The Beatbox Lumberjack

It was the day after Thanksgiving, and the Brooklyn-bound A-train was much less crowded than I would have expected, given all the Black Friday announcements during the weeks before. I was sitting at one end of an otherwise empty triple-seat, and across from me was a grizzled sixtyish man in a lumberjack jacket with a fur Cossack hat that was pulled down over his eyes. I thought that he was asleep, but as we pulled out of the next stop, he started to sing what I can only guess was a song that he was making up on the spot in a voice that sounded like it was seldom used for speech, let alone song. At the same time, a bickering couple had joined me on my bench. As he sang, the lumberjack's voice grew stronger, and he started to do NKOTB-style arm gestures to accompany his song. (Since he was holding a paper cup of coffee at the same, this was not only odd, but also messy.) One of the men in the couple beside me looked across the car and suddenly started beatboxing along with the ever louder song.
"What are you doing?" asked the other man in the couple.
The first man stopped his percussing. "You always say that I'm too introverted, so I'm expressing myself." He then resumed. I felt like I was stuck in the episode of Modern Family in which Mitchell joins a flashmob to impress Cameron. His partner looked shocked, but then smiled.
The lumberjack got off at the next stop, having fully roused himself at this point, and also having spilled all of the remaining coffee. He continued to sing as he left the train, and once he reached the stairs of the platform, he started dancing down them as though he were in a 1950s musical. The couple did not bicker for the rest of the ride.

The Peripatetic Christmas Tree

As I entered the station at 175th St last night, I heard a strange melody rising from its depths. Upon arriving on the platform, I saw an apparently homeless man, bundled in many layers, and pushing a shopping cart down the platform. His cart contained the usual assortment of black garbage bags and tattered blankets, but on top, perched somewhat precariously, was a miniature but fully decorated Christmas tree. The man was slurring his way through several somewhat jumbled Christmas carols, his mournful tone in direct contrast to both the joyful lyrics and the twinkling tree. When the train finally arrived, the man did not get on, but continued to pace the platform, singing to his little tree.

Subway Calisthenics

New Yorkers lead busy lives and have tiny apartments. There's really no room to house bulky exercise equipment, and who has time to go to the gym? Why not just follow this man's example, and use the subway as your elliptical machine/ThighMaster/that fancy thing with the bars. It's a little hard to see in the picture, but when we got on the Manhattan-bound A at Jay St, this guy was already well into a clearly well-honed exercise routine. He switched smoothly between pull-ups on the overhead bar and quad-sits (or whatever they're called) in front of the seat. While I have no idea how many sets he did before we got on the train, he did four between Jay St and West 4th, when he finally got off the train, having, at this point, shed several layers of clothing and resorted to a very audible focused breathing routine.

This Ain't Free!

Sunday evening, heading down the stairs for a Brooklyn-bound F-train at West 4th. As I was descending, I heard some pretty impressive drumming, and when I got to the platform, I saw a man who had set up a full drum battery and was going crazy on it. He was great. Two tourists stopped in front of him, and one of them whipped out his iPhone to make a video. A few seconds later, the drummer noticed the man recording him and immediately stopped playing. "What are you doing?" he asked. The tourist looked surprised, but kept on filming. The drummer pointed to a plastic cup on the floor with one of his sticks. "This ain't free!" he said. "You want a show, you pay for a show! I ain't gonna let you film me without a donation."
"You want money?" responded the tourist, taken aback. "I don't have any money. I just wanted a souvenir."
The drummer stood up. "You want a souvenir, you pay for a souvenir. You put money in that cup, you get your souvenir."
As I walked down the platform, I could hear them squabbling behind me. All of a sudden, the arguing stopped, and the drumming resumed. I can only surmise that the tourist had either paid the drummer in bills or left the platform in shame, since I never heard the clink of coins.

The Casting Car

I understand that there are many aspiring actors/actresses in NYC. It's one of the many things that adds to the city's charm. That being said, I was rather surprised to encounter all of them in the same car of the downtown E-train at 9:30 on Wednesday evening. Seated on either side of me was a man, dressed all in black, intently reading a script. Across from me was a woman, wearing more makeup than I've ever seen on a single face, perusing a stack of her own headshots. No fewer than three young ingenues were actually delivering soliloquies out loud to the unintentional audience around them. (Actually, to be fair, only one of them was bellowing her part--the other two were muttering theirs, but super-audibly.) The best, however, was the girl who was either rehearsing for Mary Poppins, which is currently playing on Broadway, or attempting to seduce any chimney sweeps who may have been lurking on the train, as she kept on singing the chorus to "A Spoonful of Sugar" at the top of her voice, only to interrupt herself by shouting "Supercallifragillous!"
Next time I get on the E, I'll have to bring two friends with me and stage Coppenhagen.

Price Check on the E-Train

Saturday morning. Having just come from Trader Joe's, I'm waiting on the platform at 23rd St to catch a C or E train. I've already had to move to two new spots on the platform because a boy, about 14, with thick glasses clearly containing the wrong prescription, has nearly knocked me over twice in trying to get closer to the signs to see which trains are running this weekend. An E finally pulls in, and as I'm getting on, a young woman asks if this the train "downtown to 168th". I explain that 168th is uptown and ask where she's going. She looks confused, and the doors are about to close, so I tell her to get on the train and I'll give her directions. She does, and after considerable back-and-forth, I discover that she's trying to get to 96th and Broadway. I tell her that she needs to get off at either 34th or 42nd and transfer to the C. She is confused again, and since I'm getting off to transfer at 42nd myself, I suggest that she transfer there as well so that I can show her what to do.
Just then, as we are pulling in to 34th St, two very tall men, who are in the process of making a verbal grocery shopping list, peer into my bags and one says, "Maybe she'll sell us her milk and bananas and then we don't have to go to the store after all!" Laughing, I tell them that I haven't bought milk, but they're welcome to a banana. We all chuckle. All, that is, but the woman, who is now convinced that the subway is dangerous because people try to steal your groceries (!). She decides to get off at 34th to flee the dangerous train. As she's leaving, I tell her to wait at the same platform for the C, but as the doors are closing she says, "But this is the platform for the E!"
I wonder where she is now?

Merry Christmaween

It's one o'clock in the morning on Halloween and I'm dashing across the Jay St platform from the F to the A to head back to Manhattan from a party in Brooklyn. I am dressed as Batgirl, and the car, which is already filled with people, sports several Men In Black, a pair of 20s gangsters, the Pillsbury Doughboy, Raggedy Ann, a couple of "cats" (and by that I mean the generic skanky outfit with ears that passes as a costume in some circles), the cast of the Jersey Shore, and an assortment of others. In fact, there was exactly one person in the whole car who was not in costume, and she looked terrified to be there. Most of the people on the train had clearly been imbibing, and it was a pretty lively car. The Pillsbury Doughboy decided to start singing Christmas carols--according to his friends, this was his typical drunken behavior--and started taking requests. Receiving none, he launched into the absolute LOUDEST version of Rudolph that I have ever heard. This apparently annoyed the Men In Black, who started asking for Frosty the Snowman, shouting "Sing Frosty or nothing!" The Doughboy did not oblige, but instead moved on to Silent Night when he'd finished with Rudolph. Thwarted, the MIB got off at Canal St, and Doughboy left with his friends at 14th St. Poor Raggedy Ann was very raggedy indeed, and had to be helped off the train by her slightly more sober friends.