I'll Take the A train

There are probably more jokes about the NYC subway than there are about airplane peanuts.  And fictionalized tales of woe from a quotidian subway ride have been featured in movies and television as diverse as Seinfeld, The Odd Couple, Law and Order, Sesame Street and the Taking of Pelham 123. Our poor but devoted friend the subway has become the butt of jokes and the scapegoat of nearly every “why I’m late for work” story. That’s why I’m here to defend the subway and share with you some of my favorite subway moments.

Let’s start with history. How can you not marvel when you consider that this intricate warren of underground tunnels and stations were built at the turn of the century.  In fact, from the original 28 stations built in Manhattan and opened on October 27, 1904, the subway system has grown to 468 stations – that’s only 60 fewer stations than the combined total of all other subway systems in the country. And just for you trivia geeks:

• Highest station: Smith-9 Sts Brooklyn, 88 feet above street level.
• Lowest station: 191 St in Manhattan, 180 feet below street .

And if you’re as much in love with the history as I am you can take a little (mostly in distance) trip back in time and actually ride through the original City Hall Station. All you have to do is stay on the #6 train at it’s final downtown stop (Brooklyn Bridge/City Hall) and ride with it as it circles back to the uptown platform. Make sure you don’t blink but you’ll get to see some cool underground history.

You can also see an enormous collection of beautiful, weird, strange and fascinating artwork in our subways. The MTA Arts for Transit has commissioned and installed artwork in dozens of stations since 1985. The book detailing these great works is available in their museum store – I got one for my husband for Christmas a few years back.

 

Of course one of my favorite aspects of the subway is speed and efficiency. Anyone who knows me knows that I hate to waste time and I am pretty cheap. So the subway is a dream for me. Unless you have a helicopter at your disposal there’s no faster way to get from the Battery to Washington Heights  during rush hour (approximately 30 minutes) or Coney Island to midtown on a Saturday (about an hour) than the subway. You can ride for 31 miles (the longest continuous ride from Far Rockaway to 207^th St. Manhattan) for $2.50. You’d need to take out a mortgage for a taxi ride of the same length.

And despite all the griping about delays, if you take the subway regularly you have to admit it’s on time a huge majority of the time. In fact, its reliability is something I think we all take for granted. For example, one day I was standing on the platform of the #2 at Chambers Street (my “home stop”) when a German tourist asked me about the train schedule and where was it posted (this was before the electronic schedule indicator signs). I explained that we don’t have any posted schedules because the trains come so often. He snorted in derision doubting my word and was beginning to roll his eyes when the train came rushing down the tracks. Take that you Bavarian boob!

Okay, culture and speed aside, the thing I love most about the subway is the people. A ride on the subway means being herded into a glorious tin car with people who ordinarily would never mix.  I’ll never forget the punk girl on the A train who unlaced her Doc Marten boots, pulled off her sock and began to clip her toenails as we sped past Columbus Circle. Or the deranged homeless couple who conducted an argument straight out of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolfe about who should have custody of the wheelchair, their sole source of “income.” The “wife,” whose burgundy wig appeared to be sinking down her made up face, truly believed it was her turn, but her Vietnam vet-looking mate was quite convince it belonged to him. A family of four very blonde, very bemused tourists watched intently. Ahh, there you go, I thought: an afternoon’s entertainment basically free of charge. You want to bet that’s the first thing they told their friends when they got home?

I’ve seen celebrities sitting next to heroin addicts on a nod; nurses trying to make it home after a long shift chatting with Japanese students; Lawyer-looking dudes getting into intense disputes with homegirls with platinum weaves. It’s our own mini UN for chrissakes!

Our lives literally take place on the subway. I had my first kiss on the lips from my now husband as we parted ways on the N train. I’ve reunited with old friends by serendipitously running into them on the same car. I’ve read great novels. I’ve witnessed moments of violence and despair, and saw a pick up or two. And I once fulfilled a life-long dream by sitting in the driver’s booth while we hurtled from West 96^th to 34^th Street (long story.)It’s the spectrum of human experience all while barreling underground.

So the next time you complain that the #5 is too crowded (which it is…and why I can’t wait for the 2^nd avenue subway!!!) or that the F is too slow, or that the A is too dirty, just think about what we truly have and how good the subway is too us.  After all, if the A train was good enough for Duke Ellington, it’s good enough for you!