Subway Stories

As a New Yorker the two main ways you get around are by walking and taking the subway.  Anything you do over and over again will eventually lead you into some strange circumstances.  There’s one story that leaps to the forefront of my mind.

I was heading home on an uptown train on a weekday night after having a met up with a few friends for a drink or two.  It couldn’t have been later than 8:30 or 9pm.  I got on the N  train at 34^th street to a fairly empty car.  As I walked in and sat down in one of then few available seats on the long bench in the middle of the car.  The train pulled up to Times Square and quite a few people exited, but there was a far greater influx of people getting in.  I tried to slide over and grab the seat next to the arm pole in the middle of the bench but as I was sliding someone swooped in and took that seat.  I stopped myself in mid slide and was sandwiched by two people who just boarded.  The train filled up completely to the point that it looked like a rush hour train.  The train slowly starts exiting the station as a smell of ham wafted through my breathing zone.  I turned my head to left to see a 50 something Indian gentleman in a pair of glasses that you’d expect on an engineer, a trimmed but still unkempt mustache, a light brown jacket that felt like the spiritual successor of a Members Only jacket and a striped, white button shirt with a breast pocket that was far from new.  The man had just burped again releasing more ham stench.  The train slows down in between stations, coming to almost a dead halt. 

I turn my head so I’m looking straight away again and wonder what this guy had to eat.  I hear another burp from my left and I turn in time to see a small amount of vomit make its way out of his lips and onto his white shirt and beige jacket.  The best part is he is completely oblivious.  I quickly realized that this guy is bombed out of his skull, doesn’t drink often, and I’m wedged against him with no hope of getting out of the situation since the train car is jam packed and the train is going 1/50^th of its top speed.  I avert my eyes in hopes of “if I don’t see it, it doesn’t exist.”  I look straight again and notice the lady who is pressed up again me shifting her weight to my right.  We lock eyes in and both start to giggle, appreciating this very New York moment.  Through these glances we have a non-verbal conversation saying things to each other like: can you believe what just happened?  What are we going to do?  It’s amazing that he doesn’t realize what he’s done!  This is going to be a fantastic story!  Why can’t this train go any faster!

The sound of our giggles hit the man’s ear drums and he starts looking over at us, which caused us to look back at him and attempt to hold in our laughter even more so.  In the midst of all these back and forth glances, something green/pink catches the eye of the man and he pieces together that he’s just thrown up a little on himself.  The embarrassment sets in as he tries to wipe off the mess.  The train picks up speed. Then it hits my nose again.  More ham.  The second wave of vomit comes and the man does his best to contain it.  He did a pretty good job of it considering the circumstances. The train pulls up to 49^th street.  The man now fully red in the face, I’m guessing more from embarrassment than from booze, pushes his way through the crowd and on to the platform.  The woman and I let loose our contained laughter, not at the guy but more at the situation.  She gets off at the next station and we never exchange a word, but we most certainly exchanged an unforgettable subway story.