Interesting story in the NY Times on a New Jersey commuter bus line that forbids cellphones except for emergencies–and actually enforces the policy.

Mike Richard writes:

The New Jersey commuter bus heading to New York City last week rolled to a stop on the side of the highway. The morning holdup was caused by a passenger who was talking on her cellphone.

“I’ve got all day, ma’am; I’ll wait till you’re done,” the driver announced into his microphone, with the bus idling, about a half-hour from the Lincoln Tunnel.

As we post this, there are no less than 85 comments from readers, the large majority who find cellphone blabbers on public transportation a nuisance–or worse.

Metro-North refuses to do no-cellphone cars because that would presumably prevent some people from getting a seat, and the railroad has a strict all-seats-for-everyone policy. It also claims some very loopy First Amendment reasons.

Here’s a delightful comment from a Metro-North rider. I think we all know this guy.

I ride Metro-North and every once in a while you get the obnoxious cell phone. Well I had one sitting next to me discussing some very important investment research. It must have been really critical because it was the Friday before Labor Day weekend and the information of course would be acted upon immediately. Since he was talking very loudly with a hint of sycophancy I believe that it must have been his boss.

What ended up happening was since he was so intent on getting this vital information to his boss very loudly that when we got to his station he forgot the very nice bouquet of roses he bought (presumably) for his wife. Probably as a make-peace because he spends a lot of time on his cell phone discussing investment research very loudly at home as well.

Needless to say my wife & daughter were very grateful for the lovely bouquet. So thank you very loud cellphone user guy!

A drop of water falls with the sound of broken glass.

On the downtown F train I look up from my copy of Please Kill Me, now with a wet splotch on page 338. Three white hipsters stand over me. The tallest, with strings of carrot-orange hair, is also the sweatiest. I wonder if it isn’t a drop of water but a drop of sweat. And that one drop brings what happened tonight back in a flood of anxiety. I’ve been trying to forget it, burying my mind in the oral history of punk rock, but it’s no use. This annoyance pokes at some very raw nerves.

I’m alive and grateful to be alive. But I also feel like I’m standing on a tree trunk five hundred feet in the air.

I’d gone to see a movie at Lincoln Center with my friend Brian, then to a Starbucks on the corner of 63rd and Broadway. Brian, who had his back to the wall, asked me what I thought of the movie. As I started to answer, a hollow, metallic-sounding BAP! came from outside. I looked over my shoulder and heard—and felt—a thunderous crash.

Terrorism, I thought. A bomb. Go home to your wife and son.

Yet my eyes did not see fire and smoke. They saw a black Mercedes-Benz careening through the façade. Glass fell straight down in rainy beads. I shook in place. The store burglar alarm sounded, unendingly, as exhaust fumes overtook the coffee aroma. The car was halfway in and out of the Starbucks. Running, but stopped. Where we’d been standing in line not five minutes before.

Brian and I scrambled out the nearest exit to the sidewalk. A taxicab with a mashed-in front fender was idling in the middle of Broadway. It looked as though the vehicles had pinballed off one another, ricocheting the Mercedes backward into the Starbucks. I steadied myself and dialed 911. All circuits—you guessed it—busy. Maybe the 50-odd others gathering on the scene were also calling for help. I was nervous and scared, but also feeling my adrenaline spike.

A blonde emerged from the Mercedes, followed by her little girl. Both looked like zombies, yet neither seemed injured. Sirens joined the din of the alarm and the chatter, as two paramedic vans zigzagged to the corner. Four paramedics hopped out, hustled over and yelled for us to make way. They examined the mother and daughter—

And then a high-pitched scream came from inside Starbucks. An Asian woman visible through the hole in the store was pushing at her cheeks with her palms and staring at the floor. One paramedic went in and immediately brought an Asian man into a chair, wrapping his head in mummy gauze. The man was stunned but conscious. Apparently, he’d been strolling down the sidewalk with his girlfriend when the force of the Mercedes batted him inside.

Another woman screamed: “Somebody help me!” This one was sitting in the backseat of the taxi with a face so bloodied, it looked as if she’d slammed her face against the Plexiglas divider and broken her nose. “There’s a woman over there who needs help!” I cried, pointing into the street. A paramedic hurriedly threaded through the crowd to tend to her and to the cabbie. I was heartened that New Yorkers had acted against type and wanted to help. But the crowd was threatening to become its own hazard. “Let’s get out of here,” I told Brian.

