This morning, I was trapped in a train beneath the East River for nearly an hour. The car was full of grumbling commuters forced to stand far too close together. The air smelled of perfume, cologne, burnt coffee, and sweat.
Some of us had thought it would be okay to hold off going to the bathroom until we had gotten to work--a regrettable gamble. Others insisted that they, in particular, just had to get to work, which begged the question of why were the rest of us taking the subway at 8:30 on a Tuesday morning. A young pregnant woman to whom I had earlier surrendered my seat periodically reminded the rest of us that she absolutely “did not need this.”
By turns, a soothing voice with a West Indian accent would congratulate us for our patience and another with a classic Brooklyn brogue would concede that “We’re gonna be here a while, people.”
When the train did start moving again, it took us only as far as First Avenue before going out of service. In the crush of irritated and bladder-challenged commuters hurrying to exit the train, I saw a tiny, elderly Chinese woman drop something on the floor. The tide was too strong for her to reach for it. Desperate, she looked around for help. So on my own way to the door, I braved the tangle of stampeding legs and retrieved the item—a large round pin bearing a reproduction of the cover of Michael Jackson’s seminal album “Thriller”.
Gratefully, she took it from my outstretched hand and reaffixed it to her sweater. Rewarding me with a thumbs up and a wide, three-toothed grin, she said in painfully halting English, “You. The. Man!”
This one takes the cake. Thank you, O Zoschenko of the rails.
Posted by: Ana | June 13, 2006 at 03:45 PM