I made my way to Grand Central yesterday evening, filled with the early-January lament when one realizes the holidays are over, spring is not for several months, St. Patrick’s Day is no longer fun for people of a certain age, and, in short, there’s really nothing to look forward to for the foreseeable future.
Hammering home the notion is the fact that cheery holiday decorations have been replaced by spent Christmas trees on the sidewalk–greenery that’s been, quite literally, kicked to the curb.
I negotiated my way around the discarded flora and hopped on the 5:46 at 5:45:30. I headed for the very back of the train, where I figured I had a better chance of scoring a seat.
The train was packed, as only a Monday train following a long holiday seconds before departure can be. The second to last car was jammed, I prepared to scoot through the door to the caboose. I waited for a man to pass through, a square-shouldered fellow with a dark buzz cut flecked with gray. He mumbled some negativity to himself, which I took to mean the rear car was seatless too.
I contemplated sitting on the floor by the side doors, as I occasionally do when the train is full and my pants are more than five years old. But my trousers were gray and relatively new, so I decided to stand.
On a whim, I figured I’d walk through a few cars toward the front, see if I could find something along the aisle up that way.
I’d just about passed through an entire car when I saw an open 1-3/4 seater, the Red Ryder carbine-action 200-shot Range Model of train seats. I figured it must be locked in an upright position, as many are so conductors can use the space to peer out the window. I can’t think of the last time I scored a 1 3/4 seater on a trip out of Grand Central.
I nudged it. The seat fell into a downright position. How had this coup de grace seat, this $100 bill in the middle of the sidewalk, gone unclaimed on a packed train?
My gloomy perspective changed as I took in our departure from the comfort of my sweet seat. Nothing to look forward to? Not hardly. By my back of the envelope calculations, it’s only a few weeks before we’ll actually see a hint of the fading sun when we leave work for the day.
I can live with that.