Don't Sleep in the Subway, Darlin': A Guide to NYC Subway Etiquette

                  
                                           (www.JordanMatter.com)

Like Liz Lemon on 30 Rock, I follow the rules of being a human being, and I expect every New York City dweller to do the same. But, alas, that is often not the case. And nowhere is it more evident that people are not human than on the subway.

Just as there is a set list of unspoken rules of etiquette for the sidewalk, there is a list of unspoken rules of etiquette for the subway. Tourists should be informed, and residents can always use a refresher. Since I often boil with rage when people don’t follow the rules, I’ve decided to list them here. I’m also considering printing them on flyers and hiring girls in black jackets, red tights, and character shoes to distribute them in Times Square while doing awkward dance moves and saying things like, “Whoopeeee!” and, “Hotcha!” Oh, wait—there are already people doing that for Chicago. I’m gonna need a different marketing plan.

• Do not block subway entrances. I understand that you may be unsure of where you’re going, but your uncertainty shouldn’t become my problem. Nor the problem of the ten people bottlenecked behind me. Move to the side.
• Purchasing a subway card can be confusing. I would much rather expedite the process by pressing the buttons for you than wait an extra eight minutes while you hem and haw. I promise not to steal your money and/or credit card in the process.
• If you do not have your Metrocard out and ready, you are not prepared to enter the turnstile. Thus, do not stand in front of it while rifling through your purse/backpack/pocket/wallet. You’re gumming up the works.
• There is a science to swiping your Metrocard. Not too fast, not too slow. I’ll give you five tries to make it happen. If it doesn’t work by the fifth time, let the disgruntled people waiting behind you (meaning, me) swipe through before trying again. No one likes a repeat swiper.
• When heading down the stairs or escalator, stay to the RIGHT. That’s your RIGHT. I don’t care what side of the road they drive on in England. You’re in America now, baby! And I’m talking to you, confused-yet-adorable Mexican family that I didn’t have the heart to push my way through because you looked thrilled to be in NYC and made me late to my doctor’s appointment. You should stay to the right so that faster traffic (e.g.: people on their way to doctor’s appointments) can pass you on the left.
• When your train arrives, do not stand right smack in front of the train entrance. You make a better door than a window. Or, more accurately, you make a better door than a direct path to the exit.
• As Liz Lemon noted, let people OUT of the subway before getting ON. Come on, people. It’s Subway 101. Doesn’t it stand to reason that there won’t be room for you to get on the train until the current passengers exit? Or maybe that’s just me. And Logic.
• Want to eat smelly food? Don’t get on the train. I’m sure there are better places to eat your homemade tuna fish sandwiches and old plastic soup containers full of milk at 8am than the subway. Those of us who haven’t had breakfast (other than a few post-midnight rum and Cokes) would rather not inhale a combination of fish and dairy in the morning.
• There are reasons the manufacturers of mp3 players/cell phones/Kindles/iPads, etc. have created earphones. And I think about those reasons every time you are playing with or talking into something that is assaulting my eardrums with screaming/music/beeping/etc.
• Billy, don’t be a hero. I like giving to the needy. But not on the subway. Sure, I feel sad for the poor woman who lost her job three months ago and has been relying on the kindness of strangers, and the man who has been living on the streets because the shelters are full, and the down-on-his-luck fella with the hacking cough that just needs a few more dollars for cold medicine (or something with alcohol in it, more likely). Call me a jaded New Yorker, but the third time I’ve heard the same speech by the same guy who is bellyaching about his bellyache but is wearing brand-new kicks, I get a tad skeptical.
• There are several exceptions to my Don’t-Give-Money-in-the-Subway Rule. They all fall under the category of Things That Amuse Me, and they are as follows: mariachi bands in full costume, a capella doo wop groups, the old man who plays “The Chattanooga Choo-Choo” on his trumpet accompanied by a portable speaker he wears around his neck, and the dude who somehow wheels an upright piano to the uptown A/C/E track of the West 4^th stop. 
• Be aware of your body at all times.
• Do not take up two seats with your person or your bags.
• Do not let your hand rest on mine while holding the same pole.
• Do not sneeze into your hand and then hold the pole with the same hand.
• Do not use a crowded car as an excuse to grope/goose/breathe on me.
• Do not hold on to the overhead pole if you are pitting. No one wants to see that.
• You are not Gumby. You have stomach muscles. Use them to keep yourself upright even if the ride is bumpy.
• Do not read over my shoulder. Scratch that. I read over other people's shoulders all the time. Read over people's shoulders in a non-obtrusive manner.
• Should you decide to nap on the ride, nap in your own seat. Do not lean, nod, or slump on me or in my area. Sleepy Asians, I hope you’re awake to read this! From sleepyasian.com: “I'm not saying that no one else falls asleep on the subway...but if there is a person of Asian descent on the train, there is a 75% chance that they will be sleeping (this includes me). There is an unexplained phenomenon going on, keep an eye out and you will witness it.”
• If you would like to check the subway map that happens to be on the wall above my seat, a polite, “Excuse me,” would be nice before you lean over my head and your camera smacks me in the face.
• There are more oddities on the subway than there at the Coney Island Circus Sideshow. If you see one, such as this Old Man Brushing Beard with Fork, don't stare. Calmly watch out of the corner of your eye while you mentally compose an amusing Facebook status about the event to share with your 813 closest friends as soon as you are above ground.

