The line between a true transit eccentric and a regular person in extreme pain is thinner than you think.
Most of us have ridden NYC’s subways and other railways—the Long Island Railroad (LIRR), Metro-North, NJ PATH, and NJ Transit. Some of us have even ridden the Staten Island Railway (SIR). No matter the line, we have all experienced the exploits of our fellow passengers. Most are just everyday commuters going to and from school, the office, entertainment venues, or perhaps visiting relatives.
Then, there are the characters.
Having ridden trains across the world—in D.C., London, Rome, Madrid, Milan, Moscow, and St. Petersburg, to name a few—I’ve realized every transit system has its interesting passengers. Thankfully, New York City’s public transit system is the most diverse. Of course, its trains are also the worst when it comes to being on time, sticking to their routes, and staying clean. Hands down, our trains are the filthiest. But it’s what we have, and we deal with it.
As for our passenger base, we live with that, too. Do we want to? Yes and no. It is simply part of the fabric of New York City, and it is easily recognizable. We have our entertainers—you know, the ones who play guitar, sing, or dance. Then there are the preachers, politicians, and educators—people who treat the subway car like their personal classroom, though no one ever really knows what they are teaching.
Unfortunately, the trains are also full of beggars and people experiencing homelessness. Sometimes, they are not even homeless. Stories have circulated for years about how some of these people walk off the train, change into regular clothes, take the money from their collection cup, and spend it. Most of us feel bad for the truly challenged, but we still don’t want to get too close. We fear we could get mugged or hurt.
But did you ever wonder if every “character” is truly one? Sometimes you might see people on the train who, because of whatever personal circumstances they are navigating at the time, fit the bill as one of those interesting folks—but really aren’t.
A few months ago, I was coming home from Yankee Stadium during a brutal July heatwave. I did my best to stay hydrated—in fact, I am sure I overhydrated—and I still didn’t feel well. No, my illness was not due to how the Yankees embarrassed themselves on the field. I am immune to that by now and carry on, still hopeful they will eventually return to being the dynasty they are supposed to be. That, however, will take a lot of work and is tons of copy for another post.
That day, I was wearing my Yankee hat, a T-shirt, blue jean shorts from The Gap, and sneakers. Nearly everyone at the stadium wore similar apparel. As I rode the 4 train from 161st Street to 59th and Lex to transfer to the R, I sipped from my water bottle, stared at my iPhone, and couldn’t sit or stand properly. I was in a lot of pain. When I finally got home, I showered, called my mom, and went straight to the ER. Hours later, they discharged me, and I felt great.
A similar thing happened last year in early December. I was at Regal Union Square, ready to see “The Cure: The Show of a Lost World” movie. Like most other attendees, I wore all black from head to toe. I had been lucky enough to see The Cure perform this music live on their recent tour, and the movie was a great reminder of how amazing Robert Smith is. Just a few days earlier, I had been enjoying Sicily’s sights and fine food, but from the moment the film started until the credits rolled, I honestly thought I wouldn’t make it.
I felt so sick. I know it wasn’t from the dark, goth music—I love that. But I had an incredibly hard time sitting through the feature. Walking back to the subway afterward was quite difficult. Once on board, I stood the whole way; I couldn’t sit, and I could barely stand. Eventually, it pulled into my stop. I climbed the steps, walked the two blocks to my building, showered, and tried to sleep. I texted my mom, but she said she was dealing with my grandmother, so I stopped texting to give her space.
In both of those cases, to anyone else on the train, I may have seemed like a character. Was I? Some friends or family could say I am always one. If so, I hope I was a “Star Wars” character. But in reality, I was just a normally very quiet commuter whom no one would ever notice, silently going through a tremendous amount of pain.
Did people look at me and want to stay away? Did I worry them? Who knows? But probably not. I likely didn’t fit the bill for someone who would set off alarms for savvy commuters.
Next time you ride the train, take a closer look at the characters around you. Some of it is only temporary, based entirely on the current situation.
