People Watching

I was all ready to bitch about the long list of subway rules and how they are ignored by riders. I was ready to complain about the sweltering sauna I would have stood in had the train not arrived just as I reached my space, before the 1 train unloaded its riders. But, that will wait for another day, when I have no interesting characters to share. Some days they just don't appear. Today I hit the jackpot.

A particularly well dressed man sat next to me on the downtown 2 train. Sniffing the air I kept smelling something that smelled like a barn. It was an odd smell, kind of like hay. Looking downwards, I noted his alligator shoes, grey lightweight wool dress pants. As the train left the station he jumped up from his seat a grabbed a fancy ballpoint pen that had fallen from someone's belongings. Holding the pen out to our fellow passengers with a questioning look he sat back down when no one claimed it and pushed the pen into his worn calfskin briefcase. I smelled the smell again and suddenly realized it was his hat that had gotten a bit wet. Atop his head was a Panama straw hat, or a pretty good fascimile of one.

"It's nice to get a good pen to write with. I collect them too," I spoke in a conspiratal voice.

"Yayah, Ah go to conferences and grab as mana as I can. Most of em just fall apart 'fore you can use them," his voice was a high bass, low alto, southern drawl. "Imagine that, fall apart 'fore ya use 'em," he drifted off.

Expecting a deep baritone, I looked at his face, a clipped mustache beneath a wide, flat nose upon which wire rimmed glasses were perched. "Planned obsolesence," I commented, "soon we may not even need pens the way technology is going with computers and all."

"Nah, we'll ahlwas need pens," he smiled and turned away.

I got off at my stop and pushed my way through the pokey walkers down to the 7 train. Two of my favorite characters were on the train. "Yessss," I thought to myself. "Haven't seen these guys in a while." I think they recognized me too, but we have never acknowledged each other.

The older guy reminds me of a toothless Popeye the Sailor man with a bushy blonde mustache and spiked hair. His jaw is always in motion kind of like my grandfather when his false teeth sat in the cup on his bedside, jutting forwards up over his top lip and then backwards. I try not to stare logging more details with each time I see him. His cohort sits across from him, nearly albino, but not quite. He has some pigment, and his eyes are blue. I used to think they were a couple, the old guy and the young guy because they had the feel of a comfortable pair of shoes between them. Looking closer, I noticed that the young guy really wasn't young, just seemed that way because of his pale complexion.

"She's horny on me again," the younger of the two said.

"Yeah, she's got it in for you I think."

The younger guy pulled out an IPod that got tangled in the chain he had attached to his belt buckle. Both men had identical chains making me think that they worked in heavy labor. Their work boots had given me that impression the first time I saw them. The IPod got tangled in the chain.

I watched him struggle to free it and suggested that he unplug the wire and pull it free.

"Smart woman you are," he said with a smile.

"Not so smart. Mine gets caught up a lot too. I always look for the easiest way to accompish anything and call it efficient!" "By the way, what do you do that you wear these chains?"

"Aw, he always looses his wallet and keys," the younger guy said.

"Yeah, see, I keep them all attached," as he pulled out a metal studded wallet. "Haven't lost a wallet in three years," he announced proudly.

Again, my conversation was stopped short as I arrived at my stop.

Walking up the stairs into Grand Central I heard the loud cries of a preacher woman, "Jesus saves you".

At the top of the stairs I heard the Friday violinist playing "All around the Mulberry Bush."

It's going to be a good day!

Invisible Illnesses

Sitting across from me on the #6 train was a woman (?) wearing a two toned black and blonde disheveled wig. It was on a little crooked, and her shaved scalp was revealed when she pushed it up. More curious than the wig was her actual gender. I surreptitiously looked at her trying to determine if she was really a she.  Was the wig an early attempt of a man in the throws of gender change?  Did I spy a bit of a mustache on the upper lip?  Her hands, manicured with unpolished tips were large and masculine.  Her bare legs suggested male muscles under the turquoise and black wrap dress that reminded me of a Diane VonFurstenburg I had once owned.

Then I remembered my friend Kiki, bald from chemotherapy for a brain tumor and others I have known who donned wigs to hide their naked crowns after chemo sessions.  Kiki had told me of the rudeness of bus riders grabbing a seat from under her as she tried to sit following a treatment.  How she had burst into tears before someone offered her a seat.  We acknowledge the elderly or physically infirm.  But, the invisible illnesses allude our kindness.  Today I will be kinder I tell myself as I leave my home and venture out to board public transportation.

