Salt and Pepper

There’s a poster above me.

It’s hot outside, cool inside. The AC in this car is working. It’s too crowded to be able to read and I’m tired, swaying a little with the motion of the car.

We’re somewhere under the East River, just past Roosevelt Island. I’m on my way in to work.

The poster says:

Assaulting MTA NYC Transit Subway Personnel is a felony punishable by up to 7 years in prison. NYS Penal Code 120.05

The first word, Assaulting, is twice the size of the rest of the words. The number 7 is in red. The Penal Code information is in smaller print.

You’d think this wouldn’t have to be stated. Isn’t it obvious that assaulting anyone would be a bad thing? I guess the MTA personnel need some extra protection. As if they’re saying, “In case you didn’t know, assaulting this guy over here, in the booth, behind the bullet proof, inch thick plexi-glass, is simply not okay.”

Seven’s the lucky number – or up to seven is. Perhaps swinging and missing only gets you six months but connecting and battering get’s you the full seven. I’m not a lawyer so I don’t know what the parameters are. So… get pissed off at the MTA folks, whether they’re in the booth giving you your subway card, driving the train, or putting rat poison on the tracks – but don’t assault them. Or assault them and don’t get caught. Or get caught and pay the price.

I guess those are your only three options — if you were thinking about assaulting an MTA official.

I wasn’t, but now I am. And just what does that mean with regard to the effectiveness of this poster in preventing assault?

This is when you know it’s time to put the ear buds in and think of something else.

–Joe Lunievicz

Subway Surreal 

F-train. Friday Afternoon. Rockefeller Center stop. 

A book, The Wisdom of No Escape, by Pema Chodron, lies open in my palm. She’s a Buddhist monk who lives in an abbey on Cape Breton Island off the coast of Nova Scotia. She writes a lot about suffering and loving kindness. What a combination. It’s quiet for a moment except for the hum of the subway machinery.  

A gust of wind enters through the door and swirls into a circle. I don’t know where it comes from — we’re underground. A large sheet of multi-colored newsprint floats up, out of the reach of a man sitting next to the door. It floats up. He watches it, as if amazed that it’s left his lap.

It floats one way then the other, rising to his eye level, then settles to the Earth, landing on the floor to his left, in the open doorway, half in and half out. The man stares at the paper.

The buzzer sounds and the doors begin to close. The man hesitates, as if unsure of what has happened. Maybe he’s wondering just how important that piece of paper is. Maybe he’s just realized he hasn’t read that page yet. Then he reaches down for the piece of paper, bending over the side bar.

The doors shut, crushing the center into a butterfly, wings on either side. The man’s fingers miss the paper. The doors open three times quickly, closing after each opening. The man reaches, misses, reaches, misses, then makes contact and pulls the sheet of newsprint into the car as the doors close one final time. 

I feel like I’m in a Buster Keaton silent film.

The man settles the paperback onto his lap, smoothing it out and snapping its crease back into shape as if nothing has happened.  The train pulls forward with only a few minor hesitations.The Wisdom of No Escape calls to me. 

–Joe Lunievicz  

iPhone, iGame, iSubway

What caught me first was the name of the software company – Goorusoft.  

It couldn’t have been the wanton violence, mayhem from the shooting cannons, the sensation of rolling waves, or the sound of wood as iron cannon balls cracked decks into splinters.

Horatio Hornblower, here I come.  

I’m not usually a sucker for video games but this one got me. Warship puts you at the helm of a sailing ship out to fire broadsides against all enemy warships (which means everybody) in the age of sail. You move the iPhone to turn the ship and tap the screen to fire a broadside. It’s incredibly hard to clear a screen – Hell, the iPhone is so small it’s incredibly hard to see the screen.

And I’ve only cleared one area out of eight, and I only did that once. The first version of the game came without instructions. Thank God the updates came in and clarified what you were supposed to do – other than try not to get four ships in a row sent to Davy Jones’ locker. Here’s the problem. Warship has gotten in the way of my serious subway reading and my straphanger observing. I get on the F and lose myself in the rolling seas and incoming broadsides. Next thing I know it’s Roosevelt station and time to get off – half an hour gone.   

I’d sworn a while ago I’d never be one of those guys playing a handheld video game on the subway, earphones in, thumbs pounding away at the control buttons and toggle switch, oblivious to the world.  Better to be reading a Kindle. So, I’m not. There’s no toggle switch. Just a tilting screen, like a rolling ocean’s surface, and a tapping thumb on the screen – one thumb, not two. And you have to wait until your cannon has been reloaded before you can tap again or you’re just wasting your thumb energy. Today I decided to be a little more aware of my surroundings on my trip home. Or at least try to be. I was on my second ship when the F train came, the platform on 23rd Street not too crowded yet. I had to do something while I waited, didn’t I?  

