Three-Way Comparison

After a closer examination of the 7 train and the 6, today’s study in subway demographics looks at the F-train, 8:43am, Roosevelt Station.

It was a cold walk from my son’s school after dropping him off. I was chilled but glad to be below ground where the wind couldn’t get to me.

After the 6 on the Upper East Side and the 7 train from Flushing it was good to be back on the old familiar orange bomber. The doors opened and I wedged my way in. I lost my position near the door as others pushed me further inward just as the doors closed.

“Sorry,” I repeated to two or three people I pushed into. I couldn’t reach the poles to front or back so I had to go with the overhead ceiling grip – never a good choice on the F – but sometimes you just gotta hold where you can.

Here’s what surrounded me.

There were 92 people in the car with me. I may have missed the exact number by ten one way or the other. There were 35 people in my third of the car. That I’m pretty sure of. I had my notebook and pen handy and scribbled fast at each of the stops.

Six people were reading papers: Two the Metro, two the New York Post, and two I couldn’t tell because my armpit blocked the view. There was one hardcover book, title unknown, and two small black-covered bibles – pretty sure they were in English.

With the cold there were some wool coats, mostly navy and a few black and white herringbone. Two had their creases pressed and I saw cat or dog hair on one woman’s coat next to me. Otherwise the car was filled with parkas, jackets, sweat jackets, some hoodies and puffy down vests. We were exploding in muted winter colors.

Four people that I could see were sleeping. One had his mouth wide open.

Most of the folks on the train were black, Latino, Indian or and Asian. There were two Caucasians – one of which was me.

Nobody had coffee. Maybe it was just too crowded. One woman ate a jelly and toast sandwich.

I saw one briefcase and lots of backpacks.

At Lexington a quarter of the passengers got off. A woman dropped her scarf and a man, watching from his post by the door, leaned forward to help her. You could tell he wasn’t sure what to do because he hesitated a moment before he decided to help, and when he leaned forward he watched to see if she would wave him off. She did.

“I’ve got it,” she said, and he straightened up. She smiled at him and he smiled back. I was impressed. Then he got off at the next stop.

Most of those passengers still riding by 23rd Street, got off there with me. We herded ourselves through the turnstiles and up to 6th Avenue. The wind met us heading up the Northeast stairs. Funny, but nobody goes up the Northwest stairs - nobody. We’re always packed on the Northeast stairs, heads down, bumper to bumper, cursing anybody coming down against the current.

I wonder why.