Commute

Jasanta@hunter.cuny.edu

Word: 2,186

A woman pushes her stroller in between the closing doors of the “6” train, 138th s street subway station. I saw that she was struggling so I reached over and used all my strength to force the door open. She casually walks into the train and has a seat; she did not say “thank you” or give me any sign of acknowledgment. Freestyle music is coming from the headphones she is wearing; she is bobbing her head to the beat. She gets off at the next stop on 125th street.

On 103rd stwo men enter the train with bright red congas. Without saying a word they begin to play on the congas and sing a song called, “Oye Como Va.” They continue to play to 86th street where they exit the train. More people enter the train at 86th street. By the time the train reaches 59th street there were no more seats left.

Two pregnant women enter the train on 59th street. They are talking to each other. They stand in front of men who were looking away from them. Without saying a word two women stand up and offer them their seat. The pregnant women sit down and say, “Thank you.”

A man without shoes or a shirt enters the train on 14th street; he says that he is HIV positive and starts asking for money. He walks down the car and a woman covers her mouth with her hand and another woman hides her face in her shirt. One woman covers her face with the book she is reading. The man gets off the train at the Astor Place subway stop.

The train stops moving and the conductor says on the loudspeaker that there is traffic ahead of us. I arrive at Spring Street at 10:30a.m.

I and three other people wait for the bus at 75th street on Boulevard East. When the bus arrives there were already 14 people on it; the bus route is along Blvd East. I sit down on the first row on the left side, driver’s side. A woman sitting right across from me drops her brown ski hat and I pick it up for her. It was 9:10a.m. and the bus stops at 50th street; two women get on the bus. The bus stops again at 48th street and two women, one man, get on the bus. The bus ride takes me from North Bergen, Guttenberg, West New York, and Weehawken and through the Lincoln Tunnel to finally Port Authority. The bus didn’t make that many stops because there was a bus directly in front of it. A woman gets on at Highwood Ave. in Weehawken. A man gets on the bus in Weehawken on Blvd East. The bus route is along the Hudson River, and it has a view of the New York City skyline.

We are in the Lincoln Tunnel; the bus stops because of traffic. Including the bus driver, there are 22 people on the bus. It was 9:25a.m. and I was still stuck on the bus in the Lincoln Tunnel; I have to be at class at 9:45a.m. It’s 9:27a.m. and I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. I sat in the first row, so I can be the first one to exit the bus, but a man beats me to the front of the bus. He has on a trench coat, glasses, a black bag over his right shoulder and another bag that he carries down on his left side.

The shuttle train at Times Square arrives at 9:37a.m. Everyone around me has on their headphones. I get on the 6 train heading to Hunter College at 9:42a.m. Asian kids that appear to range from the ages of 6-8 took up most of the seats in the car I am in. Two Caucasian women and one Asian woman appear to be their teachers. All three women stood next to the children. I arrive at the Hunter College stop at 9:47a.m.

On a Sunday morning, I am on my way to work. I sat on the 2nd row from the front, driver’s side. There was already a woman and man on the bus when I get on at 75th street. The bus stops at 72nd street and two men get on. The bus then stops at 64th street and two men, three women, get on the bus. A man sitting across from me says, “Can you please hurry up. There are people here who have to get to work.” The bus driver glares at him from his rear-view mirror.

Unlike the Port Authority buses, the “gypsy” buses look like school buses that have been painted white or sometimes black. It is 5 cents cheaper than the Port Authority buses; its $2.50 a ride. I believe it is called a “Gypsy” bus because it’s not operated by the city. All the drivers appear to be foreigners, mostly from the Dominican Republic. Unlike the Port Authority buses the “Gypsy” buses run very late into the night. It is assumed that in order to increase their passengers the “Gypsy” bus drivers take their time getting from one location to the next. They drive slowly so that the amount of people waiting at the next bus stop increases.

Even though some of the Lincoln Tunnel entrances were closed due to construction work the traffic was still running smoothly. The bus driver lets all the passengers off at 42nd street, between eighth and ninth avenues, right across from Port Authority. We pay the bus driver as we get off. The “Gypsy” buses do not accept tickets like the P.A. buses.

I then took the “R” train from Times Square downtown to Prince Street; it was 10:10a.m. I get on the train with two women and two men. They are all talking to each other. One woman takes out a subway map and another woman starts telling them about a video she has seen online. She says the video shows a mother waiting for the train. She lets go of her stroller to adjust herself and the baby’s stroller slowly rolls to the edge of the platform at the same moment the train enters the station. The train catches a part of the stroller and drags it along the platform and finally knocks it into the tracks. She says the baby was knocked out of the stroller; the baby landed in between the tracks and survived. The stroller was crushed. I got to the prince street subway stop at 10:28a.m.

