Brian Abbott’s Blog

Out-of-towners often think of New York as an impersonal place where robbery and rape are considered some sort of toll residents are obliged to pay. I used to have a friend who referred to New York as the “cesspool of humanity.” While an outsider’s opinion is often skewed from reality, the one area where this is most true is New York’s sense of community.

Unlike the suburbs, the city is a series of blocks and buildings in which casual relationships easily form. Whether with the people in the deli, the doormen that one passes each day on the way to work, or shop clerks, New York’s sense of community is more akin to small-town familiarity.

This sense also carries over to the subway. Of course, millions of people take the subway each day so the chances of seeing the same person over and over again are rare. But, this in fact happened today. The same old man sat right next to me today as did yesterday. A small, pudgy man, he wore well-rounded suspenders and a black baseball hat advertising the Lone Star Saloon in Wayne, Alta. (I still don’t know what Alta stands for, Atlanta?). What a coincidence. In my six years in New York, I have also shared a ride with someone, spent a few hours downtown, then on the ride home saw the same person.

The small-town feel is most evident when something goes wrong. Earlier I was planing to go to work, yes on a holiday, and my good intentions were dashed when I saw the pile of people waiting in the subway station. The turnstiles were closed, dividing those who happened into the station from those who had paid their fare and were leaning off the platform looking for the hope that headlights provide.

In a situation such as this, New Yorkers come out of their social bubble and approach each other as only New Yorkers can: directly. “What’s going on? Is the train running? How long before the next train?” These questions can be directed toward anyone, no matter how ill-informed the person may appear. In this way, New Yorkers share in a common emotion, in this case disappointment, a feeling all too familiar to riders. Sometimes I hide my disappointment, remaining distant from the negative crowd. I do remain sympathetic to the limitations of the transit system, but I have my limitations like anyone.

Disappointment or joy, I always enjoy the communal emotion that I stumble upon in New York’s subway. It is reminiscent of people who are just trying to make the best of a bad situation, for no one *wants* to be on the train.

West-siders rejoice. Come May 31st the number 9 train is being retired.

I hate the 9. As a 1 train rider, the 9 serves only to mess up rush hour service. If I happen to take the train during rush hour, a dreadful ordeal at best, I always wait 2-3 times longer for a train.

The 1 and 9 trains are skip-stop trains in upper Manhattan and the Bronx. Above 137th Street, the 1 stops at some stops, the 9 stops at the others, and they are spaced out in time appropriately. They typically run within a few minutes of one another, then there’s a large gap, usually 5-10 minutes.

During rush hour, 5 minutes is enough time for my station to fill to near capacity. Many people don’t even bother getting on the train, for there is no room. All they can do is hope the next train won’t be 5 minutes away.

Thankfully, I rarely take the train during rush hour. I usually take the train to work in the early afternoon and my average wait time is about 2 minutes. When I do need to be somewhere during rush hour (jury duty and the like), I allow for an extra 20 minutes and I think to myself, how do people cope with this hassle on a daily basis–the packed trains, the invaded personal space, and the grumpy morning moods. My impression of New York would drastically change if I was forced to endure this daily.