Paws up: All-pet airline hits skies - Crain's New York Business

Paws up: All-pet airline hits skies - Crain's New York Business

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When I saw this, I just had to share it. In a time of economic downturn, when many of us are complaining about paying an extra 25 cents to ride the subway someone comes up with a plan to fly your pets around the country. An interesting business to start now, but pet lovers will do anything for their pets. Only in America!

Lemmings in Manhatten

Bounding down the stairs, happily listening to Jackson Brown on the I-Pod, I stopped short realizing that my timing was off. A #1 Train had just deposited its passengers, now standing five deep waiting for the Express. Grumbling to myself, I made my way down the platform to my usual space and waited as a #2 Express pulled into the station. Already crowded, the lemmings pushed on, their bodies hanging out of the train waiting for the doors to close and seal them in. Yes, I have now classified my fellow riders lemmings rather than roaches. Both creatures scurry, but lemmings are a more apt description...a group following without thought of their safety better describes the scene before me.

No big surprise that another #1 train pulled in and released another load, all scrambling to push themselves into the already packed car. Like a pack of lemmings with tunnel vision peering over the edge of a cliff, they were driven by some instinct to push their sweaty bodies onto the train. Had they only looked down the track and seen the lights of the next Express they could have spared themselves the indignity.

A few stragglers broke from the pack to wait along with me. They too spied the lights illuminating the dark tunnel. The #2 finally closed it doors, cementing the bodies together as they pressed against the steel doors. A nearly empy #3 slid into it's place with seats and standing room. I settled into a seat and breathed a sigh of relief. Ahhh, civilization. What a difference a minute makes!

Tattoo Art

I'm not a fan of tattoos normally. However, riding uptown on the 2 Train with this guy's arm in my face gave me an opportunity to appreciate the details of his tattoo. It reminded me of a fine pen and ink drawing. At first glance it appeared to be a topographical map laid out from his wrist stretching up under the sleeve of his tee-shirt. Upon closer inspection I realized that the rounded tentacles reaching from his elbow towards his wrist were filled with faces/skulls with open mouths. His forearm was a canvas of naked men, posed in Rodin's"Thinker" position, their muscles detailed so well that they looked real.

I found myself not wanting to stare, the train wasn't crowded enough for me not to be noticed, but wanting to ask him about the art. The detail was so fine that it required close inspection. I wondered how long it took to accomplish this, and how much pain had he endured...especially considering that his right arm was also tattooed, but in color. Hoping I run into him again so I can further scrutinize this fine piece of art!

Tricks of Nature

Remember those books divided into three sections so that you could flip the pages to put a pig's face with a horse's body? Kind of like the opening of "Ugly Betty" where they change the eyes and nose and mouth until they fit her face. I've been feeling like I'm looking at one of those books on the subway lately.

The other night I was riding home, looking at a pair of feet shod in what appeared to be men's shoes. The ankles were thick and hairy. The legs were covered in brown pants. Then my eyes rose to the waist. Thin and female! I looked up a little more, and saw that there were breasts and even higher, a beautiful face of a woman. She had square grey glasses perched upon a perky nose. Her mouth was wide and sensual. Her hair, chestnut and flowing to just above her shoulders. I looked down again, and sure enough, those masculine feet and hairy ankles belonged to that beautiful woman. Odd, I thought.

On another ride I noticed a woman who apparently had injured her foot. Two legs, but with different shoes. One, a plaid ballet flat, the other an open-toed sneaker. Amusing!

Reminds me of the time I had on two different shoes because I hadn't looked down when slipping them on under my desk. Fortunately I caught myself before anyone say them! Just a little fun on the trains to pass the time.

Daily Rituals

There is something very intimate and, nearly erotic about watching a man tie his tie. Almost illicit, particularly when it is happening right before your eyes, and the individual is rather attractive...tall, with dark sandy hair short in the back, but fuller over his piercing blue eyes. I felt as though I were in his bedroom, standing behind him as he crossed the ends of the chianti-colored tie with his long, thin fingers and knotted it. I wasn't in his bedroom, we were on the #2 train heading into Times Square. His mirror was the subway window and he appeared lost in thought as performed what was probably a week-day ritual. Who knows why he left his apartment with this final detail undone. Had this rainy day inspired him to sleep in, not wanting to leave the comfort of his covers? One can only imagine!