I couldn’t look up from the screen – or I’d get hit by the three Santa Maria-size Spanish warships closing in on me in area 3 – the North Sea and the English Channel. Just what were the Spanish doing there? Was it another armada?

Don’t get caught up in the story line, I told myself. Just fire another broadside.  So, only bumping into one person, excusing myself twice, and getting through the car doors, I almost fell when the train jerked to a start. I took a wide stance with my back to the door, my backpack cushioning me as I smacked against it every few feet. I thought I smelled the ocean. No, it must have been someone’s aftershave or perfume. Maybe it was sweat. It wasn’t important except that it threw my steering off and my ship went down in flames. Crap.  I looked up and two women and a man were right next to me. The train was crowded. The guy was looking down at my screen. Where’d all the people come from? My ship had appeared again and already two cannon balls had made splinters fly into the sky in my wake. Crap again! I dipped the screen to the left, tapped to fire and ran for open sea. 

The woman to my right watched me. I saw her in my peripheral vision. My elbows were a little wild so I tucked them in against my ribs and squinted against the screen glare. Forget about her, I told myself. You’ve got a ship to command. Damn the glare.

Where’d my ship go? There it was. I held the screen a little further away trying to get a bead on the action. Use the force, Luke, I told myself and escaped from a closing knot of enemy warships, taking out one ship but starting to smoke from the damage I’d taken in the skirmish.

Dodge and weave, dodge and weave. I took out another ship then reinforcements appeared from three sides of the board – now that’s not fair! Damn those game designers. There was nothing to do but pound away as I steered between two of them taking broadsides from both sides. My ship sank and the word failed, appeared across the screen.  I looked up and the car was packed.  My heart was pounding in my ears. 

People pressed in around me. Don’t touch the phone. I need space. Give me room, the commander of my ship yelled inside my head. I looked at the station we were passing – 65th Street. How did we get into Queens? Was there time for one more game? We hit the dark tunnel between 65th Street and Roosevelt just as I tapped the word Sail, and my ship appeared on the rolling ocean waves of the North Sea once again.

This time those Spanish ships were going down.  

Huzzah!

–Joe Lunievicz

Dog and a Pack

It’s the F train but I’m only traveling from 23rd Street to 42nd for lunchtime yoga. The train’s not too crowded but I’m standing anyway. When I’m not teaching I sit a lot at my job so when I’m on short trips on the subway, sometimes I just like to stand. A woman gets on behind me with a large German Shepherd on a leash. 

I didn’t know non-working dogs could travel the subway. I see them sometimes but rarely.

Checking the MTA website, here’s what Article 1050.9 h 1. & 2 says:

1. Except as otherwise provided in paragraph (2) of this subdivision, no person may bring any animal on or into any conveyance or facility unless enclosed in a container and carried in a manner which would not annoy other passengers.

2. Paragraph (1) of this subdivision does not apply to working dogs for law enforcement agencies, to service animals, or to animals which are being trained as service animals and are accompanying persons with disabilities, or to animals which are being trained as service animals by a professional trainer. All service animals and animals being trained as service animals must be harnessed or leashed.

Okay. She should have been busted – that’s settled — but on with the tale.

The woman is wearing black cargo shorts, a brown baseball cap, a green tank top and has on a large, stuffed, army backpack. I can’t tell what’s in it but it’s big, it’s packed and it’s ready to burst. Her light skin is burned red at the shoulders and throat. She has red freckles on her cheeks.

She walks over to the two-seater and stares down at the seat, contemplating its availability. A man sitting on the other seat smiles up at her. I can’t tell if they make eye contact or not because my line of sight doesn’t give me an angle on her face. The guy does the ‘subway shuffle’, moving himself a little further into the corner of the seat, as if he’s taking up too much space – which he isn’t.

He’s a tall, thin, black-haired, iPod holding, white t-shirted, jeans-and-black-converse-sneakers twenty-something. His smile disappears and his eyes go wide as she seems to ignore him, turns around — presenting her back and backpack to him — and sits down.

Her backpack pushes way past the imaginary line that separates one kingdom from the other, invading his space and then conquering it. He is caught by surprise and can’t get out of the way quick enough. The backpack makes him turn sideways and pushes into his chest pressing him into the wall.

