A Dark and Stormy Morning Commute

I forced myself to catch a particularly early train at 6:35 AM this morning.  I had no sleep, as the anxiety that came with the fear of missing the early train, kept me awake all night.  The boss is flying in from Silicon Valley to be with us in the Alley this morning.  I need to be sure to be the first one there.  After a few quad venti vanilla lattes, I should be sharp as a tack.  I went through a great deal of trouble to get to the train station that is actually further from my home.  It is earlier and ensures a proper seat.  It’s still dark outside.  I feel like I swallowed a bottle of Nyquil.  I board and instinctively walk until I reach the hind car and sit in by a window in a three-seater midway down the car.  This guy gets on at the next stop and walks past 16 rows of empty seats to sit directly behind me.  

These fellow passengers of ours are the most aggressive, ignorant, self-centered, mean-spirited, passionate, poorly educated, mindless beasts of the outer field that you will ever encounter on this Earth.  Do you expect them to fall in line behind whom ever is there first?  The only good thing about rainy days is the necessity of carrying my umbrella, which I use to shepherd the herd and instruct on the rules of single file cues.

After a long 14-hour day enduring superficial, self-conscious, surface level conversations & narcissistic projections, it is time to speed walk at break ankle speed and navigate my way through the subway system.  The redline trains aka the 2 & 3  are by far the most ridiculously packed, unruly, filthy and overused subway trains...even during off peak hours.  I take the subway to get to Penn Station where millions of people run like a scene out of the movie ‘300’ in opposing directions.  

This evening resulted in a hellish 4 hour commute through Hoboken via a stalled train backed into Newark. I really can't believe the nerve of some of my fellow humans who thought they were going to maneuver past my broad shoulders and elbows after I was standing there waiting for a PATH train for a good hour before they had even arrived.

I leave you with a quote that speaks to the issues that plague my daily journeys.  It's from a distinguished and learned man who would have empathized with my plight.

‎"For a deeply sensitive man of our own class and standing, life is often made difficult by the commonness, the coarseness, the vulgarity of much that confronts us. A sensitive man suffers under unpleasant influences playing upon him." ~The Rt. Rev. Dr. Sir Wedgewood (Knight of Saint John of Rhodes and Malta, Arch Bishop in the Old Catholic Church)

If they don't exit at SEC, they'll get off at Bloomfield

These two ladies, one with a horrendous laugh, just threw themselves into a seat behind me on a 5:45 pm rush hour train from Penn Station NYC to New Jersey.  Out of all the trains running during peak hours, this is by far the most crowded and most aggressive time slot.  You can see the way the men circle and pace between monitors, positioning themselves by doors, relying upon senses of psychometry to reveal to them which track their train might be coming on so that they can lunge forward, backpacks and messenger bags in tow, hoping to get any obtainable advantage over the other commuters that physics might allow for. 

Now these two got on relatively early, as the trains board 10-9 minutes early, and there was still 5 minutes left of boarding time.  They were just tickled with themselves about how seamlessly they arrived on the train.  They had apparently expected a much greater ordeal.  I was cringing inside, partly because their banter and that horrendous laugh was putting my human patience to the test as I was already engulfed (or trying to be) in my reading materials for the trip home, and partly because I was anticipating with some anxiety, the inevitable backlash that their giggles and incomplete sentences would inevitably solicit from the crowd of regulars in the front car, one of two designated and self policed “quiet cars” on the line. 

After making the required stop at Secaucus, the underclass of Bergen County began to exit from their standing positions in the aisles, brown bagged beers in hand...and a few of them climbed suddenly and forcefully from their middle seats claimed just 4 minutes prior.  You see, Secaucus riders indiscriminately board the first train they see with SEC next to it, as this designates a train that makes that stop as opposed to EWR for Newark Penn Station.  Predictably, Laverne and Shirley both exited at Bloomfield with their New Jersey Italian American Urban accents and endless banter.

Anytime you see the guys with the brown bag cans of Bud Light, they are getting off at Secaucus.  You can put money on it.  Occasionally they might ride as far as Newark Broad in order to transfer to the Morris-Essex or the Summit/New Providence/Dover line, but 98% of the time that guy is getting off at Secaucus.  I don't know what it is about the Bergen/Port Jervis commuter, but they are an entirely different breed from the more cultured and IMHO more civil found in my own town.

The Lethargic Conductor Lays His Game Down in the Quiet Car

The train pulled into Bloomfield this morning, and the Kleenex rituals began. Synchronized sneezes and productive coughs rang out from every other seat. Could these selfish beasts not take a sick day or work from home? 

