east village idiot

When I finally got to my desk this morning, I wanted to put this all up right away, but I needed to chill out a bit. I stormed into the office in a huff, bitching and moaning about how I was planning to get to work early this morning, but instead arrived half an hour late. I even pondered swearing off the subway and walking to work from now on. In this case, walking would have taken far too long, but after today’s experience, it’s no wonder that biking is faster than “rapid transit.”

I crashed in Brooklyn last night, so I was already dreading the long commute I had ahead of me. I would get on the 2 at Eastern Parkway and just ride it straight up to Times Square. Simple enough, right? Well, the Subway Gods totally had it in for me today.

I got off to an early start - hoping to get to work just before 9 - and stepped down to the platform at 8:10. A couple minutes later, a 2 train pulled into the station. Lo and behold, there were seats! I would have a one-seat ride to work. I should have known better, because the train didn’t move. The conductor came on three minutes after I sat down to state that “because of a train in brakes in emergency at Grand Army Plaza, we are stopped at this station. We should be moving momentarily.” I don’t think they know the definition of the word “momentarily,” because twenty minutes (and five more uses of the word “momentarily”) later, I was still sitting in the same place - and so was the train.

Finally, the conductor suggested a solution: “for Manhattan-bound service, take a Brooklyn-bound 2 or 3 train to Franklin Avenue and transfer to a Manhattan-bound Express train.”

Seems easy enough. As soon as that announcement was made, passengers started pouring out of the train to crossover to the outbound platform. And they poured slowly, despite the very obvious fact that a train was approaching on the outbound platform. I nearly pushed a few people over trying to get on A New Lots-bound 3 Train as the doors closed. I barely made it through the doors.

[Side note: seriously, fellow commuters, it’s the 8:30 in the morning and you’ve just been sitting your lazy asses on a train for 20 minutes.  You have no reason to all move so fucking slowly when a train pulls into the station. Why did I feel like the only person even remotely in a rush this morning? It’s called rush hour for a reason!]

But that didn’t stop everyone behind me who dragged their asses down to the stairs. One passenger behind me held one door in the lead car to try to let every single person onto the train without a single announcement from the 3 Train’s conductor (a simple, “LET GO OF THE FUCKING DOORS, YOU FUCKING IDIOTS… THERE’S ANOTHER TRAIN RIGHT BEHIND THIS ONE” would have helped immensely). Two minutes into this, the doors reopened and more passengers packed into the train. But instead of immediately closing the doors, the doors stayed open for another five minutes before the train finally moved. Why? Because logic is not a trait that any MTA employee is known to have. The doors were already closing before the rush of passengers came off the Manhattan-bound train, so there clearly wasn’t anything stopping this train here. As I would learn later, I was better off staying on the 2 Train I boarded about 30 minutes earlier. But since I had just spent that half-hour in the same subway station, moving anywhere felt like progress.

Finally, the 3 Train pulled out of the station and headed towards Franklin Avenue. At Franklin, a Manhattan-bound 4 Train was pulling into the station on the opposite platform, and again, my fellow passengers trudged up the stairs at a snail’s pace. Across the platform, a Manhattan-bound 3 Train sat in the station waiting for the mess to clear at Grand Army Plaza. I dashed to the 4 Train, obviously, since I was instructed to take an Express Train.

Of course, I should know better than to ever take an MTA conductor’s advice.

As I boarded the 4 Train and the doors were closing, I heard an announcement on the 3 Train across the platform: “all right ladies and gentlemen, we’re moving again, stand clear of the closing doors.” The crisis at Grand Army Plaza was over, and I was on an express train. Surely I would get to Atlantic Avenue before the stalled trains would, right?

Of course not. The express train trip between Franklin Avenue and Atlantic Avenue, one station apart, took more than ten minutes, and the train stopped dead in its tracks four times. That’s a little far from express. They blamed it on the “earlier incident on the local track.” I blame it on the MTA not knowing how to get out of its own damn way.

By the time I finally crossed the East River, it was 9:10am. I was still twenty minutes away from work. So much for being early. This is a good reminder of why I put up with living in Manhattan.

I don’t know why I even bother telling these stories anymore. They’re certainly not unique, but a multitude of idiotic actions by the MTA’s conductors, management, and passengers all helped triple the length of my commute this morning, and I felt it was necessary to recognize every single one of them.

This entry was posted on Monday, June 2nd, 2008 at 2:15 pm and is filed under Subway Stupidity. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.