My Subway Hand

After riding the subway regularly for 6 months now, I have a new motto: once my hand goes on that pole, it’s not touching anything else until I wash it (I sometimes wonder if that’s also a stripper’s methodology).  The second my hand touches that silver medal, it may as well be dead to me.

People often ask me why I am so crazy about touching the subway pole, and I find myself going through a little internal dialogue while preparing an answer.

Inside the OCD mind: “First things first, have you seen the caliber of people that touch the pole?  Now imagine the people that you AREN’T seeing touch it.  There are probably, boogers, sweat, blood, tears, dead body, filth, homeless people, drugs, human excretions etc. on that pole.  Scenario: what if I were to forget that my hand was on that cesspool of germs and I were to, dare I say, rub my eye, touch my iPhone, lick my finger (gasp) …. I wouldn't be able to live with myself.”

One coping mechanism I enlisted on my first day back on the subway was to designate which hand was going to be my subway hand.  What is a subway hand you ask?  Why it’s the hand that all New Yorkers inevitably draft to go to war on the subway pole each day, not knowing what foes it may encounter on the front lines.  I chose my left hand (sorry buddy, you had a 50/50 shot).  I’d like to introduce you to Leftie.

"Hi, I'm Leftie!"

"I am forced to touch the subway pole everyday!  GROSS!"

Lucky for Leftie, in wintertime I awkwardly give him a layer of protection by covering him with my subway glove (the subway glove is a whole other post my friends .... stay tuned!)  Sometimes I wonder if people question why I only have one glove on while my other hand goes au natural, but really, how much judgment can go down in a place where people urinate on themselves.

But for those summer days, Leftie is left to his own devices because a uni-glove in 100+ degrees heat might make for a funny story for another subway passenger to tell about me, and I don’t play those games.

I’ve seen people blow their nose with a ratty tissue, then switch hands only to then use that same tissue as a barrier to them touching the pole.  Really stranger, you just blew out your boogs in that ratty tissue, and NOW you’re concerned about potential germs from the pole …. I can’t!

There are many reasons that I hate the pole, but topping the list is when you touch the pole and it’s hot, so you just know some gross person probably just stopped touching it right in time for you to get your mitts on there.  That’s when I begin my search for the coldest part of the metal so at least I know the germs aren’t as fresh, but usually this is a fruitless search.

Then there is the very rare, but vile instance when the pole is wet ….

(gross, gross, ewwww, nasty, gross, barf, gross, ewwww, ewwww, gross, ewwww, nasty, barf, gross)

There needs to be a long pause there because it actually makes me feel sick just thinking about it.  It also makes me want to compulsively wash my hands .... like FOREVER (Sandlot style).  Those are the days when I think about if I really, truly need Leftie.  I could just chop him off and leave him on the subway to add to the other horrors that can be found in those tunnels.  If the police found Leftie they would naturally assume that something horrible had happened to me, but I would gladly let them know that my wound was self-inflicted.  I imagine the conversation would go something like this:

Me: “Leftie had to go, officer.”

Officer: “Who the heck is Leftie?!”

Me: “It’s semantics, don’t get caught up in the details.”

Officer: “Do you mean to tell me that you cut off your own hand?”

Me: “Hey, every war has sacrifices, and my hand was collateral damage on the battleground that is the NYC subway system.”

This would likely be the officer’s cue to bring me to the Ostroff Center, but hey, at least I could hang with Serena van der Woodsen.  Girl’s probably got some free time since Gossip Girl ended.

You know you love me, XOXO, Kinda OCD here J

The Subway Sweats

My morning started out like any other.  My first alarm went off at 6:27 and I proceeded to hit snooze for the next hour while simultaneously half sleeping through Good Morning America.  Sometimes I am so out of it while watching, I can’t remember if a story I saw was real or fake.  Then I’ll go into work and be like, “Did anyone watch GMA today, they had a story about how a man got stabbed with a carrot and lived, can you believe it!”  When people look at me like I have 7 heads, I realize that I may or may not have been sleep hallucinating through the news that morning …. whoopsie!

Today I had an extra barrier barring me from getting out of bed because I spent last night eating and drinking like a 14^th century queen …. Queen Fatty, reporting for duty your highness.  Back in those days, the fatter you were the flyer you were.  I think it goes without saying that I would have rocked it back then.  But I feel like this form of gluttony is completely acceptable on the one and only Super Bowl Sunday.  In fact, I think it’s frowned upon to not indulge a little…. no, just me?

After rolling out of bed and getting ready for the day, I left my apartment hoping that it would be a swift commute to work .... spoiler alert, it wasn't.  Upon stepping outside, I was greeted by a cold wind that cut right through me, but thankfully I had about 10 extra layers of fat to protect me from the chill.  Sidenote, weighing yourself may top the list of the '10 Dumbest Things to Do the Morning After the Super Bowl.'