The consistently rude, disengaged and lethargic conductor kicked us out of the front car just now. All the cars on the train are packed, but never mind that.  He's got some ladies he needs to lay his game on. Priorities, man!  

Can someone please explain to me why both the A/C and the heat are on? Only in a NJ Transit Bizzaro World is this possible.  It gets better.  Today, we are left to enforce quiet car rules on our own, despite the highly delicate atmosphere of class warfare that such a thing entails in such an economically diverse area.  Today's skies should be sunny with a slight chance of aggravated assault.  

Nose Blowers on NJ TRANSIT trains

Just once, I would like to ride to work on the train without the persons beside me and directly behind me, blowing their nose. I changed seats the other morning solely to get away from a man who clearly had nasal issues...only to be caught between two people equipped with custom tissues, viral respiratory infections and a total disregard for their fellow man.  If only these nose blowers were arrested and codes of basic decency were enforced with some regularity.  Last week, I was the first to board, thanks to my Clever Commute application on my Android phone.  But, invariably the train filled, and a fellow sat in front of me.  Just then, he and the chap who had just dead dropped into the seat to my left (an incredibly inconsiderate and selfish action that can cause one to drop their coffee all over their shirt or worse go into cardiac arrest), proceeded into an obscene and unsanitary round robin of automatic sneezes without the slightest attempt to cover, stifle or suppress the same.

Commuting into New York City has developed into a neurotic obsession with preventing or dreading becoming ill, though I have not had so much as a sniffle in over two years.  This is owed mostly to my hyper awareness and ability to work from home when the proles in the receivables department start turning up as martyrs in their cube farm with the latest bar cough.  

I fault my own mother for not raising me to know this ritual that every other American commuter in the hellhole of Penn Station appears to be so intimately acquainted, whereby as soon as one sits down in their seat they must immediately draw a tissue & begin to blow their nose forcefully. The true Masters of this Rite are able to summon a contagious cough to follow year round.

Most men in this country appear to be in dire need of a visit to the Ear, Nose & Throat Doctor. I do not at all relate to nor understand the constant phlegm snorting and spitting. I find it revolting.  Sure...sit down next to me, pull out a full meal and share it via your mouth breathing. Now...you blow your nose with your napkin to signify you are finished.

Navigating the Subterranean Passages of NY PENN Station

Last week I had this lady with a travel desk, with a full crochet kit, a 22oz of malt liquor and #4 sub from the local deli with all the onions and vinegar you ever wanted.  I was hoping she would be getting off at Secaucus, but she ended up trekking it all the way to Watsessing Avenue where so many of the eyesores seem to dwell.  At least it wasn't August, because these people will board the train and commence to devour a chicken caesar wrap on a standing room only train home in 112 degree heat.

I used to commute from the 7th ave side and ride the rear of the train, but now I go with the 8th ave downstairs and get on the very front.  Inevitably it is always unbelievably hot.  NJTransit tells me that this is because it is Amtrak's property and there is some sort of antagonistic relationship between the two entities.  I use all sorts of Special Forces tactics and clever commuting skills to be the first person on the front quiet car for the 6:10 (formerly the 6:08 and before that, the 6:18) to Montclair, and still - no matter what seat I choose on the empty car, I inevitably end up putting up with all kinds of bizarre behavior.  Last week I ended up with a guy in front of me, one guy directly behind me and another to my left.  As soon as we pulled out and into the tunnel, they began some sick form of synchronized sneezing.  The guy behind me actually coated my right cheek with liquid matter from his mouth and nose.  There is no law in NY or NJ that would allow me to defend myself or to carry out a just and proper punishment on the spot, so I just pulled out the hand sanitizer and wiped my face liberally while breathing through my shirt.

As Dane Cook once highlighted, these people make absolutely no effort to contain, restrain, stifle or suppress their sneeze.  They let it go full blast, but this is the general group thought that really wears on me about this area.  It is a reflection of their general lack of concern for others and how what they are doing affects others.  There is no empathy.  All you have to do is examine the parking game played in the more urban districts of New Jersey and certainly in NYC.  The parallel parking phenomenon is something I used to document.  I once witnessed an entire family of people climb out of a Jeep Cherokee to try and help direct the act, just as I have witnessed large overly extended work vans (the type used by churches to transport parishioners and alternately by contractors to transport equipment) ram themselves into spaces not fit for a bicycle, all at the expense of the luxury cars parked near enough to one another to provide the owners with some degree of comfort and far enough apart to enable either party to pull out without inflicting damage to either vehicle.