The woman leans forward to pat her dog on the head and the guy gets a breather but then she sits back and presses him into the wall again.

I smile. I can’t help myself.

The next time she leans forward, the guy squeezes out from behind her and switches to the empty seat across from him, shaking his head and adjusting his ear buds. The woman’s dog sprawls down between the ends of the four two-seaters taking up the whole passageway, panting. Nobody can get past the critter, even if they wanted.

I get off at the next stop. The dog lifts its head and his gaze follows me out of the car.

–Joe Lunievicz

Recycled Rubber

I came through the glass doors two days ago and headed towards the turnstile, my wallet already out and my card ready.

An officer stood by the turnstiles, leaning against the silver gate, his hat at a cocky angle. I saw him at the same time he saw me. I smiled and he pointed to my backpack. I stopped a few feet from the turnstile not sure what was happening. He pointed from my backpack to a place beyond my left shoulder. I looked behind me and saw a plastic folding table, behind which stood two other men in blue with their hands on their hips.

I looked back at the officer who had pointed at my bag.

“Bag check,” was all he said. Three women and a man walked past me and through the turnstiles, business dress. He didn’t stop them. I was wearing a blue t-shirt, jeans, sandals made of recycled rubber.

I was terrorist material.

I shrugged.

“Sure,” I said and headed over to the table, swinging my backpack off my back.

“Open it up,” one of the cops said, obviously bored, as I put it on the table.

I smiled at them both. One nodded.

Without getting too close he gazed over the edge of my bag and looked a little inside, squinting. He motioned me to be on my way with his hand, then stepped back and crossed his arms across his chest.

I pulled my backpack on again and walked past the same officer who’d stopped me moments before. I smiled at him and he smiled back, then motioned at a young kid with a backpack to go have it checked.

“Bag check,” I heard over my shoulder.

I’ve seen the police at the Roosevelt Station many times on my way down into the subway, but this was the first time I’d ever been stopped or actually seen them stop someone – in this case me. Usually the cops are like wallpaper – part of the scenery. That day they were bas-relief. I wonder why I got stopped? Maybe they saw something in me that was, well, dangerous?

Today, this morning, on my way to the same turnstiles, I saw the same cop. He didn’t seem to remember me. He stopped a young dark-skinned man who was trying to pass through the turnstile in jeans and a t-shirt a few feet ahead of me. I walked up to the turnstile right in front of the cop just to see if I’d get searched this time too. I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt again, and sandals too — same ones, made from recycled rubber.

The cop took one look at me. As I took out my Metro card, he said, “That one doesn’t work.”

“What?” I said, ready to head over to the table with the two cops again for my bag search.

“That one’s not working.” He pointed to the turnstile in front of me. The one my card was about to be swiped at. There was masking tape across it.

“Oh,” I said. “Thanks.”

I moved over one, passed through the revolving bars, and headed down into the bowels of the earth, where a new F train waited for me.

Kindle Hunting on the F

Two sightings in one week.

Two days ago I was standing on the F train, late afternoon, crowded enough to stand, but not so crowded I couldn’t breathe, when I spied what appeared to be a black leather cover about the shape and size of a Kindle. I couldn’t believe it. All this time I’ve been waiting to see one on the F and there it was.

I walked carefully across the car to get a closer look – not too close, because this is New York and staring at people doesn’t go over too well. I stepped on one person’s foot and had to apologize twice during the short passage.  

I stopped ten feet away.

I gazed at the leather cover and then… away. There was something wrong. The cover was flat and not shiny. Up closer it didn’t look like the same kind of leather I’d seen on the advertisements and on my wife’s machine. There was no cream colored interior. I was pretty sure the device the cover was holding was silver with a black/gray screen.

It wasn’t a Kindle. It was a Sony.

Advertisements galore, but no Kindle. Instead a Sony Reader had infiltrated my ‘hood. I looked at the owner. He was Caucasian, maybe 30, balding, had a belly, carried a black messenger bag, wore a white shirt, no tie, black sneakers, and glasses. I wasn’t sure what it meant but I filed the description away in the back of my brain.

Then this morning, on the F, I went into work early, caught the train about 7:35. There were seats available on all cars. That all by itself was amazing. At 8 or 8:30 it’s a mob scene.

I stood for a moment, looking to see whether I could sit or not. I did a quick seat-or-stand scan of the car. There were no pregnant women standing – no women at all. A couple of guys were leaning against the door but they were young and healthy, clearly choosing to stand. There were no elderly straphangers waiting for seats to open up.