I headed down to the dreadful 4/5 and was greeted with an odd sight.  The train was in the station with the doors open, and people around me naturally started rushing to squeeze their bodies into the already packed cars.  I looked at the squalor and clearly decided to the wait for the next train which was right behind the one in the station.  While laughing to myself as people crammed and finagled into the cars, all of the sudden the subway car that was waiting to get into the station honked its boisterous horn. Um….  A) Since when did the subway cars have horns (cus I kinda loved it) B) Said horns are clearly underused and C) What is going on here?

The subway then quickly started to leave the station before screeching to a halt less than 20 feet later.

Subway Announcer: “Everyone get off of this subway train right now!  The 4/5 is having service problems so please use the 6 train.”

Me: “What the whhhhat!?  Don’t have to tell me twice!”

I literally dashed like a crazy lady back up the stairs to the 6 platform because it was just a matter of time before the hoards of people from the 4/5 would make the same mad dash.  This truly was a horrible start to my day already.  I started panting like the fatty I was as I sprinted up the elevator, but was rewarded with a 6 train already in the station.

At that moment though, I realized that my typical four stop subway commute on the express train had transformed into a local subway commute …. My Sharona, my wits were surely being tested this post-Super Bowl Monday.

Of course 5,000 of my closest 4/5 friends had also made their way up to the 6 platform before the train doors closed.  Sometimes I find myself willing the doors to close to no avail.  It’s like the subway door controller laughs in the face of reason and is conducting a daily social experiment to see how many people can fit in one subway car.  We are not a carnival game buddy where you guess how many tennis balls fit in a glass box.  We are people who just imbibed a whole lot o’ food and drink last night so packing us like sardines today is not a good idea!  Alas, my subliminal mind pleading did nothing to close those doors any faster, so sardines we became in a matter of seconds.

Whenever it’s super crowded on the subway, I semi-start to panic so it was only a matter of moments before I broke into the Subway Sweats (defn: I once ate an egregious amount of Jeanette cookies in one sitting and started sweating profusely.  I have since referred to the incident as the Jeanette Sweats.  So now I associate any amount of profuse sweating with the culprit that drove me to that point).  Unfortunately for those around me, it was buffalo chicken wing dip and Bud Light Lime seeping from my pores (to be fair, the shelves at Duane Reade were empty so Bud Light Lime was my only option …. #classybroad).   

I did everything and anything to distract myself, but seriously, the 6 train is a joke.  We made stops at 33^rd …. 28^th …. 23^rd …. um seriously?  We are stopping every 5 blocks.  It’s no wonder Americans are obese when we can’t even expect them to walk 5+ blocks to get to their jobs.  These stops just added to the Subway Sweat proliferation and I needed a distraction, stat.

I thankfully found this in what can only be referred to as the best subway advertisement that I have seen in a long time.  

Hilarious, party of one.

The ad was a spoof on the Dr. Jonathan Zizmor ads that any New Yorker has seen far too many times.  This ad, however, was for canine plastic surgery, tail enhancements and all.  After laughing for a solid 5 minutes, I realized we were still only at Spring Street.  Is this what the players felt like during the 30+ minute blackout last night?  If my work performance suffers today, can I blame the City of New York?

After finally making it to the Brooklyn Bridge City Hall stop, I had another upsetting epiphany …. the 4/5 wasn't running, so I was going to have to walk to the Fulton stop ….. WOE IS ME!  Was this my fatty post-Super Bowl karma?  A sign that I needed to burn off the dips and crudités that I had so indulgently devoured not 24 hours earlier?  I get it world, Queen Fatty needs a workout, I can take a hint ….

After what amounted to a long day in the office, it was back on the subway for my ride home.  I feel like every time the 4/5 is messed up in the morning, the conductors try to make up for it in the evening commute because my subway car was literally moving like wildfire through the tunnels.  I loved every jolted swerve that nearly knocked me off my feet because it meant one less moment that I would need to be on the subway.  We were moving like Jacoby Jones and there was no stopping us.

Today wasn't a complete loss however, as I now know exactly where to take my future dog to get a tail enhancement or face lift.  I mean with results like this, how can you say no!

I feel your pain.  Try riding the subway everyday.

The Subway Games

Sometimes I see how fast I can get the F outta of the subway in a little game I like to call: The Subway Games.

It starts the second you hear that robotic voice, “The …. next …. stop …. is …. 14th…. Street …. Union .... Square….” …. iPod, check! Shiv …. uhhhh I mean purse, check! Jacket zippered, check! Game on bitches!

Doors open and your first obstacle is making sure that damn gap is filled! I’m no fool, I saw that episode of Homicide: Life on the Streets where Vincent D'Onofrio gets smushed between the platform and the subway car and dies. With that haunting visual in mind, I sometimes do a little hop to ensure that I've cleared any potential gappage, because in the Subway Games, you can’t be too careful. 

