “improved passenger flow”, but it works like a charm on the old ones.  Stand in the “L” of the subway seats, covering maximum opportunities.  That’s three seats, right there (maybe even four!) that you’re ready to pounce on when the moment is right.
• Stick near a duo, whether they are standing or sitting.  If they’re sitting, there is an increased chance they’ll leave together, doubling your chances at seatitude.  If they’re standing and only one seat opens up, neither one of them will want to be that person and sit whilst the other must remain standing.
• Keep an eye on accessories and clothing that give away a persons destination.  Those wearing gym clothes are probably not looking to travel an hour to their favorite gym, they’ll be picking somewhere close and they’ll be getting off soon.  If there is a student, there are certain stops with more popular schools.  And of course, if they’re in a Rangers jersey, they’re probably disembarking at Penn Station.
• Continuing the previous step, watch facial expressions and the “I’m almost there” prepwork that each subway rider does (whether they realize it or not!).  Eyes shift to figure out the best route to the door.  Newspapers shuffle.  Reading glasses are put away.  If you spot a cluster of these sorts of actions, ignore the cardinal rule of sticking in one spot and hustle your way over.
• Know your car!  The first and last car are both a blessing and a curse.  More people get on, more people get off.  If your destination station has multiple stairways, take advantage and more towards a more central car.
• Speaking of blessings and curses, one of the best places to be in a crowded car is near a mother and her young child.  It seems crazy, I know!  I suppose I should add the “well behaved” caveat to this.  When a mom gets on a subway, her primary goal becomes getting her child off at their stop in time, and making sure she holds their hand.  Because of this, mothers and children tend to get up from their seats a good minute or two before the doors even open, leaving you plenty of time to swoop in before those just getting on.
• When you’re already seated, assess those around you.  If you’re near a lot of men, feel free to look down and avoid eye contact with any new riders.  You are not obligated to give your seat up to an elderly person if there are (hopefully) chivalrous men around you.  However, all bets are off when it comes to pregnant women.

And there you go.  I hope you will now see getting a seat as a mission of utmost importance, and you’ll feel badly about yourself if you fail.  Of course, if I’m the one standing next to you, you should let me sit instead.