Continuing Adventures in Public Transit
Commuting. Despite all the characters you have to ride with and the obsessive behaviors you have to engage in to survive the ordeal there are still mornings when the bus ride in is actually pleasant. This morning was one of those times. No cell phone talkers or excessive traffic or poorly calibrated climate control or overcrowding. Just a nice, quiet, uneventful ride. It was almost like being in a church or a temple. We rolled toward the bridge in an atmosphere that was perfectly peaceful and contemplative.
After the last stop by the V-N bridge the seat next to me was still unoccupied so I spread out, putting my knapsack and the NY Times still in its damp bag (normally I throw the paper in my bag but I didn’t want to get anything else wet) on the seat next to mine. This is NY, of course so I when I do this I always loop my arm through the knapsack’s straps with the zippers facing me. Yes, it’s an express bus from Staten Island but you can never be too safe.
By the time the bus hit the Gowanus I was dozing and managed to nap until the bus got to 14th street. That’s perfect because by the time the bus makes it to my stop I’ll be mostly awake again. When we got to midtown I stood up, put on the knapsack and….the Times was gone.
Who the hell would take a guy’s paper while he’s sleeping on the bus? And it was the Times fercryinoutloud. I’m reasonably sure there are about 5 Times readers on all of Staten Island and I’m one of ‘em. It’s a kind of détente we have: the Times pretends Staten Island doesn’t exist and we pretend the Times doesn’t exist. Staten Island. is strictly NY Post territory along with the local Newhouse rag, the Staten Island Advance. Hell, the Times has no idea how to classify Staten Island in its own mind: on the weekends we get both the City section usually only included in the boroughs and the New Jersey “and the region” section that goes to the suburbs. During the transit strike a few years back the Times published a map of how to get around in spite of the strike showing what services were unaffected and could be used as alternates. That map consisted of four boroughs and a thin slice of New Jersey.
Staten Island was nowhere to be found.
Staten Island’s relationship to the region is a strange one. Everyone thinks it’s the boondocks. Just last Saturday we went to dinner in Somerville for a friend’s 40th birthday and someone there commented “Wow, you guys drove all the way in from Staten Island!”
“You’re from Jersey aren’t you?” I replied
“Well now we live in Easton but originally we’re from around here, why?”
“Everyone from Jersey thinks Staten Island is 500 miles away. Actually, our drive here was probably 5 or 10 minutes shorter than yours.”
“Really?”
“Really”
“I guess I never thought about it”
New Yorkers are the same way. People who spend an hour on a sweaty subway train from somewhere in the middle of Brooklyn or Queens say “Boy, it must take you over two hours to get to work huh?”
“From where I live the ride in the morning is about an hour unless traffic is bad. Evening’s a little longer.”
At that point they usually give you that look that a dog gives you when you make a sudden loud noise and change the subject.
There are other advantages to the commute. For instance, you can still have a beer while enjoying the view on the Staten Island ferry. In other parts of the world, the Puritans have taken over and banned alcohol from public transit.
Frankly, I don’t blame Londoners for blowing off some steam in protest to that declaration. The Puritans win these battles by convincing people that the bottom-of-the-barrel miscreants who can’t act appropriately with a couple beers in them are the norm when really all most of us want is the right to unwind with a cold one on the way home so our attitude is properly adjusted when we walk through the door to greet our families.
On top of that, I firmly believe that drunks do not steal the NY Times from fellow passengers. It’s the damn teetotalers who are heisting the papers. I say there should be machine on every bus dispensing Bloody Marys, Mimosas and Rum Punch. That would have everyone starting the day off right!
After the last stop by the V-N bridge the seat next to me was still unoccupied so I spread out, putting my knapsack and the NY Times still in its damp bag (normally I throw the paper in my bag but I didn’t want to get anything else wet) on the seat next to mine. This is NY, of course so I when I do this I always loop my arm through the knapsack’s straps with the zippers facing me. Yes, it’s an express bus from Staten Island but you can never be too safe.
By the time the bus hit the Gowanus I was dozing and managed to nap until the bus got to 14th street. That’s perfect because by the time the bus makes it to my stop I’ll be mostly awake again. When we got to midtown I stood up, put on the knapsack and….the Times was gone.
Who the hell would take a guy’s paper while he’s sleeping on the bus? And it was the Times fercryinoutloud. I’m reasonably sure there are about 5 Times readers on all of Staten Island and I’m one of ‘em. It’s a kind of détente we have: the Times pretends Staten Island doesn’t exist and we pretend the Times doesn’t exist. Staten Island. is strictly NY Post territory along with the local Newhouse rag, the Staten Island Advance. Hell, the Times has no idea how to classify Staten Island in its own mind: on the weekends we get both the City section usually only included in the boroughs and the New Jersey “and the region” section that goes to the suburbs. During the transit strike a few years back the Times published a map of how to get around in spite of the strike showing what services were unaffected and could be used as alternates. That map consisted of four boroughs and a thin slice of New Jersey.
Staten Island was nowhere to be found.
Staten Island’s relationship to the region is a strange one. Everyone thinks it’s the boondocks. Just last Saturday we went to dinner in Somerville for a friend’s 40th birthday and someone there commented “Wow, you guys drove all the way in from Staten Island!”
“You’re from Jersey aren’t you?” I replied
“Well now we live in Easton but originally we’re from around here, why?”
“Everyone from Jersey thinks Staten Island is 500 miles away. Actually, our drive here was probably 5 or 10 minutes shorter than yours.”
“Really?”
“Really”
“I guess I never thought about it”
New Yorkers are the same way. People who spend an hour on a sweaty subway train from somewhere in the middle of Brooklyn or Queens say “Boy, it must take you over two hours to get to work huh?”
“From where I live the ride in the morning is about an hour unless traffic is bad. Evening’s a little longer.”
At that point they usually give you that look that a dog gives you when you make a sudden loud noise and change the subject.
There are other advantages to the commute. For instance, you can still have a beer while enjoying the view on the Staten Island ferry. In other parts of the world, the Puritans have taken over and banned alcohol from public transit.
Frankly, I don’t blame Londoners for blowing off some steam in protest to that declaration. The Puritans win these battles by convincing people that the bottom-of-the-barrel miscreants who can’t act appropriately with a couple beers in them are the norm when really all most of us want is the right to unwind with a cold one on the way home so our attitude is properly adjusted when we walk through the door to greet our families.
On top of that, I firmly believe that drunks do not steal the NY Times from fellow passengers. It’s the damn teetotalers who are heisting the papers. I say there should be machine on every bus dispensing Bloody Marys, Mimosas and Rum Punch. That would have everyone starting the day off right!
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