Your next obstacle is invariably getting past all your fellow subway riders who are just looking to trip you up any which way. You know who I’m talking about, the oblivious girl with so many bags she may as well be a family of 5 walking up those stairs, or the hipster who is far more concerned with which Lumineers song is coming up next on his iPod than he is with paying attention to his fellow subway tributes. Think Mario Kart: Moo Moo Farm, you’re Wario and those subway fools are the moles. Don’t touch them or you’ll spin out of control and lose valuable seconds. 

Now that you’re on the platform it’s onto the stairs …. those damn stairs. Never once have I gone up them without some idiot careening down the other side yelling with all their might, “HOLD THE TRAIN!” This just in crazy, have you ever met the conductors? They’ll close the door on a baby without batting an eyelash and have even taken off with the baby stroller still stuck in the door (no seriously, YouTube it). Do you truly think they’re going to stop for you ….

But no matter what the obstacle, don’t worry, you’re a Wario, you’re a gonna win this Subway Game. I then sprint up the escalator on the left hand side and give myself bonus points for every person I pass without touching (in the Hunger Games I imagine this would equate to finding a squirrel for dinner).

The trickiest moment is when you finally start to feel that “fresh” air (please note, the use of quotations here is pivotal as you must remember that you are still not out) and you suddenly imagine what Andy Dufrense must have felt like after bouncing from Shawshank. FREEDOM I CAN ALMOST TASTE YOU! But you, much like Andy, still have some shit to get through first.

The turnstile is your last foe. OCD sidebar: I like to stick to the same turnstile every time I ride the subway. I go in on the 7 turnstile in the morning and exit on the 2 turnstile each night. Sometimes, if someone is really slow and gets tripped up while going through my turnstile, I'll pretend that I'm also tripped up looking for something in my purse so the people around me don’t question why I just don’t go through one of the other open turnstiles. I just like 7 and 2, ok. I scoped them out on day one and they looked the cleanest, but that is neither here nor there …. don’t judge me.

Now back to the turnstile: you have to touch it, unfortunately that is a non-negotiable. So instead I see if I can go through without having that awkward embrace with a stranger on the other side who is trying to come in while I go out. I give this stranger my, “Uh I’m playing the Subway Games fool, so you best move aside” eyes and that usually does the trick.

The last set of stairs can sometimes make your heart sink and your thighs may or may not be starting to burn for those last few steps, but unless you want a tribute mutant to knock you down in the home stretch, you suck it up and you get the F outta the subway.

There is one important thing to note. Yes, you are now free, but in my version of the Subway Games, we are all losers …. a hard lesson that even Katniss had to learn. Why, you ask? Well, it’s because there are no winners on the subway, only people who need to go home and take a shower.

“Welcome Back Kelly!”

As you can imagine, this is every OCD person’s nightmare, so this is the first of many posts about my arch nemesis, the NYC subway system.

Subway: "Welcome Back Kelly!"
Kelly: "Gross."

After a year of roughing it and taking the subway to work every day, I decided I needed to take action, so I moved into Manhattan and found an apartment a convenient 20 blocks from my job.  Walk to work, don’t mind if I do, and what a glorious 4 years those were!  Things were so great in fact, at one point I made an internal declaration that I would never get a job that I couldn't walk to, thus eliminating the lower half of Manhattan.  But then one day in 2012, an opportunity presented itself that I couldn't pass up, but it meant my commute would now consist of a 20 minute subway ride down to the Financial District …. gross.

My first day on the subway was probably the worst.  It was a hot July day and I had straightened my hair to look fly for my first day at the new job.  (Sidebar, I have curly hair, so let’s just say by the time I got to work, it was a hot mess and my building photo ID is proof)

While standing on the platform waiting for the 4/5 I saw two sewer rats that I swear whispered “Welcome Back Kelly!” before scurrying back into the filth.  It was like I was the Cinderella of the NYC subway, but that subway car was no carriage and the men waiting on the train for me were no Prince Charming.  But alas, my carriage awaited and it was off to the Financial District! 

My internal dialogue on the subway my first day back went something like this:

“Why is it so hot …. seriously, I can feel my hair frizzing ……….. ugh gross, please don’t touch me gross looking person ……. please, please, please, please, please, please, PLEASE back away Grosso McGee ……………………….. grrrrreat thanks for touching me with your sticky sweat jerk, I have enough of my own sweat thank you very much ………........... ok, come on Kelly, you got this, millions of New Yorkers do this on a daily basis ………........ oh mylanta what is that smell  ………………. oh fabulous, a homeless person, I guess it was just a matter of time ……..  ughhhh I wonder how long I can hold my breath for before I pass out …………………….. WHAT! delay due to train traffic, you have GOT to be shitting me, you fools are still pulling this crap ……..”

20 minutes never felt so long, for me or my hair.