There’s a very entertaining video of some girls doing Scores-worthy moves on the poles in the subway. As is always the case when people do odd things in public places, the faces of the on-lookers (or, in some cases, the not-lookers) are just short of priceless. We saw indifference, ecstasy and utter distaste.

Also worth noting: the girls have Olympic-caliber moves, and the cameo appearance by an Emmanuel Lewis lookalike around 2:25 into the clip.

Yes, that Emmanuel Lewis.

[image: sitcomsonline.com]

We almost forgot to mention, the freebie NYC paper Metro thought enough of our take on commuter angst to run our essay about subway misbehavior in its “Voices” section last week, the part of the paper that influences policy-makers, informs CEOs and decides presidents.

Since we can’t seem to dig it up online, here’s the unedited, slightly longer version than what ran in the paper (the director’s cut, if you will). It’s worth noting that the idea for the essay was actually hatched here at Trainjotting.

Putting Train Transgressors On Ice

As the MTA figures out what to do with the unused token booths in subway stations around the city, we’d like to offer a modest proposal: Take a cue from the National Hockey League and use the booths as penalty boxes. Token clerks, as much a Gotham anachronism as a winning Knicks squad, shall don the referee’s stripes, and turn their surly demeanor on the iPod blasters, greasy-food eaters and feet-on-the-seaters while ushering them to the nearest subterranean sin bin.

 2-Minute Minors

Start punishing the less heinous infractions, and riders might think twice about committing them next time. That guy whose cranking iPod makes the F train feel like Don Hill’s some time after midnight, we hope you can hear the ref’s whistle over the din. That woman leaving her Post on the 7, in you go. The cougher whose hacks turn the 2 train into his own personal Petri dish and the man with the backpack the size of a Volkswagen Passat–you’ve been served.

And that New York newbie who hasn’t quite figured out the rhythm of swiping the card through the turnstile and is holding up those who are perfectly capable of doing so: Consider yourself warned.

 5-Minute Majors

On to the more serious crimes against humanity: Blocking the doors, improper disposal of gelatinous nasal mucus (boogers, in street terms), and taking up more seats than you have derrieres–that’s five minutes in the penalty box. Oh lithesome jumper of turnstiles, the police may have missed you, but the wearer of the whistle hath not. Get in the booth and think about what you did wrong.

And you, ma’am, filling the 6 train with the sight, smell, and, Good Lord, can it be, even the sound of your unthinkably greasy Big Nasty Breakfast, then leaving the refuse for the rats: Get your grubby mug in the box.

Then to that otherwise perfectly normal chap we saw flossing that morning on the N, please come with us. Lucky for you, the fact that you daintily retired the spent floss to the breast pocket of your shirt saved you from a…

 Game Misconduct

The day has been a long one, and we all want to go home. But not you, young man on the W, as you hold the door for your slacker friend, barely visible beyond the thicket of turnstiles. You like it so much here, pal, you can spend the next few hours in the station.

And while you’re at it, take the guy who stormed onto the train as people patiently waited to step off, throwing his body at the mass of humanity like Black Friday shoppers on a bargain. In you go.

 Match Penalty

Yes, the coup de grace of culpability is reserved for only the most rarified of wrongdoings. Such as the guy who pecks away at his Blackberry like a kid with a new Gameboy on Christmas, two perfectly good legs resting beneath him as the pregnant lady, elderly man and crippled nun stand above him. The elusive Match Penalty for you, dude. Call the boss, because you’re in the box for the rest of the day.

And after that, you can clean up after Miss Big Nasty Breakfast.

Antonio, a “former NYCT employee”, knows all about the new subway rules and regs for riders:

I have heard the announcements on the newer trains regarding moving from train to train.  I have also read the “list” on a poster just the other day of these “violations”.  I don’t believe they are actual laws, just rules of conduct that you (the Public) must adhere to once you have paid your 2 bucks.  It’s a way for the Police to have some teeth into moving people who are “violating” these violations.  If the “violations/rules” are posted for all to see, then you must adhere to them.  Just like no spitting, no radios, etc.. 

Interestingly enough one of the “violations” is listening to any portable music device that disturbs other riders (or something along those lines) which in my eyes targets not only the historic boom boxes of the 70’s - 80’s but the loud iPod listener too. 

Go here for “the violations” http://www.lirr.org/nyct/rules/index.html 

Funny scene on the downtown N train around 4 today. A rather fey British or Irish tourist–thin, cut-off shorts, flip-flops–asks a fellow rider, a black woman in her 20s, about where to catch the L train. She tells him she thinks it’s 14th, but she’s not sure.

“You should double-check that with someone who knows for sure,” she says as the train leaves 57th. “Or check the map.”

He heads over to the map, but, being a timid British tourist, refrains from getting too close to the riders that sit sentry in front of the map, instead pretending to read it from six feet away.

A moment passes. We approach 49th. The young woman thinks of something related to the L train, and walks 10 feet over to where the shy Brit stands. She shares some info about her friend who rides it, which prompts an Asian woman in her 20s who’s seated by the map to add her two cents too.

Together, they appear to have given the man sound directions. They ask where he’s from, what he’s doing in New York. He says it’s his fourth day here, he’s on “holiday.” Then the Asian woman digs into her purse and produces a wallet-size subway map, which she gives to the man.

“Don’t you need it?” he asks, embarrassed. “How will you get around?”

The Asian woman peers up over her spectacles.

“I’m a New Yorker,” she says. “I’ll get around.”

They make animated small talk until the two women depart at 34th.

Since the docile souls on the 8:16 gave me nothing to write about this morning, I’m forced to be creative. So here it is, off the top of my head and with a little help from Google, my four favorite instances of ballplayers taking the train to the game.