Grinning with sheepish relief, we marched down Broadway, deciding Columbus Circle was far enough away to catch up—and to catch our breath. After going over what the hell had just happened, we went back to talking about happier things: the movie, his engagement news, my experiences as a new father. The night was summer perfection, too: hot but breezy. An hour later, we said good night and took different subway lines home.

So now I’m on the F train. Still looking at the drop of water on the page of my book. I gaze up at the tall, carrot-topped hipster. “Sorry,” he says when we make eye contact.

I realize he’s holding a dewy bottle of some kind of energy drink. The not-inexcusable offense of sweating down on a fellow subway rider could have set me off and made me lose it. But the drop isn’t even sweat. It’s water. I must relax. Still, I want a drink or a cigarette. Or better yet, a drink and a cigarette.

Tonight I’ll forego both. I’ll take the comfort of the F, rocking like a cradle, delivering me to the sanctuary I call home.

For more on this incident, including photos, go to
http://gothamist.com/2008/07/11/car_swerves_into_starbucks_near_lin.php?gallery7123Pic=1#gallery

Oddly enough, Moses was on the 5:46 to Mount Kisco last night. He left these behind…which, come to think of it, is a transgression of Commandment #4.

1. Thou shalt leave the seat next to thou unadorned with books and bags until the train starts moving, thus making it available for fellow riders. Once the train starts moving, it’s OK to put thou’s crap there.

2. Thou shalt not stare at thou’s mobile device and impede the progress of the group while walking to and from the train.

3. Thou shalt emphasis the “personal” in personal music devices by keeping thou’s iPod volume at a reasonable level. Thou may enjoy Insane Clown Posse. We, however, do not.

4. Thou shalt dispose of thou’s garbage, be it beer cans, coffee cups or newspapers. C’mon, folks, this isn’t Shea Stadium.

5. Thou shalt not engage in personal grooming activities, such as flossing and nose-hair trimming, on the train. Applying makeup is OK, I guess.

6. Thou shalt not place soaking wet umbrellas and raincoats in the overhead rack so that they drip on fellow riders’ heads.

7. Thou shalt not snore. We’ll affix a Breathe-Rite strip to thine nose if we have to. Don’t think we won’t.

8. Thou shalt use thy cellphone only for essential calls, and only then with thou’s inside voice. Thou shalt not pore through thine phone book looking for people to call to kill time. Uh, read or something. There are plenty of free papers out there.

9. Thou shalt have thy ticket ready for the conductor. Imagine thou is the conductor. How frustrated would thou be to have to wait for someone to fish their ticket or pass from their pocket? Thou knows the guy is coming.

10. Thou shalt not let thy leg, shoulder or elbow cross the invisible line in between seats. Unless, of course, thou is particularly large, in which case thou should drive.

[The Commuter’s Ten Commandments originally ran in June.]

[photos: Jesuswalk.com, Ithinked.com, blog61.fc.2.com, geocities.com, alibaba.com]

The minute-by-minute breakdown of how the man across the aisle from me on the 6:59 spent his 33 minutes on the train.

7:01 Makes cellphone call, tells pal “I can get to White Plains in 23 minutes.” Accent hard to place, perhaps French. Pink shirt, blond hair, 45.

7:02 Loses call as the train takes off.

7:03 Stares at phone.

7:04 Takes Blackberry out of worn leather briefcase, stares at it.

7:05 Stares at both devices side by side.

7:05 Takes cash out of pocket, buys ticket.  

7:06 Stares at Blackberry.

7:07 Taps email into Blackberry.

7:08 Stares at cellphone longingly. Desperately wishes for service.

7:08 This is kind of weird. I’d been listing to the album “Pressure Chief” on my iPod. The second track comes on. It’s called, fittingly, “No Phone”.

Sample lyrics:

No phone No phone I just want to be alone today
No phone no phone
Ringing stinging
Jerking like a nervous bird
Rattling up against his cage 

7:08 Has reception, makes call. Tells pal “I left at 6:59, or maybe 6:58, and I’ll be in White Plains at 7:23.”