Have you ever experienced the late train home, possibly on a Thursday night?  Those are always fun.  That's when the cheesesteaks and chinese food platters come out in full force.

NJ Transit Train Commute: I've never seen so many sickly custodians of germs in my life

I was forced to mingle with the commoners and Klingons on the train today.  I forgot how sickly the general populace is year round, even in the midst of the dog days of Summer!  Once the train leaves my town and arrives in the buffer zone, here come all of the martyrs with their ongoing cell phone conversations, their Dre Beats and their contagion.  How quickly I had forgotten in my time away from the savages (worked from home for the past month) that the entire population here is congested and infected with extreme, respiratory infection year round.  After positioning myself in a window seat in the middle of an empty car, I had to give up my seat and change cars twice in order to escape the productive coughs, extreme sniffle snorts (a grown man wiping his nasal drip with his fingers) and the sneezes.

I grabbed a seat, and it was to be my final option, as we were arriving at the next stop, and the people were already beginning to find their standing room only positions.  Just then, I became unsettled as the person who promptly sky dived (I make a conscious effort to ease into a seat so as not to jostle those already seated or otherwise send them into a trampoline-like projection) into the seat next to me.  With one swift motion, he reached for a snot rag in his pocket, and in the process he elbowed the lady standing in the aisle with the fold-up bike.  I felt a rage coming on.  I raised myself up and began asking those already seated to declare their intentions as regards to their possible participation in the performance of the barbaric rites of the Kleenex ritual being led by the inconsiderate sociopath next to me.

What's the provenance of this tissue ritual?  As soon as they board and sit down, out comes the snot rag.  It was only a matter of time, as I have been literally inundated with coughing, sneezing, nose blowing ritualists on the train to and from work.  There is an Asian woman in my office who is still hacking from an infection she came down with in August of last year!  Today, I was in meetings with sick people at work, even in the coffee shop - someone behind me started blowing their nose.  I'm sorry, but there is something terribly wrong with you if you have to blow your nose like that in July in Manhattan.  You need to be in an ICU with close supervision, not expelling infections over my shoulder for my consumption.

In the Garden State, the spitefully sick savages who think nothing of boarding a public train and sitting in close proximity to others, display this sort of uncouth selfishness in other areas of their life as well.  This becomes especially apparent on the road when they run stop signs or intentionally accelerate sideways san blinker in hopes of sliding their car right through your loved ones, they spitefully walk down the middle of the stairs so as to impede foot traffic to board the train where they force out their coughs upon the innocent and round robin the God-fearing with their orchestrated sneeze attacks accompanied by their all weather, year-round nose blowing rites.  These are the residents of New Jersey.  Perhaps it's a result of so many towns being constructed upon superfund sites and old Army barracks/ammo dumps.

I have vented similar accounts via countless micro blogs, posts and rants on Facebook, but I usually end up deleting them.  The reason is that Facebook inevitably creates an awkward interaction where associates on the fringe of one's life are positioned to peer into every familial moment and privy to everything you type.  So often I have people who I begrudgingly friend after staring at their friend requests for 6 months, only to have them become judgmental from their armchair in Colorado or Nebraska somewhere, as if we go way back.  It is bad enough when someone does not personally know you, but when they have not experienced the stress of the gritty rustbelt commute back and forth between New Jersey and New York City and all the potential pitfalls that lurk at every corner, then they really need to just fall back. 

I do believe that much of this can be attributed to socioeconomics.  The more proletarian the populace is in a municipality, the more likely they are to exhibit these sorts of unsociable characteristics.  That's not to say that with all of the new money floating around in the form of concrete rubble companies, startups and hedge firms that you won't find this sort of behavior amongst some of the newer upper middle class communities.  But, let's look at a place like Bloomfield in Essex County.  As soon as the Manhattan-bound Montclair train pulls out of the Glen Ridge station at Ridgewood Avenue, everyone is bracing themselves for the onslaught of people boarding while continuing a conversation that they intend to last all the way into Manhattan, the Dr. Dre headphones blaring, the extremely obese guy with the wet hair, the lady who combs her Marlboro smoke infused hair balls into the aisle.  And, everyone in Bloomfield seems to have the Bubonic all year round.  No worries though, they'll be tapping you for that middle seat and then look at me annoyed when my shoulders don't magically fold up to make way for them.