Grab your lucky rabbit foot.

Most people go through their morning routine with the typical, stream of consciousness thoughts running through their mind:

"What do I wear? It's raining, wear boots - the cute ones. Should I forget to pack that salad for lunch, and be forced (sigh) to go out and get a burger? The cute boots hurt my feet, damn it. I hope my boss is in a good mood - and if not, maybe he won't take it out on me. I sometimes hate him. I usually hate my coworkers. Why do I work in this place? I wish I were on a beach. Oh whatever, cute boots it is, they match my outfit. Maybe I should switch jobs, or careers. I never should have majored in creative writing. I like grapes."

(And yes, that last bit was an ode to Ellen Degeneres.)

But in my mind, the one thought that hits me as soon as I get out of bed, follows me as I get my shower and put on the cute boots, nags me as I prepare my salad and then forget it in the fridge, is: What side of the train will open first?

You must understand, at the Path station hub where I catch my train, there are three trains that come and go - two of them go into Manhattan. And riders can exit and enter trains on all three platforms that surround the trains.

So as the early morning hustle bustle takes place, individuals clutch their coffee cups and New York Daily News and (this week, at least) sopping umbrellas, take a deep wishful breath, and make the decision as to what platform they will wait.

Because you never know. You could be on Platform A, and the train pulls in next to Platform C. If this happens, my expert advice to is run. Fast. In your heels, your cute boots, whatever. Run upstairs, cross over to the Platform C and, if you're spry enough, you may just get there in time to rush on board as the doors open and grab a seat.

Oh, did I forget to mention the main goal? To get a seat.*

Now I know what you're wondering. What if you're on Platform A, the trains pulls in next to you (yay!), but the doors open on the Platform B side? Well then, you're screwed.

The best you can do is push all those other Jersey-ites aside to get to the front of the crowd that is gathering outside the Path doors, and as soon as the door opens, put your Available Seat Alert on high. If you see an open seat, run to it, tossing your handbag ahead of you to either a) land on the seat or b) knock out out competing riders who may be aiming for your seat. Then claim your seat in victory (a small seat victory dance is never proper, but a huge grin and sigh of "BEAT YA!" is entirely appropriate).

So, to wrap up today's lesson, how do you tell on which platform to stand, and which door will open first?

1) Pure luck.
2) Follow wherever the crowd is standing (yes, be a follower. jump off the bridge).
3) Give the station manager cookies every day, in exchange for train/platform info (that's right, my dears, bribery always works).

I prefer 1), pure luck. It gives the day a bit of mystery, a challenge to work for, a frustrating way to start the day.

And a chance to use my lucky rabbit foot.


--
*Though according to my boyfriend, one can actually burn 4 calories per minute (or something like that) by standing on the subway. Sweet, I won't have to go the gym in the morning!

Subway Anxiety

This is going to be quick, I promise.

As I rode the Path and subway this morning, I looked around and was surrounded by people reading newspapers with "MOSCOW SUBWAY BOMBING KILLS DOZENS" sprawled across the top.

This brings up the obvious question: As a person who uses public transportation on a regular basis, how does one deal with these bombings and the threat that it could happen in your city?

Well I will admit that I've asked many people, and I have yet to come across a single Path/subway rider who has not thought about their own potential of landing in such a situation, given the trains they take and at what time of day. They think about their escape route, should the threat of a bombing occur. Unfortunately, in our world, we have to consider these points.

But we don't have to let them control our lives.

We can analyze hypothetical situations, imagining escape routes and the like, but we do not have to act upon any of these thoughts. Because if we act upon them, our lives suddenly become not our own. They become the property of someone else, our actions controlled by the possibility of something that may never (probably won't) ever happen.

It took me a while to get to this point, I'll admit. And there are moments when I can't completely erase the fear from my mind. But every day that I step onto the Path or subway and don't let the numb feeling of fear enter my bones, I know that I'm fighting for something. I'm fighting for control of my own life, my thoughts, my feelings.

And that is something that's worth fighting for.

If you have crutches, just take my seat, damn it.

Apparently the universe heard that I was writing this blog, and decided to give me an adventure on wheels (or rather, adventure on electrified train tracks) today.

But before I launch into my story, I should pause for a moment and explain the various forms of transportation that I use. If for some reason you're insane enough to keep reading this blog (...or awesome enough to keep reading?), you'll need to know the following:

My main form is the Path - a subway-like system (actually it preceded the subway by about 40 years) that runs from New Jersey into Manhattan. For you Wikipedia nuts, check it out. My specific Path ride is approximately 15 minutes at the beginning and end of my daily journey. In between, I use the one and only New York City MTA subway system (shazam!). On rare occasions, I use the LIRR (Long Island Rail Road), NJ Tranist (trains to NJ), and so on.