[Editor’s Note: He’s wrong. He gets in at 7:30.]

7:10 Hangs up phone.

7:11 Dials Blackberry

7:11:30 Stares at Blackberry, places it to ear. Checks voicemail.

7:12 “No Phone” ends.

7:13 Hangs up Blackberry.

7:14 Pulls out cellphone, tells pal, “We left at 6:59. Or 6:58.”

7:15 Checks email on Blackberry while on cell with pal.

7:17 Puts Blackberry in briefcase on seat next to him.

Over/Under on Blackbery staying in briefcase: two minutes.

7:18 Takes Blackberry out. Still on cellphone. 

7:18:30 Puts Blackberry back in briefcase.

Over/Under 1 minute.

7:19 Hangs up cell. Punches in new numbers.

7:20 Hangs up cell again.

7:20:30 Stares at cell, contemplating next move.

7:21 Makes call on cell.

7:21 Blackberry comes out. Left hand holds Blackberry, right hand holds cell.

7:22 Hangs up cell. Calls Blackberry. No answer.

7:23 Sends email on Blackberry.

7:24 Holds Blackberry and cell side by side. Seems to be thinking, if I were trapped on a desert island with only one of you, which would it be? Appears pained by the thought. Cheers visibly after reminding self it was only a hypothetical question.

7:26 Puts Blackberry away

7:27 Puts cellphone away

7:28 Fidgets: Strokes chin, runs fingers through blond hair, using window as a mirror. Straightens tie.

7:30 Takes cellphone out of bag, stares at.

7:31 Stands up, puts coat on, raises collar.

7:32 Exits at White Plains.

CHATTERBLOX: CHAT urr BLOKS \noun\: The act of covering one’s mouth with one’s hand while speaking on the cellphone on a crowded train.

Usage: I was getting the stink-eye from my fellow riders on the 5:46 to North White Plains while talking to my boss on the cell, so I threw up the chatterblox and everything was cool.

HAT&T TRICK: \HAT trikk alt. HAH tee nn tee trick\ noun: Getting three cellphone calls over the course of a single ride on the train.

Usage: This doofus next to me on the train from Dobbs Ferry scored the HAT&T Trick before we were even out of Yonkers.

Subway stations will be wired for cellphone use in the coming years, but the actual trains will not. The Metropolitan Transit Authority sold the job to Transit Wireless for almost $47 million, and the wiring will begin at six stations in two years. Over the course of the next decade, all 277 stations in the system will be wired for cell use.

Oddly, there appears to be a lower-west-side bias to the initial recipients of the wiring. The first six stations to get hooked up will be 23rd and 8th, 14th and 8th, 14th and 7th, 14th and 6th, and then both 8th Ave. and 6th Ave. on the L line.

The lack of communication during the recent subway flooding debacle precipitated, so to speak, the MTA’s decision.

Straphangers’ reactions were mixed in the local media. “I think it’s going to be more stressful, especially in the morning when you’re just trying to get with it,” 7 rider Ellie Rodriguez told AM NY. “People don’t have a concept of manners or rudeness when it comes to cell phones.”

MTA chairman Peter Kalikow, meanwhile, told the NY Times the “inconvenience quotient” would be low, as you can (almost) always scuttle off to a different part of the platform.

“Inconvenience quotient.” I like that. I may just take a moment to see how all the people, places and things in my life rank in terms of my inconvenience quotient.

Odd scene in Grand Central Friday around 5. A boy of about 10 was surrounded by a pair of typical 40-something commuter guys and a cop. He wore a Mets hat, t-shirt and camouflage shorts. One of the commuter guys was on the cellphone, presumably talking to the kid’s parent.

“There’s an information kiosk right in the middle of Grand Central,” the man said. “We’ll meet you there in a minute.”

The kid wore a blank expression. The commuter guys looked more concerned.

It could’ve been a mostly uneventful mom-losses-kid-in-crowded-train-station story. But it appeared more complex. The cop put his arm around the kid’s shoulders and the do-gooders walked toward the middle of Grand Central, presumably to reconnect kid and mom. The guy on the cellphone said something like, “No, don’t walk away. You can worry about that later. We’re walking to the information kiosk. No, please, just meet us.”