I was good for a seated passage.

A seat next to a man, thirties, balding, glasses, white shirt, black pants, black messenger bag, slight belly, but wearing black shoes, was sitting down at a two-seater by himself – and, I shook my head to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, he was reading a Kindle.

It wasn’t the same guy from two days ago but it could easily have been his brother or twin. I hesitated another moment then sat down next to him.

There was something different about this Kindle. It was bigger, wider – more like the size of a large hardcover than a trade paperback like the Kindle my wife has but still won’t let me read. Yes. It was the new model – specially designed for folks who want to read larger items like newspapers or magazines. It’s the exact same looking model only bigger.

I couldn’t help myself. I stared at his machine. He glanced at me then back at his Kindle. I stared some more. I had to hold my hands in check so I didn’t reach out and touch the thing.

“I hope you don’t mind my asking, but is that the new larger sized Kindle?” I asked.

He nodded.

“What do you think of it?”

“I like it,” he said. “I only just got it but so far it’s pretty good.”

“How does it compare to the smaller one?”

“I don’t know. I only have this one.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll let you get back to your, you know, reading.”

He nodded and smiled at me, then shifted a little away, just enough for me to notice.

I nodded slowly, smiling myself.

There you have it folks. First the advertisements for the Kindle — then a Sony Reader. Now, finally, after months of searching for one on the F train coming into or out of Jackson Heights – the Kindle had arrived.

And both electronic books were being used by bald white men in their thirties, with small bellies and black messenger bags. Keep an eye out. You never know where they’ll turn up next.

–Joe Lunievicz

by Straphanger Joe

We’re taking the subway to work, my son and I. He’s all of seven years old.

My wife’s working today so my son’s coming in with me. I figure he can keep himself occupied for a couple of hours reading and playing video games while I work – just long enough for me to finish a budget that’s due — and then we’ll take off for home.

It’s 9:45 a.m. and the F train is crowded. Not packed by anyone’s standards, but crowded enough so we have to stand.

It’s one of the new F-trains. Blue seats, a big open space without seats when you walk in the doors, electronic signs telling you what stop’s next and how many more you have to go, updated at each new stop.

I squat down in the wheelchair space with my son next to me. He grabs hold of the bar by the door. Everything looks shiny and new.

“Want to be interviewed about the subway?” I ask, figuring it will pass the time. I take out my notebook and uncap my pen.

“Sure,” he says. “Why?”

“Because enquiring minds want to know.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ll put your answer in my column.”

“Okay.”

He smiles at me.

“What do you like the most about traveling on the subway?”

“I like standing up. I like feeling the train moving side to side and up and down.”

“Got it. What do you like the least?”

“I don’t like sitting down. It hurts my butt.”

“The seats are hard?”

“Uh huh.”

“Almost done,” I say. “What would you change about the subway, if you could change one thing?”

“I’d take out the seats and make everyone stand.”

“What about women who are pregnant? And folks who are elderly, or tired from a long day at work? Would you make them stand too?”

“Then I’d have some trains with seats on them and some you can only stand.” I cap my pen and close my pad.

We cross under the East River and pull into Lexington Avenue Station.

“How many more stops do we have to go?” he asks.

“Four,” I say looking at the electronic sign stating, “This is,” in bright red lights against a black background. The names of all the upcoming stops are listed in green on an angle to the right, slanting like leaning dominos. We both stare at the sign and wait for the “This is,” to change to “Next stop.” When it does we look at each other as if we’ve just witnessed a feat of magic.

“I like that sign also,” he says.

I uncap my pen, hesitate a moment, and write that one down too.

–Joe Lunievicz

Stepping Out

It’s a giant fish flying over Manhattan with doors and windows that make it look like a flying fish subway car. Inside are benches and poles to hold on to and passengers including a couple of aliens, a painter, a ballet dancer, a knight in full armor, a saxophone player, a woman listening to a radio, and a commuter stepping out the door – falling.

It’s subway art commissioned by the MTA, painted by Chris Gall. I know the artist because of the children’s books he’s illustrated and written – some of my son’s favorites (There’s Nothing to Do on Mars and Dear Fish - http://www.chrisgall.com/).  

The poster is in the middle of the car and I’m at the far end. It’s crowded and I’m annoying a few people by craning my neck to see it better. I peek to the left then the right of a big man who’s reading the paper. I crane my neck to try and see over them. The other people between me and the poster who make eye contract with me think I’m staring at them and give me a dirty look.

