I’d guess the number one commuter complaint, besides those biannual fare hikes, is the annoying hum of cellphone users on the trains. Mercifully, most phones don’t pick up a signal while in Grand Central and the Park Avenue Tunnel; it’s usually pretty quiet until the train ascends Blackberry Hill about 10 minutes after departing.

Well, that may soon change, as the MTA has hired a cellular Dream Team of carriers to make Grand Central, the platform area and the tunnel Wifi-equipped. An MTA board vote on the matter awaits.

Says the MTA:  

This network would be a huge benefit for Metro-North customers, significantly improving and expanding commercial wireless services, including access to commercial wireless services from multiple providers. Current wireless (cellular) service in GCT is limited and there is no coverage in the two-mile-long Park Avenue Tunnel.  This will be remedied under the project. 

The team of cellular carriers, which includes Verizon Wireless, Sprint Nextel, AT&T and T-Mobile, will do the installation for free–presumably getting mega-signage in front of that choice Metro-North rider demographic for its trouble. They’ll also pay the MTA a licensing fee.

The MTA board will vote on the proposal Wednesday. It was approved today by the MTA’s Railroads Committee. 

Metro-North President Howard Permut calls it a win-win for riders and the cash-strapped railroad.

“This new contract will greatly improve customer convenience through the provision of seamless wireless service for Grand Central and the Park Avenue Tunnel,” said Metro-North President Howard Permut.  “It also will greatly improve the communications capability of the MTA and emergency service providers, as well as adding spare fiber optic capacity for future growth and raise much-needed revenue for the Railroad.” 

[image: frumsatire.net]

It’s been a while since I’ve really looked at the other passengers on the subway. Maybe that’s what winter does to you - it numbs you. Or maybe I’ve just been tired of people and there are too many around you on the train. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.

Well, my vision lifted this morning, probably because it’s supposed to reach 58 today and my bones are aching for some sun.

I took the E-train, a new blue car. It seems like all the cars are now blue-benched. The changeover happened while I was hibernating. All my favorite orange benches are gone.

I almost didn’t get on the train. It was packed. I tried two different doors before I stopped just outside the last one and, looking in at a space that could fit maybe two more people, debated on whether to go in or wait for the next train. I stepped forward as the doors closed, pushing me further in than I wanted to go because my backpack was still on and I hadn’t had a chance to take it off. (That’s my excuse and I’m sticking with it.) A young woman to my left had her back to me. She was reading a book and taking up an additional foot of space with the hardcover. There aught to be a law against that. I reached over someones head and grabbed the center pole. My book was in my hand but I couldn’t get to it. There just wasn’t any room. I made eye contact with three people and looked away after each one, smiling half-heartedly. A large woman in a bright red wool coat came in behind me and we all accommodated her space as she took central pole position right underneath my arm.

I looked across the car towards the other door and saw a young woman in business attire with wispy hair ruffled as if it had been pushed about by the wind. She was reading the Dailey News and making little sounds as she read, pinching her cheeks in then puffing them out, then biting her teeth together - a veritable orchestra of tiny sounds and small dramatic movements. I couldn’t tell what she was reading so I shifted a bit around the large woman in the red coat in order to get a better look. It was either movie reviews or the obits.  Without large headlines to see or my glasses, I couldn’t tell. My glasses were in my bag and my bag was inaccessible. I watched her face as the orchestra of twitches, grimaces and frowns continued.

Stops came and went. The orchestra played on. Finally in an especially crowded moment I lost sight of her. The woman in the red coat looked up at me - I was a little too close to her so I moved back. My backpack poked into someone behind me. “Sorry,” I said over my shoulder. I looked back but tall heads and reaching arms obscured my view.

At the next stop, 42nd street, most of the car left in a giant exodus of folding papers, closing books, and iPhone and cell button pushing fingers. I saw the back of the woman’s head and her wispy brown hair, then a flash of the paper under her arm, and… she was gone.

I looked around me and found myself free of most of humanity -the car practically empty. The woman in the red coat was gone. I had the pole to myself. I opened my book on Iyengar Yoga and read. Although there were now seats empty, I stood the next two stops and got off on 23rd. It was still cold outside and windy. I’d worn a spring jacket, like an idiot. Maybe it’ll be 58 later in the day, but right then it was still pretty damned cold.

The preferred look for many young Mt. Pleasant women is something I’ll call hairdresser chic, a style topped off by a carefully cultivated coif worn like a crown.

One of the women sporting such a look at the station this morning, in fact, is a hairdresser–assuming, of course, she gets to keep her job after this morning’s debacle.

20-something brunette on cellphone, overheard on the platform as the 9:16 approached…

“Hi Holly, it’s Femmy.”

[Yes, Femmy. That’s what we heard.]

“I missed my train. I’ll be in at 10.”

“I have a highlights at 9:30…Can someone cover for me?”

“Oh. Oh. Well, I missed my train.”

“OK. OK.”

Click.

We say, not good enough, Femmy. You committed yourself to highlighting someone’s hair today, and you should be there. It’s Friday morning. Perhaps the highlights recipient–maybe it’s A-Rod…he has highlights, doesn’t he?–has major plans for the weekend, and wants to hit the city rocking some serious ‘lights. You owe it to them to be on the earlier train, Femmy.

Not good.

From June 12, 2007

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.

Any others that Moses missed?

As Easter approaches, we felt it was only appropriate to republish the Trainjotting “Commuter’s 10 Commandments.”

—

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.

Any others that Moses missed?

[image: judaica-art.com]

“Wow, look at her–she’s a hottie!”

“Didja hear the MTA is thinking of reducing fares 25%? Those guys are nuts!”

“I really have to give riders credit for honoring Metro-North’s limit-your-cellphone-calls policy.”

“Those new conductor uni’s sure are spiffy.”

“Gotta love the New Haven Line–it’s never late!”

People fall into two camps when it comes to cellphone usage on the train. Either they hardly notice it, or they want to beat the cellphone user with a size 12 wingtip until innards come out of both the cellphone and its user.

HarlemLineHarry shares a link to Gawker about the perils of blabbing too loudly about “confidential” matters, such as who you’re about to lay off at Pillsbury, on the train. Reminds me a bit of the doofus I saw/heard on the 6:10 last year, who kept repeating into his cellphone, for all on the train to hear, how this was “CONFIDENTIAL!”

As one would expect from Pillsbury, this is tasty stuff. A snippet:

His conversation, though he stressed how necessary it was to be kept secret (ah, the irony), detailed the current plans of Pillsbury to lay off somewhere in the range of 15-20 attorneys from four offices by the end of March, including a few senior associates with low billable hours and two or three first-year associates…What’s more, he was NAMING NAMES over the phone!

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]