* On the 5:27 heading out of Gotham last night. Cattycorner to me in a six-seater is a traveler–woman of about 50, kinky brown Mrs. Roper-From-Three’s-Company hair, green t-shirt with an elephant and ‘Spirit of India’ on the front, ugly green suitcase between her legs. She’s wide open, taking-it-all-in eyes, and a big smile, like she’s enjoying every aspect of this trip.

 She’s sharing the six-seater with what looks like her daughter–20, grungy, not quite as excited as Mom.

Conductor comes by, cheap cologne announcing his arrival a few seconds before.

He takes Mrs. Roper’s ticket, then ventures on to the next row, the next row.

Mrs. Roper mumbles some foreign version of “excuse me.” Conductor turns around. Mrs. Roper wants her ticket stub back.

A seasoned commuter guy across the aisle says to her, “Souvenir?”

“Yes, souvenir,” she says with a big smile. “Souvenir.”

* I’m on the 8:43 this morning, feeling a bit guilty about occupying the aisle seat of an otherwise empty three-seater. A woman and her young son, around Little G’s age, gets on at White Plains. We make eye contact and I offer the two seats to my left.

“Sure!” she says.

Just like Little G, the boy, about 4, finds looking out the window better viewing than even Dinosaur Train and Cars. (Speaking of Cars, he rocks the Lightning McQueen sneakers.)

I take a break from the Times movie reviews (”Robin Hood” sounds lame, “Letters to Juliet” lamer, but “Best Worst Movie” might just work) and wonder about them for a second. Mom taking the boy to work for the day, or maybe Dad’s gonna call it a half-day and meet Mom and Boy for the circus, FAO Schwarz, the Brooklyn Acquarium?

Boy still stares out the window, Ritz Carlton twins glimmering in the distance.

“Bye bye, Dad’s apartment!” he says with a small wave.

OK, then.

* 9 a.m. arrival at GCT from Stamford this morning, our New Haven Line correspondent  ConnecticEnergy sees a man sleeping across a three-seat bench on a jammed train.

A man approaches, stares, and mutters, “Business Class gets everything.”

[image: threescompany.com]

From October 26, 2007

[Editor’s Note: I sure could get used to this lazy-ass repurposing.]

There (s)he was on the 7:16 to Stamford last night, all 11-inch heels and fishnet dress and tights with the ass cheeks cut out.

Yes, the giant black drag queen was shaking up the stuffy decor on the Metro-North again, brushing his blonde wig in the vestibule as riders peered over their Posts at this most unique of spectacles.

There were what looked like a man and his granddaughter, maybe 11, sitting across from each other as the drag queen entered the car a little before Fordham. The older man struggled for the right thing to say, then struggled some more, and looked like he was concerned he might actually be held responsible by the girl’s parents for what she was forced to witness on her trip to New York.

Finally, the oldster let loose this philosophical beauty:

“There’s a whole big world revolving around you,” he said as his arms whirled about to show just how big the world actually is. “You ought to…pay attention.”

As we neared Mount Vernon, a young woman in the vestibule near the queen asked about the heels. “These are 11-inch,” the drag queen said. “The company just started making 12-inches yesterday.”

He then added, “If you were to take this off and hit somebody, you’d kill ‘em!”

An Indian woman and her toddler got on in Mount Vernon. The toddler’s eyes went as big as pingpong balls, humming “Old MacDonald” as she took in the biggest, blackest Barbie Doll she’d ever seen.

The conductor walked by, and made a point of shaking his head emphatically, letting the whole car know he did not approve of the rider’s choice of black fishnet dress with the feathery waist.

A few more images I’ll not soon forget is the look of the poor guy, grayish black hair and business-casual attire, next to the queen as (s)he brushed her wigs and blonde strands fell on poor fella, and the whole of the car cringing as the queen bent over to retrieve something from her bag–exposing those tights with the ass cheeks cut out for all to see.

Where the hell was (s)he going?  

Our Connecticut correspondent ConnecticEnergy boarded the 8:03 out of Stamford this morning, then squeezed into a four-seater across from none other than 60 Minutes correspondent Scott Pelley. Pelley, freshly back from Afghanistan to report on the state of the war, was apparently putting the finishing touches on the piece, which is to run Sunday–pecking away at a laptop.

Connectic struck up a convo with Pelley and congratulated him on a recent Emmy he was awarded. Connectic says Pelley could not have been more gracious and friendly while chatting with him and the people across the aisle–all that while in that smooth broadcaster baritone.

Last year, Page Six spied him on Metro-North, chatting with Ashleigh Banfield.

ConnecticEnergy says the Stamford express was in fine fettle this morning: 

Oh what a beautiful morning! No less than 5 unrelated passengers (self incl.) gave up their seats this a.m. for a young couple and their brood of 4 scottish toddlers. Who says the city is heartless?

(Remind me of this story next time I see a teenager make a grandmother stand)

Going to be commuting daily from stamford to nyc - catching something like the 6:40 train. i’m confused about the parking situation/costs in stamford and if anyone thinks it’s worthwhile to go to Greenwich or Old Greenwich for non-parking permit folks.
 
seems to be a bunch of garages in stamford.  was going to take a ride around the station this coming weekend?  any garage better than the other in terms of distance?
 
any other advice?  anyone that you could refer me to for advice?
 
Thanks!
Jeff

It’s every commuter’s worst nightmare, short of a bomb or some other catastrophic event. Just as the conductor approaches, you realize you’ve forgotten your monthly pass.