I walk past them, including the big guy, excusing myself as I edge closer. I stare at the poster from a few feet away, just above a woman’s head. She’s asleep so she’s neither annoyed nor self conscious about me staring at the space above her head. She doesn’t turn around to see what I’m looking at – to make sure it’s not a giant roach, or something important that she missed. She just sleeps – inhale, exhale… inhale, exhale… 

My gaze keeps going back to the commuter falling off the car. I know it’s a picture of a flying fish subway car and that’s not a real thing. But I keep wondering why he’s falling off? Like a true New Yorker the first thing I wonder is, “Did he get pushed?” I don’t see anyone behind him. There’s no hand to act as evidence.

He’s not smiling but he’s not scared – or at least doesn’t seem to be. Maybe he’s not falling? Maybe he’s just stepping off? Does he know that the fish is flying? Can he fly also, or does he think he can? Is he mistaken? Is someone or something going to catch him — perhaps the Goodyear blimp? Or maybe he’s close to the Empire State Building and is just stepping down to the observation deck?

I don’t know. The train stops at 23rd Street – my stop. I take a last look, searching for some clue, some answer to the question: Why?  Nothing.  

I make it out the door just as the bell rings for them to close.  I step out, onto thin air – or at least thin concrete. Okay, it’s heavy concrete, worn down and trampled upon by the feet of hundreds of thousands of subway travelers, (and scampered over by untold numbers of roaches and rats – the other populous denizens of this underworld).

But still, for a moment I think I may understand why the guy is leaving the flying fish subway car – why he’s falling/exiting/jumping/stepping off.  “Hey, buddy, you wanna move it through the turnstile?” a voice says from behind me. 

I shake my head and the answer disappears. I head up to the surface where fish don’t fly but daydreams do.

–Joe Lunievicz

PART I is here.

… And Half

By Straphanger Joe

… only it’s not the Kindle exactly. It’s an ad campaign by M-edge and features the Kindle front and center of every poster from one end of the car to the other.

Reading never looked so good.

Personalize your Kindle 2 with an M-edge accessories jacket.

Who is your Kindle wearing?

Here’s a book you can’t judge by its cover.

Go green. Buy a Kindle. 

I check the F-train car. No one is using a Kindle, neither a 1 or a 2 – though I’m not sure if I saw one I could tell the difference. There are papers, books, reports, magazines, one guy has an open computer on his lap, but no Kindles. I look up at the advertisements. I guess they figure, If you build it they will buy it.

My wife has a Kindle. She got it for Christmas, only she didn’t actually receive it until a couple of months later. It seems the demand was so big they sold out pre-holiday and had to fill orders in February and March. They upgraded her to the Kindle 2 free of charge. She reads it all the time – hasn’t purchased a book in a bookstore in the last three months. Well, not in a physical bookstore, only in the virtual one of Amazon.com.

She reads the New York Times on it on Sundays. I’m not sure if this is a good or bad thing. She also won’t let me read it. Not even just to check-it-out. She bought a black cover for it before M-reader came out with all their beautiful colors. Who is your Kindle wearing?

It’s 20 minutes later and there’s still no one on the F train reading one. The advertisements look pretty good, though. Nice colors. Go Green is the way to go these days.

Now I’m hungry and I feel like reading something electronic.

If only I could dive into the Choco-Kindle Ocean.

–Joe Lunievicz

Half…

By Straphanger Joe

There’s no mention of the product name but the lettering and color is unmistakable.

I’m standing in a crowded F train on my way in to 23rd Street and work. I can’t help but read the poster above me. Half of the car is filled with them – brown background white banner with red trim surrounding blue letters.

Learn to speak Snacklish.

Take a dip in the Chocolantic Ocean.

Transfer to the Ate Train.

Enroll at Cty Chocollege.

File for Workman’s Chompensation.

Schedule a consultation with Doctor Feedzmore.

I walk the whole length of the car to write them all down, collecting stares as I go. A woman looks up at me while I hover over her, spelling out Chocollege in orange ink in my small notebook. She wrinkles her nose and half closes her eyes in irritation. Then I back away and smile at her. She looks away.

Another woman next to her gives me a blank stare once-over, then goes back to her book. It’s a big novel, trade paperback. I can’t see the title and I can’t look any longer or she’ll notice me staring and get uncomfortable.

My stomach rumbles. It’s morning and I ate breakfast earlier but I’m feeling hungry – for something. Something. Something from the Chocolantic Ocean.

I turn around to check out the other half of the car. That’s when I see the ads for the Kindle.

Stay tuned for Part II…

–Joe Lunievicz