The MTA Gives Me the Business

"Hey. Hey, the guy over there wants to talk to you." n I'd been waiting on the downtown side of the 28th St. N/R platform for about 15 minutes. Morgan was on her way downtown from the Bronx, and we'd agreed to meet there before heading to the bar. In theory at least, it was the last day of that weeklong mid-August heatwave, and the platform was a thick 115 degrees. I was dripping, my shirt soaked. To be honest, I wasn't really thinking too straight at that point, and now I was being told that some guy wanted to talk to me.

I turned around, and the man who'd just tapped me on the shoulder was pointing out past the turnstiles, toward the token booth. The clerk was waving me over. I had no idea what the hell this could be about. Whatever it was, I was in no mood.

From inside the booth, he shouted something, but from where I was standing, I couldn't hear what it was. My hearing, of late, had been giving me fits. I cupped a hand behind my ear and shrugged. Christ. The clerk waved me through the door.

"What?" I asked, once I reached his window.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked, his voice muffled despite the fact that he was using a microphone.

At first it seemed like a philosophical question?then I remembered that I'd already waited through three or four trains. In heat like this, hanging out on the platform like that might seem a little suspicious.

"Waiting for my girlfriend," I told him. "She's on her way down here on the N/R."

"What?"

I repeated myself more loudly, ostensibly sharing my plans with a dozen other commuters.

"Oh, okay," he said. "I thought you were waiting for some specific train." (Which in a way, I guess, I was.) "Go ahead," he said, waving me back to the platform. "That's fine."

"Thank you," I shouted back, giving him a small wave of my own. I'd lurked on platforms a hell of a lot longer than this in the past, and never once had I been questioned about it.

As it turns out, Morgan was on the next train. Only later did it occur to me that I probably should have at least waved goodbye to the token clerk, let him know that everything was okay, but I didn't. I figured he'd get over it.

We rode the train a few stops farther south, emerged directly into a downpour, hid out for a while in an overly air-conditioned bar, then got a bite to eat, then went to another bar (which wasn't so air-conditioned). Despite the rain and the heat, it was a fine time, and shortly before 10, Morgan dropped me off to the Astor Pl. 6 stop.

A few minutes later, I was waiting for a Brooklyn-bound F at the far end of the Broadway Lafayette platform. It was almost as stifling down there as it had been at 28th St. I crouched next to a pillar and waited, sweating bad.

At a few minutes after 10, I heard the rumbling, and saw the stab of sharp light against the tunnel walls. I stood, replaced my hat, gathered myself together.

The train squealed to a slow halt and the doors opened.

Ah, empty, I thought, as I took a seat and stretched my legs. The doors closed. A voice came over the public address system, garbled, incomprehensible. Like an adult voice on a Charlie Brown special.

Only after the train sat there awhile did it begin to strike me as odd that there was no one else in the car. Absolutely no one. Even at 3 a.m., there's at least one or two other people in that last car. I started to worry. After all, I hadn't exactly seen the big orange "F" on the front of the train, had I?

I stood up and began wandering the car, looking for the window with the yellow LCD display. I found it eventually?there was no "F" there. There wasn't, in fact, any big letter there. Only two destinations that I didn't recognize.

This isn't good, I thought. But they were on the F track?whatever train this is must be making F stops, right? For at least a little bit. That's the way it works.

I strolled back to one of the doors and waited. We?I and the train, that is?had been sitting there long enough that they'd at least have to open the doors for a second before it took off again to allow the stragglers on board. And when they did, well, I'd just step off and wait for the real F, just to play it safe.

It soon became clear, leaning there against the doors, that no such thing was going to happen.

So what the hell do I do? Something stupid, certainly. This definitely called for something stupid.

I reached my hands up, found the crease between the doors, dug my fingertips in there as best as I could, and attempted to pry them open.

Straining, I got them maybe an inch or two apart before letting them slam back together again. I probably could've squeezed my body out, but there was no guarantee my hat and bag and cane would've squeezed out with me.

Well, shit.

I waited some more.

Then the p.a. crackled to life again, with a voice that sounded like a half-growl, half-bark. I still couldn't understand what it was saying, or why, so I ignored it.

Everything was silent for a while, and I was drunk enough to have finally stopped worrying about my circumstances. I'd get home eventually, somehow. Besides, the air conditioning in there was nice.

Then a voice?a clear one this time, one that I could understand?came to me from the far end of the empty car, startling me, but not too badly.

"You're pretty fuckin' lucky, buddy."

I looked in the direction of the voice, seeing a figure half leaning into the train through the open far doors. "Pardon?" I asked.

"You almost went to Queens." He was a short, chubby man with a small mustache, wearing a white shirt and a badge.

I began working my way down the aisle toward him and the way out. I guess I must've shrugged or something, having finally realized that I was on one of those new goddamn shuttle trains, which, for some reason, was on the wrong set of tracks. It's far too early in the new S train's career to be showing up unexpectedly on the wrong tracks.

"You shoulda listened to the announcement," he chastised.

"I did listen to the announcement," I told him, "but I couldn't understand a word of what you were saying. Plus, you didn't make any announcements until after you closed the doors."

"If you were listening, you would've understood." Now that I was closer to him, I could see how visibly angry he was. Over what? Was I throwing off his schedule?

"That doesn't even make any fucking sense?" I began.

"If you were listening, you would've understood."

"You weren't even on the right fucking track?what the hell was I supposed to think?"

"Fuck you, buddy."

Well, that was a little unnecessary, I thought. I had been planning on thanking him for letting me out of there, but I'd since changed my mind.

"I couldn't understand what you were saying through those goddamn speakers!"

He spun on his heel, and was gone. The people standing on the platform were all looking at us.

I shrugged again, returned to the far end of the platform and squatted down with my back against the same pillar, as the stupid S train pulled away.