Happened just this morn on the Stamford train, says our Nutmeg State correspondent Connectic Energy. The conductor was about two rows away when a man–described as a typical commuter, 45, well dressed, bopping to iPod, flicking on Blackberry–started rifling through his pockets and patting himself up and down like a third base coach on speed.

Alas, the ticketless wonder played it all wrong.

“I forgot my wallet,” he told the conductor. “You’re not going to hassle me, are you?”

If I’m that conductor, I probably say something about how people on the train are expected to have a ticket, ya know, and those that don’t are in for a spot of trouble. If that constitutes a “hassle,” well, it ain’t my fault.

The conductor eyes the man up good and slow and long, top to bottom, a good five seconds’ worth of deciding whether the man deserved a break.

Turns out he did, in fact, be deemed break-worthy.

“When you go to New York,” the conductor said in a vaguely John Wayne-ish drawl, “it’s good to have your wallet with you.”

The conductor continued with his business, and the ticketless man slumped to his seat. He’d won the war, yes, but lost a bloody battle.

ConnecticEnergy tells me about some scary moments on the Stamford train pulling into Grand Central about a half hour ago. Somewhere between 125th and Grand Central, the train stopped, and one conductor conversed with the other across the P.A. system.

It went something like this:

“Bobby, someone’s playing around with the buttons again. Can you check it out?”

“Got it, Jimmy, no problem.”

Bobby presumably went to check on some doofus pulling the emergency brake or something, then got back on the house mic–telling Jimmy to call an ambulance to be waiting on Grand Central when the train pulled in.

The next announcement went something like this:

“Ladies and gentlemen, sorry for the delay. We have a medical emergency…Is there anyone on board who can offer medical assistance?”

The conductor gave his car location, but apparently no one was forthcoming, so he got on the P.A. again.

“Ladies and gentlemen, as I said, we have a medical emergency. Is there anyone on board who’s trained to give medical assistance?”

Moments later, the train pulled into the station. Connectic Energy did not notice rescue personnel and did not know the end result.

The Big Boss is in town, which meant I was climbing aboard the dreaded 7 a.m. train out of Hummerville this morning, my family nestled snug in their warm beds, for an all-day strategy session.

I didn’t think I’d ever taken the 7 a.m. before. It was still dark out as I got my bike from the garage, and there was the sound of odd birds in the trees that apparently clear out on my more typical days when I’m heading out over an hour later. 

But as I scroll through past Trainjotting entries, I see I did the 7 a.m.’er the last time the Big Boss called us all together to brainstorm ways to “drive revenue” and “grow the business.” That was August, and it wasn’t dark at 6:50.

At the time, I wrote:

I was a stranger in a strange land at the station I’ve called home for almost two years. I stepped onto that platform amidst dozens of peculiar faces, then eased onto the completely foreign 7 a.m. train, which was surprisingly packed. I felt like I was 21 again, stepping onto some Eurail express chugging to Amsterdam and packed with unsmiling Turks.

My ride was quiet, unlike ConnecticEnergy’s as we compared notes from our atypically early a.m. commutes during a break from driving revenue, growing the business, and other things you do at a strategy session. Connectic was on the 7:27 out of Stamford (or Stam-FOORRDD, as the Grand Central public address guy LOVES to say), and everyone was either engaged in, or seeking, a little shut-eye.

Well, someone’s cellphone kept going off–one of those ring tones that’s made to sound like an ancient rotary phone. No one silenced the ring, and no one on the 7:27 could tell where it was coming from. And the caller kept calling, driving his fellow riders absolutely…freakin’…mad.

The ringing–and lack of response–became so irritating that one man jumped to his feet, swiveled his head about in search of the offending cellphone holder, raised his hands, and then froze in place–unsure of what his next move might be. Instinctively, his fellow riders checked their phones for the second and third time, and offered a sheepish shrug to take themselves off the suspect list.

On it went, until the train pulled into the tunnel.

ConnecticEnergy tells me of an interesting seatmate this morning heading in from Stamford. An attractive woman in her 50s (GMILF, anyone?) gets on in one of the rich-people towns and takes the seat next to Connectic. She’s “dripping with diamonds”, he says, with painstakingly manicured nails, in a mink coat and designer suit underneath.

Better yet, she commences chatting coquettishly with Connectic: What are you reading, bet it’s more interesting than what I’m reading (NY Times biz section), etc. She has a manila envelope on her, and Connectict sees a resume inside.

She then asks Connectic if the conductor has come through. He tells her the conductor has indeed.

“That’s good,” she says. “Because I don’t have a ticket, and I don’t have any money.”

Then it gets stranger. The Grey Gardens dame proceeds to lean over to Connectic’s ticket stub that’s jammed in the seatback in front of him, and rips it in a certain way so that, when the conductor happens by, he breezes right past without asking for her ticket.

When the train arrived in GCT, it was pleasant smiles, have a wonderful day, all the best.  

Obviously the woman knew something of the special code conductors use on the ticket stubs, a certain rip or punch connoting a certain number of riders going a certain distance.

Does anyone out there have a little insight as to what the various tears and punches on the stubs indicate?

So I’m on the 5:01 to New Haven, and everything seems pretty normal…. 

All of the sudden I feel a rush of cool air like I’ve never felt on the train before.  I spin around to check out the door between cars, and it’s closed.  So is the drop-down conductor window. 

Then I notice a lady holding a big piece of plexiglass.

Apparently, the emergency exit window fell in on her spontaneously (uh…yeah… sure).

Anyhoo, nothing major.  It sounds like we’re going to make an unscheduled stop in Stamford to have someone look at the window and to get medical attention for the man and woman that the window fell in on. 

I have to say, the train crew was very responsive and professional about the whole thing.

-CTRider