The middle-aged couple strolling hand-in-hand down the ramp to Track 108 yesterday.
It was 5:45 and the 5:46 was itching to head to points north.
The ramp was jammed, trains on both Track 107 and 108 receiving passengers.
At the front of the jam were you too, walking lovey-doveily down the ramp, your hands linked, your arms an impenetrable wall for all the commuters hustling to catch trains behind you.
Don’t get me wrong, folks. I’m glad to see you’re so deeply in love. Especially at…let’s just say it…your advanced age. It’s encouraging. It’s good to see.
But there’s a place for holding hands: Walks on Caribbean beaches come to mind, as do Cialis commercials.
But not on the ramp heading down to a train in Grand Central!
First off all, it’s the second least romantic spot in the world, ahead of only a ramp heading down to a track in Penn Station.
Second of all, you’ve got people behind you, lovebirds. Break your grasp, and make your way down the ramp in as little time as possible, occupying as little ramp real estate as possible, just like the rest of us.
You’ve got the whole next 45 minutes or an hour to hold hands, sit on each other’s laps, coo sweet nothings, and feed each other nearly over-ripe strawberries in the relative comfort of a Metro-North train.
Save the public displays of affection for when you get on board.
Just no smooching in front of me, please.
Frustratedly,
Trainjotting
[image: kcantinmft.com]