Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Bay Ridge Tornadoes (not a ball team) - Part Two
And so to the F train. Well, the wait for the F train. We were warned it was running slowly. This turned out to be a euphemism. I was on the platform for quite a while. People complained at having been there for 35 minutes. A couple of people were getting upset with the guy tidying the platform!! Ridiculous! It was his fault? When the cleaner said the storm had been very bad, one man said he was awake, and it wasn’t that bad. So I informed him of the tree damage I saw en route, and he stopped speaking.
By the time I squeezed onto the third train, I had been there for over half an hour. A young man walked past me shortly before, wearing 10 times as much after shave as any one person should wear. I silently wished he wouldn’t get into the same crowded carriage as me. But in that carriage was a man smelling of week old, stale spices. Where are you after-shave man?
Limbs everywhere! A female colleague complained to me that on her commute, a man came up behind her and pressed his crotch into her derriere. I had arms on my crotch and both butt cheeks at various times – but unlike my colleague’s rendition, there was nothing anyone could do about it! Once again, the conductor was announcing that there was a train behind, and once again, everyone who could squeeze on did so. An incumbent woman told a large man who took the last available space what the conductor had said, and in an obvious Russian accent, he replied: “’Yes, I know! This is 5th train. All were bechind (sic.)”
I was most grateful to see an A train at Jay Street, as this would take me to the Wall Street area. Had the F really been the only train running into Manhattan, I might have had to walk from Chinatown in the steam-bath conditions. Supposedly, the temperature reached 100 degrees F today (38C). The humidity wasn’t much less and the underground subway platforms were far hotter. I reached the City at 10:30am, hot and weary; my bald, high forehead firmly greased with sweat, and it was a while before I could actually concentrate on my work. Could have been worse though! My commute home was normal. Had I lived in Queens, it could have been as much fun as the morning journey.
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By the time I squeezed onto the third train, I had been there for over half an hour. A young man walked past me shortly before, wearing 10 times as much after shave as any one person should wear. I silently wished he wouldn’t get into the same crowded carriage as me. But in that carriage was a man smelling of week old, stale spices. Where are you after-shave man?
Limbs everywhere! A female colleague complained to me that on her commute, a man came up behind her and pressed his crotch into her derriere. I had arms on my crotch and both butt cheeks at various times – but unlike my colleague’s rendition, there was nothing anyone could do about it! Once again, the conductor was announcing that there was a train behind, and once again, everyone who could squeeze on did so. An incumbent woman told a large man who took the last available space what the conductor had said, and in an obvious Russian accent, he replied: “’Yes, I know! This is 5th train. All were bechind (sic.)”
I was most grateful to see an A train at Jay Street, as this would take me to the Wall Street area. Had the F really been the only train running into Manhattan, I might have had to walk from Chinatown in the steam-bath conditions. Supposedly, the temperature reached 100 degrees F today (38C). The humidity wasn’t much less and the underground subway platforms were far hotter. I reached the City at 10:30am, hot and weary; my bald, high forehead firmly greased with sweat, and it was a while before I could actually concentrate on my work. Could have been worse though! My commute home was normal. Had I lived in Queens, it could have been as much fun as the morning journey.
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