The bus heading to Times Square arrives at 75th street, Blvd east. It was 10:07a.m. and I was the only one on the bus. I sit on the first row on the passenger side. A man gets on the bus on 63rd street. There is another “Gypsy” bus directly in front of the one I was on. The only other man on the bus sits on the passenger side too but in the last row. There was also another “gypsy” bus directly behind the one I was on. In Spanish, the bus driver told me and the other guy to get off the bus and get on the bus in front of the one we were already on. Both of the buses stop at a red light and the bus driver calls the bus driver in front of us to let him know that he was sending him two more passengers. The bus I switch to was almost completely full. After the bus driver picks up his last passenger in Weehawken, there were only five seats left on the bus. The traffic was moving smoothly. The bus driver pays for the toll and then we enter Lincoln Tunnel. The man sitting directly behind me was on his phone speaking a Middle Eastern language; he hangs his phone up when the bus enters the tunnel. Music from an overly loud Mp3 player is being used in the background.

Shuttle train arrives at 10:39a.m. (Time Square to Grand Central). I count five people wearing headphones. The man on my right is doing a cross words puzzle. The train is delayed because a woman threw her purse in between the train doors and wouldn’t let them go until the doors open completely to let her in.

I got on the “6” train heading uptown to Hunter College at 10:46a.m. A man to my right is reading a Time Out magazine and listening to music on his iPod. Two girls and a man to my left are speaking a foreign language and I can’t identify it; they appear to be from Eastern Europe. A girl across from me has orange hair, a nose ring, a red plaid shirt and green worn out converse with holes on its sides. She gets off at the Hunter College subway stop too.

At 7:00a.m. the only other person waiting for the bus on 75th street, Blvd. East, was a girl with a tattoo. A Port Authority bus cam at 7:10a.m.; five people were on the bus. The girl with a tattoo sits across from me. The tattoo was on the right side of her stomach. She takes off her jacket and folds the right side of her shit so that her tattoo is exposed. The colors are bright and the tattoo glistens. The tattoo consists of stars, fairies and colorful spirals. She has on a black ski hat and her red bangs were being shown.

At 60th street the bus is completely filled. There is only room for people to stand. At 55th street an older white woman comes onto the bus and complains about men not getting up and offering their seat to a woman. She says, “What kind of good Christian men allow an older woman to stand as they stay seated?” The woman sitting next to her stands and offers up her seat. The men who were close to her ignore her. I arrive at 42nd street at 7:36a.m.

Whether it is a Port Authority bus or “Gypsy” bus I am running late to work and I will take the one that comes first. I get on the “Gypsy” bus at 10:05a.m.; I was barely inside the bus when it began to move again. There is another “Gypsy” bus directly behind the one I am on. The bus driver keeps looking at the one behind us in his rear-view mirror. He stops in the middle of 66th street to pick up two more passengers. He also stops in the middle of 64th street to pick up more passengers. It is becoming obvious that he is trying to prevent the bus that is behind him from passing. Cars behind the two buses began to honk their horns. One of the passengers yell, “Cut the shit out!”

The bus that is behind us finally makes it ahead of us and abruptly stops right in front of the bus I was on. He then steps out of his bus and comes to the bus I was on and starts arguing with the bus driver. He starts banging on the bus driver’s window and tells him to open the door. The bus driver refuses and eventually makes it around the other bus; I told him to let me out on the next stop. A few of the passenger and I get off the bus and wait for one of the Port Authority buses.

The A-line is the city’s longest train route and one of its oldest. After work I walk to Canal Street to take the Far Rockaway bound A-train to Ozone Park to visit my family. I get on the train at 5:40p.m. and it was packed; there weren’t any seats available. The doors open at the Broadway Nassau subway station and a crowd of people enter the car. There is a woman wearing a grey sweater, blue jeans, a green coat and a black book bag who begins to make an announcement.

She says that she lost her children in a tragic fire and she doesn’t have the money to arrange a proper funeral for her deceased daughter and son. Many people hand her money and others just shake their head. This is the 3rd time I have saw this woman in four months telling the same story.

The crowds of people clear out significantly at the Broadway Junction stop in Brooklyn. I find a seat and there are two men in front of me drinking beer from a brown bag. I arrive at my subway stop at 6:45p.m.