From June 29, 2009
The woman who muttered a sarcastic “thank you” to my back after I cut her off at the 28th Street stop this morning.
First off, Ma’am, I don’t think I was really, truly in the wrong.
It’s the slow approach to the two revolving doors under the 6 train’s special 28th Street entrance/exit that lets out at 25th and Park.
I’ve written about this unique spot before. Dozens of commuters stagger toward a pair of antiquated revolving doors. Why people need to exit through revolving doors as opposed to, say, I don’t know, maybe a wide-open corridor, is beyond me. I assume it has something to do with the Met Life building being on some list of historic places, so everything that’s under its roof is exempt from being knocked down.
The egression congestion problem was never more acute than a few weeks back, when one revolving door was broken, so the whole of the 6 train exiting at that spot had to file through a lone revolving door. Thank you, preservationists of New York City.
Anyway, the spot offers an interesting snapshot of New York mass transit protocol. A pair of informal lines develop before the revolving doors, but since they’re not official lines, people sneak up the side of them and cut.
Which is what you were doing at 9:35 this morning, Ma’am. I saw you out of the corner of my eye, sneaking up the eastern flank or the revolving door on the right. I know from experience that eastern flank sneakers are easy to thwart, as one enters the revolving door from the western flank. One has to be extra-crafty to sneak up on the right, and still get in the door before the rest of the line.
You–a 40something black woman, short gray hair–were not quite crafty enough. You tried to sneak in, but I got my big dopey body in first. I’m not sure how it looked to the 60-odd people behind us–who they would find as the offending party, or if they would even notice at all.
Ma’am, I did make an extra effort to get in the door before you, and probably was seen by some (albeit those with a blind eye to etiquette) as an overly aggressive thug. About that I’m not particularly proud. But it was merely a response to your offending action; you were offsides, and then fair game for such malfeasance. If you venture into the goalie’s crease, Ma’am, you really can’t complain about an abrupt hip check.
You did not go quietly in my wake, Ma’am. No, after I’d clearly gotten my frame into the the next available Trivial Pursuit slice of the revolving door, you muttered a sarcastic “Thank you” into my back. I’d received no small degree of sunburn on my (previously) pale Irish neck over the weekend (so much for the Curse of Ezekiel Marcus!), and could feel your words burn into my sensitive nape.
I’ve learned from my actions, Ma’am. Perhaps I’ll be less aggressive in penalizing the improper behavior of others; surely that’s a Sysyphean task in a metropolis such as ours.
Hopefully you’ll learn too–to take your rightful place in the informal line, or at least keep the sarcastic barbs nestled behind your lips when someone calls you on your breach of subway etiquette.
Sort of apologetically but mostly not,
Trainjotting
UPDATE: To show that I’m a changed man from the experience, I just five minutes ago held open the door for three people behind me as I approached Gregory’s for some coffee, even though I knew that would place me behind them on line. I only cut ahead of them when they were dawdling inside the store while discussing Hoboken.