I tried not to think about it as I walked to my platform.

You had to love the doofus on the 6:10 yesterday who prefaced two of the loudest cellphone conversations I’ve ever witnessed with “THIS IS CONFIDENTIAL!” He was a bald guy in round-rim specs and a pinstriped suit, and had everyone within shouting distance listening to his “confidential” conversations, which involved trying to sell medical gear to hospitals like NYU Med and St. Vincent’s.

The weird thing was, the guy had actually moved to the standing area of the train to make the calls, as if to spare his neighbors the agita of having to listen to his business dealings. Thus liberated, he then proceeded to include close to a hundred people to his highly classified conversations. At least half of them tried hard, angry stares to get him to lower the volume, but he was too immersed in negotiations.

Q: Engine Bob, why don’t have they have a no cell-phone “quiet car” on Metro North, like they do on Amtrak? Surely, enough quiet-seeking commuters could fill a train car? 

A: What a fine, fine question. My fingers are twitching already. In fact, hang on a sec while I take another blood-pressure pill, because your question has just reminded me of the afternoon, last year, that I took a New Haven train home to Manhattan from South Norwalk and had to listen to a… um… Okay, she was one badass gangsta ho.

And, sitting in the seat across the aisle from mine, she proceeded to whip our her cell phone and call each and every one of her “Bridgeport girls” (about eight in all) and regale each of them with tales (spoken at full volume) of her latest man’s considerable endowment—and I’m not talking about his investments.

Stuck on a packed train and unwilling to give up my seat for fear of not finding another, I listened to the gum-popping young lady for nearly two hours, all the time listening to my own voice, buried deep within me, and whimpering: “Why, oh why, can’t Metro North have just one car on which cell phones are banned?” 

Why, indeed. After all, you say, doesn’t Amtrak have such no-cell-phone cars? Damn right, sir, yes they do. Just one disclaimer before I continue, okay? I am about to reiterate the railroad’s position on this issue—NOT defend it or even, frankly, attempt to explain it. Because it would take Nero Wolfe to decipher the wisdom of this one. 

Metro North’s position on the matter boils down to two arguments. First, everybody needs a seat. When trains are packed—as, during rush hours, we all know they are—the railroad can’t adopt restricted-use cars because these might preclude some passengers from having a seat. (Interestingly, the no-cell-phone cars on Amtrak’s Northeast Corridor trains operate along the same principle: Only on “non-capacity” trains where there are far more seats than passengers does the conductor have clearance to designate one of his coaches as a cell-phone-free zone.) Anyway, for Metro North, the policy is: All seats, all over the train, are for everyone. 

Yes, I know: Anyone CAN sit in a no-cell-phone car—he’s just not allowed to use his stinking cell phone when he does! Seems like a cogent enough argument. And it’s one that escorts me nicely to Metro North’s Argument No. 2. Are you ready? 

The First Amendment. 

Yes, this is what I was told when I pressed an MTA official on the cell-phone matter not too long ago. The railroad will not put itself in a position in which it risks being accused of restricting someone’s speech. But, you retort, the railroad would NOT be restricting speech—just the use of a device into which a passenger elects to speak. He could still say whatever he wishes to the open air, right? Removing a cell phone no more abridges the right of free speech than, say, removing a microphone from someone’s hand would—right? 

Right. But there comes a time when you know that even the best arguments are going to get you nowhere. And, with the Metro North official I’d managed to collar, I knew I had very quickly reached such a point. Argue all you want, Perry Mason, the policy’s not changing.

To be fair, the official was sympathetic: Yes, some people’s cell phone habits are deplorable, he said, and we’ve all “been there,” as he put it—meaning, presumably, stuck beside a Minnie Pearl who cackles into her phone all the way to Purdy’s. He also reminded me that Metro North conductors have of late been instructed to make a general announcement on crowded trains, asking people to please limit their cell-phone use “in consideration of your fellow passengers.” Such pleas, as we know, rank in effectiveness right up there with Manhattan’s jaywalking law—or the one strictly prohibiting the sale of Louis Vuitton knockoffs on Canal Street.

Meantime, sir, don’t get your hopes up about a no-cell-phone car on your train. Metro North is more likely to roll out a squash-court car first.