Now that I'm back in the NYC office for training (through Thursday), getting to and from work is always the same - in theory. I walk to the Steinway subway station, take the R train 7 stops to 42nd street, wade through tourists in Times Square, and push my way through one of the four revolving doors of my employer’s massive 37 story building. I swipe my security badge to get through the no-touch, robot-esque turnstile and remind myself how to work the elevators. These elevators are far from ordinary, mind you. First of all, there are 16 of them and they go to different floors. Two go to floors 2-5, six go to floors 6-22, and the remaining eight go to floors 22-37 (you can transfer elevators on the 22nd floor where the cafeteria is). In the afternoon, I simply reverse the routine.
As you can imagine, however, no two subway rides are ever the same. Nor are two walks through Times Square. You see dancers, singers, musicians, magicians, Bible thumpers, Bible haters, butchers, bakers, and candlestick makers (okay, not really the last three…but it wouldn’t surprise me). Some are really talented, some are frightening. Some perform with impressive sound systems, some to the beat in their head. Jonnie and I even once saw a family of gypsies playing accordions on the R train.
In any case, at some point you stop even noticing. It’s especially easy to do so when you’re going to or from work. You can put in your earphones, answer emails on your phone, read a book/newspaper, or just pretend to be busy and important. Sometimes, though, it’s nice to soak it all up and remember what a strange place you live in. A place where you ride on speedy underground trains in a sea of culture, while being serenaded by the occasional Mariachi band.
However, I’d rather focus on the less whimsical side of the subway populous, the crazies. I don’t particularly like the word “crazy”, in fact, I generally abhor it. Sure, I’m a hypocrite and I use it all the time, but I don’t like to admit to it. The entire concept of “crazy” is so abstract, intangible, and immeasurable that it feels harsh and contradictory to place it in a sentence.
Merriam-Webster defines crazy as “mad, insane”. They define insane as “mentally disordered” and mad as “arising from, indicative of, or marked by mental disorder” or “rabid”. In essence, the term crazy may be aligned with anyone who has mayhem in the brain or is affected with rabies. The latter definition is silly and rarely fitting, but haven’t we all been “mentally disordered” at some point or another? And if not, how long until we experience it?
Usually when I see the typical “crazy” on the train, I tune out, but on my way home from work this afternoon I decided to pay attention. Lucky for me, there was a double dose of the “mentally disordered” in the car I sat in.
There was a woman sitting caddy-corner to me clutching hard to a pole. She was a bit older, maybe in her 70’s with long, but rapidly thinning hair. She wore a flowy blue top and tan skirt with pale thick knee-highs that were a poor match to her skin color. Her face was beat red from the heat or emotion or both. She exhibited the sounds, facial expressions, and physical convulsions of a violent sob, but no tears ever came from her eyes. As the train powered on she rocked back and forth, often twitching her body to various degrees and twisting her face into angry scowls. She teetered between terrified, angry, and defeated. She mumbled inaudibly, but never spoke a real word.
The man further down the train, however, couldn’t say enough. He sputtered out dozens of phrases ranging from “Obama is number one” with a firm thumbs up to “cheap China” with an angry pump of the fist. He also seems to think that America has cheap cheese and milk, that Americans eat too much meat, and that the Swiss make good watches. Though mildly incoherent…some of his assertions were accurate.
In any case, it was more interesting to watch the other “non-crazy” train passengers. Generally New Yorkers are nonreactive in these sorts of situations, but the double trouble appeared to cause more of a stir.
The female “crazy” drove away the first two people that attempted to sit next to her between various stops. The woman who finally settled directly next to her merely gave an eyebrow raise then attempted to distract herself by playing on her smartphone. The next person over appeared to teeter between horror and concern and she hovered protectively over her stroller.
When we stopped at the 36th street station in Queens, the doors stayed open a bit longer than usual as we were too close to the train ahead of us. Just before the doors were going to close the woman became so defeated that she fled the train in a bull-like manner. The millisecond that she was gone, the previously glum stares transformed into wide smiles and giggles.
It’s fascinating to observe the amount of both fear and disdain that we collectively place on those that act a bit bizarrely. It seems that we often forget that they too are people, and have probably not always been so bizarre. It’s possible, even likely, that they act the way they do as a result of some uncontrollable event. Aren’t we all just one moment, one life event away from losing all sanity? If nothing else, we certainly all have some level of chaos in our heads, whether we like to admit it or not.
