The MTA has acquired a new parking lot at North White Plains, and is offering spots to the 150 souls stuck on the waiting list.

The new spots are at 525 North Broadway and 50 Haarlem Ave, just north of the Hertz franchise. They become available in March.

MTA boss Peter Cannito said the railroad was making train access a priority, whether it’s bus and ferry routes to stations or station parking. “This acquisition is the latest, but not the last, example of this effort,” he said. “We also support new developments in our terroritory where people can walk to our stations.” 

Annual permits will go for $860, plus tax–hardly an issue for wealthy Armonkians.

Rented a car from Hertz over the holiday, picking up outside Boston and dropping off in North White Plains. I’d seen the Hertz building a million times from the Metro-North–you could throw your iPod with the downloaded monthly pass at it from the train–but it didn’t dawn on me that that’s where I was returning the car until I pulled in to the parking lot.

With our car still in Boston with the Missus, I was rendered rideless upon dropping off the rental. But within three minutes of dropping it off, I made my way across the street to the North White Plains station (”North White,” to locals), and was on the northbound Harlem Line train. Eight minutes later, I was off in Hawthorne for the short-ish walk home.

Good to know that anyone living on the Harlem line can use Metro-North to get to a rental car.

Sprinted to catch the 7:52 after a long day at work. The train was jammed, and I eyed a two-seater occupied by a large man in the window seat. He gave me the look: Don’t do it. I did it, my side scraping along the armrest as I sat, before the hard rubber found a spot between my ribs.

Was he going to slide over and give me an inch or two? Was he too big to do so? Maybe so–his knees brushed against the seat in front of us, his wrists poked out of the fake wool trim at the end of his sleeves. I’m 6’ 2” and I barely fit in the seat. A bigger guy wouldn’t have much—any?–room to spare.

He didn’t budge. I tried to peer at his ticket, resting against a book with “Murder” in the title, to see how long we’d be sharing for. Couldn’t get a clear look.

As we pulled out of 125^th he called his wife.

“White Plains is the next stop,” he said. My hopes picked up. He was getting off in 20 minutes.

“Then North White Plains,” he added. Four extra minutes.

He told his wife to leave the door unlocked. He asked about his sons; I despised him less.

The conductor came around for tickets. I nearly had to molest the guy to get my wallet out of my back pocket.

Time passed. It always does. The man began his exit after
White Plains. He stood to his full length. 6’ 2”. Same as me.

Fucker.

The train was more crowded than usual at Hawthorne. Instead of my typical 10 minutes of blissful not-having-to-share solitude, I joined another guy in a three-seater.

At North White Plains, the announcement came on: “Ladies and gentlemen, as you’re well aware, we’re short two cars today,” the conductor said, before explaining that, at some point this morning, the third rail went kaput somewhere, a train was stuck, we had to lend ‘em a few cars, something like that. “It’s going to be extremely crowded, so please make all seats available,” he continued. “Thank you for your patience.”

The faces of the new arrivals at
White Plains shifted from blank (commuter default) to concern (am I getting a seat?) to anger (I’m not getting a seat). A man gestured about the availability of our middle seat (in car parlance, “sitting bitch”). I got up to let him in.

The man opened a copy of Nature Magazine. He started to read something on the brain, which was illustrated with graphics that looked straight out of CSI. He grew bored and started reading my Times from my right flank. It was about Oscar nominations. It had pictures of pretty women. Better than the brain.

Rough start, but an otherwise smooth ride.