This morning

This morning as I was walking to the train I saw a mother with a double stroller and a man literally playing tug-of-war with a camera.  I thought it was domestic bickering until I got closer and heard,

WOMAN: Give it to me!
MAN: No!  There’s nothing on it!
WOMAN: I saw you taking pictures of my kids!
MAN: I was taking pictures of the street.
WOMAN: Why would you want a picture of the street?
MAN: I’m a photographer.
WOMAN: Then let me just make sure.  If you have any pictures of my kids, I’ll delete them.
MAN: Oh, come on, lady!  Let go!
WOMAN: Don’t make me call the police!

As much as I would have loved to lurk and see how that played out, I was late for work.

« »

I ran down into the subway station, where the downtown A train was being its typical batty self and sitting stalled on the track, empty.  I began my usual walk to the end of the platform and I noticed the conductor, still on the stalled train, making huge gestures with her arm.  As I neared her, I realized she was gesturing to me.  I walked to her window.

“First things first!” she snapped. “You really should not be listenin’ to your headphones while you’re out in the world.  It is incredibly dangerous.  You’re shut off from everything around you; you could be completely unaware of something goin’ on that could threaten your safety.”

She paused for effect, and I cobbled together a humble apology, shocked to have been so fully owned by an MTA employee, not to mention one that was delivering useful information as part of her smackdown. 

“I’ve been trying to get your attention,” she continued.

I didn’t mention that in eight years of New York living hers was the first plea for my particular attention made by any MTA employee and that was why I’d assumed her gestures were not meant for me.

“Downtown trains are on the uptown track,” she said breathlessly, tuckered out from speaking to me so severely.  I thanked her and she shrugged.  “Really need to put them headphones away,” she shouted as I walked away, slipping them back into my ears, because, honestly, if I’m going to die, the last thing I hear might as well be Gavin Creel singing.

« »

On the train I sat next to a man eating a bagel and reading Slaughterhouse Five for what I can only assume to be the first time, because he grew so excited to turn each page that he finally got cream cheese on my pants.