4. Former Met first-sacker John Olerud, unassuming as Ugly Betty, would take the 7 train to Shea because he lived on the Upper East Side and it was the easiest way to get to work. I remember reading how he used to grab a pizza after the game; wearing his Mets cap, the guys from the pizza place just figured he was a big Mets fan. 

3. Former Phillies hurler Randy Wolf thought he found his soulmate while waiting for the 7 (or at least a really hot chick) 2003, and enlisted the local beat writers to help find her. (Teams visiting Shea typically stay at the Grand Hyatt, located right above the 7 stop at Grand Central.) He never did find her.

2. To get themselves psyched for the 2000 Subway Series, then-Mets Matt Franco, Kurt Abbott and Rick Reed rode the subway to Yankee Stadium. Franco told SI.com: “I got recognized by one guy in a Mets jersey who said, ‘Good luck.’ I just wanted to experience it. Tomorrow, I’m taking the team bus to experience that.”  

1. John Rocker, of course.  “Imagine having to take the [Number] 7 train to the ballpark,” he famously told SI’s Jeff Pearlman, “looking like you’re [riding through] Beirut next to some kid with purple hair next to some queer with AIDS right next to some dude who just got out of jail for the fourth time right next to some 20-year-old mom with four kids. 

Amateurs. With their giant bags, lackadaisical meanderings, screaming children and other etiquette violations, they’re high on the list of commuter annoyances.

Luckily however we professionals don’t often interact with rookies during the main leg of our rush hour travels. Once we leave the friendly confines of our commuter rail systems however, the amateur quotient rises. The subway is of course full of newbies, however our superior commuting chops usually give us the upper hand.

There is one spot though where the clueless outnumber the clued by a large margin. Times Square is generally a sea of slack-jawed shufflers who have no place in particular to be anytime soon. While it’s bad enough above ground, the northernmost entrance to the Times Square subway station - at the tip of One Times Square, directly below where they drop the ball each New Year’s Eve - is truly the gateway to amateur hell.

The subway entrance in this presumably marquee location consists of a narrow stairway leading to a small entrance space. Because this entrance is inexplicably unmanned by any MTA employees, the only way onto the platform is through two High Entrance Exit Turnstiles or HEETs. Those who aren’t familiar with this term may be able to identify these things by a more colorful nickname “the baby back ribs of death.”

The biggest drawback of these poorly designed monstrosities is that while speed dictates that the rider should swipe his or her metrocard and quickly proceed into the whirring blades of doom, the reality is that these things often misread cards, leading a rushing commuter to slam into a revolving gate that has not yet been instructed to revolve. While it seems counterintuitive, the best way to proceed is to swipe your card and wait until you see the green “Go” light that indicates your swipe was successful. Only then can you safely step into the jaws of the beast.

As this is hard enough for seasoned commuters to master, the thousands of chattering extra-regional nincompoops who are drawn to Times Square like moths to a bug zapper don’t have a chance. Each rush hour finds distressed families at the gates, some of them having successfully made it to the platform, the others waiting nervously on the other side of the bars, and one in the middle one who keeps swiping his card and repeating “did it work?” in whatever his native tongue happens to be. Behind them you can find a line — often backed up the steps to nearly street level — of frustrated would-be commuters waiting to try their luck.

The worst part of all this? This happens to be the subway entrance closest to my office, and I’ll be damned if a bunch of amateurs are gonna force me to go half a block out of my way.

1. No matter how many trains you miss there’s always another one coming (unless of course there’s a malfunction or breakdown, an injured passenger, or smoke either behind you or in front of you from some unexplained source).
2. There are no printed schedules. This saves trees and keeps the platform free of additional litter, which is good because less litter gives the rats one less place to hide.
3. There’s no reason to constantly look at your watch to see how long until the next train will arrive, hence reducing stress and anxiety over being late. Though, looking down the dark incoming tunnel for the lights of an incoming train is fair play as long as you don’t lean over the tracks. That would be bad because you could get hurt and become an “injured passenger,” delaying all the rest of us waiting for a train or already on trains heading towards your station as per the exception in #1.
4. There’s entertainment. Where else can you see a group of four boys do flips, Eskimo rolls past your feet, and other acrobatics, fighting to keep their balance on a moving train? This kind of daredevil behavior in the name of entertainment is what the Big Apple is all about. And what about all the acapella singers, ranchero serenades, and violin concertos? Who needs American Idol when I have American Subway.

5. There are shiny stainless steel poles to hang on to. Where would we be without these? Probably all piled up in a tangle at the back of the car. I especially appreciate the thought that went into their placement. When I’m falling I can almost always grab onto one, which prevents me from falling on and injuring another passenger or injuring myself stopping either of us from becoming an “injured passenger” and leading once again to the exception in #1.

Note that the height of the crossbars does not preclude the possibility of concussions, dislocated shoulders, or the inhalation of your neighbor’s deodorant…or lack thereof.

Now that you know where I’m coming from, you tell me what you like about
New York City’s tunnels of love.

–Straphanger Joe

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MEDICALONLINE.COM.AU
Thank god they stopped smoking on the subway there’s no way out. To learn a few facts about smoking and the potential health effects from smoking check out these sites.

yesterday’s NY Times had an article about a poor guy in a wheelchair who traverses the city each day to go to college.
Times Select has the link.

Daunted by the Subway? Try It in a Wheelchair

By CLYDE HABERMAN

Published: January 30, 2007

New Yorkers with disabilities deal with obstacles that can be daunting at times even for those with full use of both legs, both arms, both eyes, both ears…