Back to today.

This morning was its own hectic episode, which resulted in the fantastic montage of me running up to the subway doors, yelling, "Wait! Wait!" only to find the conductor staring at me blankly as the automatic doors slammed shut. "Wait?" I asked, pathetic and breathless. The conductor raised his eyebrows at me, turned his head, and the subway train sped away, leaving me in its dust.

And that was just this morning.

I was then hit by some jarring personal news in the middle of the day (thank goodness, all is mostly okay now), but it distracted me enough that by the time 6pm rolled around, I realized that I hadn't eaten a thing all day. So I broke my cardinal rule of eating on the subway (some day later, we'll get to that). I grabbed a bag of Sun Chips (really, are there any chips more delicious?) and off I went.

By the time I took the subway to the Path, I had half a bag left. With my mind still focused on the earlier drama, I absent-mindedly wedged myself between two broad-shouldered business men and munched on my Sun Chips. Munch, crunch, munch, crunch. The noise, I realized, in comparison to the post-Monday work day sedative, was defeaning. I chewed slower. Munch.....crunch.....munch....crunch. Softer. Munch......crunch.....munch. You cannot eat a bag of Sun Chips quietly. This, unfortunately, I seem to forget every time I have them.

I plowed my way through the remaining half a bag, and with a mouthful of those addictive, savory bits of heaven, I nearly sighed. I was done causing a slight scene.

Except, I still had the bag to put away.

Have you ever realized that it is impossible to scrunch up a plastic-y, sticky chip bag without making some type of noise? And even if you try to move slowly, folding it smaller, one crease at a time, it seems to be louder? I ended up just shoving it into the bottom of purse, Sun Chip crumbs falling everyone, I'm sure.

At this point, I figured that the remaining ten minutes could be serene, calm. And it was. Until a young woman with crutches got on the train. Immediately, five of us jumped up to offer her our seat. She smiled and politely refused. So we sat and stared at the girl on crutches.

We sat and stared at her as the train weaved and she wobbled from side to side. We sat and stared at her as the train came to a crashing halt and (as a small child shrieked, "WHY ARE WE STOPPED?") and her crutch went flying a few feet in front of her. No one picked it up. Hey, she said she didn't need a seat, she obviously didn't need our help.

(I joke - I'm not an entirerly mean person. I pushed the crutch back to her with my foot).

And we sat and stared at her as the train lurched to a start again, sending her stumbling backwards into a pole. When the train arrived to our destination, everyone jumped in front of her to get off.

It was a picturesque moment to end the day.

Well, I guess this is the first stop.

Public transportation.

To some, this phrase conjures up the image of the common man, shoved alongside hundreds of other down-on-their-luck folk, all exhausted from [enter your choice of gripe here], shuffling their way onto a crowded subway/train/bus that has already broken down twice today and will (of course) be delayed by at least another twenty minutes. These people squeeze together, their bodies pulsing into one other with each sudden turn, hands groping awkwardly (or sometimes hopefully, depending on what they're groping for) to reach a free handle or pole.

Somewhere amidst the mass, a mariachi band has set up and is playing lively, loudly, annoyingly. A homeless man or two wander the trains, asking for a handout for their kids, themselves or (the only beg to which I respond positively) a beer. Of course, a child is screaming, certain that they will never step on steady land again. And as if this were all not bad enough, there is the God-awful, completely horrific, constantly present, sinking-into-your-clothes-as-you-stand-there factor: the smell.


Yes, to some people, this is the dreadful definition of "public transportation."

To me, it's daily life. And it is just as it sounds. Grueling and dirty.....and slightly marvelous.

Yes, marvelous. Fascinating. Intriguing. When you step onto a public transportation vehicle, you're stepping into another world - one (usually) closed in on all sides, controlled by someone you (often times) cannot see, with a crowd of people with whom you have nothing in common but your time spent together at this very moment. And if anything happens, you are in it together, swiftly united with this group of strangers. (Now, who can't tell me that that is the beginning of a great movie plot? .....and by great, I mean horrendously bad.)

But truthfully, there are thousands of fascinating, strange (and yes, sometimes disturbing) stories to be found on public transportation. Which is why I am writing this blog.

The goal? To write (nearly) daily anecdotes, thoughts, musings, limericks and such about my escapades on public transportation - specifically in the New York City area.

I'm not promising them to be funny, or thought-provoking, or even well-written (.....are you still reading?), but they will be real. And in my belief, real is way better than fiction (unless it's that story where I win the lottery, am awarded an Oscar, and crowned queen all in the same day...that's way better than real life).

So with that, tomorrow will start my first written account. Until then, I wish you transportation free of mariachi bands.