This may seem overwhelming to subway novices, but the basic rule of thumb is as follows: DON'T BE AN INCONSIDERATE RIDER! Please, I beg of you, follow the rules of being a human being. Though I suppose that being human means occasionally making mistakes and not following rules. So actually, I beg of you to forget the rules of being human and strive for an inhuman degree of perfection. I'm sure your fellow subway riders will appreciate it. And so will I.

A Giant Victory in Hoboken (Sorry, Bills!)

Hoboken, NJ, home of Eli Manning and Frank Sinatra, was pretty darn exciting last night.

Don't get me wrong--I would much prefer to be in Buffalo for a Bills victory, but it's pretty amazing to see a local team make good. Even if it's not your team.

This video was filmed on Washington Street in Hoboken just after the game ended. As you can see, a few people were a little excited.

Little Gimp in the Big City

Manhattan really isn't built for gimps.

It's truly not. With its crowded sidewalks and the fast pace, Manhattan caters to the strong, the healthy, and the able-bodied. You can’t be too young (strollers are hard to lug everywhere and take up valuable square footage) and you can’t be too old (walkers and wheelchairs are essentially verboten). It’s survival of the fittest around here. Eat or be eaten. And according to my completely unscientific study, the fittest pedestrian predators seem to be healthy men and women between the ages of 18 and 50.  

I had only a vague notion of this subconscious anti-gimp attitude until I actually became a gimp. Temporarily, that is. I had to have more than 20 stitches in my ankle (long story), and as a result, I was not supposed to exercise, point or flex my foot, take the stairs, or walk. At all. When my doctor told me all the details (after the stitches were a done deal), I just stared at her numbly.  Not take the stairs? Did she not know that I live in a fifth floor walk-up?! Or that there were 150 stairs, two transfers, and 3 avenues of walking just to get from her office to my apartment via subway?!

I wanted to cry.

I was so terrified of ripping the stitches that I followed her instructions to the letter. Well, to the lowercase letter. I hobbled as little as I possibly could. This involved me putting most of my weight on my left leg and keeping my right leg straight, sort of like a peg leg. I had to take shuffling baby steps, which was infuriating. Avenues I used to travel in 2 minutes flat now took me at least four times as long. People with two good legs passed me left and right—well, mostly left, since I stuck to my sidewalk etiquette and hugged the right side of the sidewalk with the other slow movers. I traveled up and down my stairs at a snail’s pace. Actually, I probably made a snail look as speedy since I had to painstakingly put two feet on each step to inch my way to my apartment. I took cabs to and from work, which cost a small fortune. And I had to deal with salespeople, strangers, and cabbies asking if I was okay.

By some lucky coincidence, I had booked my plane ticket home for Christmas two days after the surgery. I was absolutely itching to get home, where I would be picked up from the airport in a car and transported directly to my parents’ couch, where I hoped to permanently remain, watching Candace Cameron, Amy Smart, and Jennifer Grey “acting” in their various Christmas movies on Lifetime, Hallmark, and ABC Family.

But first I had to figure out how to get to my plane.

I couldn’t take the subway (like I usually do) because I couldn’t walk down the subway stairs. Actually, I couldn’t even carry my suitcase to the street. I left for my flight a whopping five hours early so my Florence Nightingale-like roommate could bring my suitcase downstairs and help me to get to the airport shuttle bus before he went to work. The ride was bumpy and terribly uncomfortable, but I finally made it to the security line...where I got screamed at in front of a line of people because I asked for a chair to sit down while I took off my shoes. I was shocked. There was yelling and eye rolling and exasperated sighs. And none of them even came from me! It can’t be that unusual for someone to have trouble balancing on one foot to take of her shoes, right? What about all the not-quite-ready-for-a-wheelchair-but-unsteady-on-their-feet old people out there?

At long, long, long last, I made it through security, got on the plane, and headed home for Christmas. While I was nestled all snug in my bed (well, it was really the couch) with visions of having two good legs dancing through my head, I starting thinking that it was a Christmas miracle that I survived the concrete jungle and made it to the ease of suburbia, where the only walking I had to do was from the front door to the driveway.

I’ve certainly come away from my gimp days with a new understanding for slow walkers in the city. They might not be trying to get in my way after all. They might be following doctor’s orders. They might be injured. They might have stitches.

And I'm thrilled that I’m healing well enough to no longer be one of them. Don’t get me wrong—I’m trying to be careful and not push myself, but I can once again keep pace with the city. I have learned one thing, though. If I ever have to schedule stitches again, I’m scheduling them in the suburbs.

A Totally Radical Christmas for Jaded New Yorkers

Jaded New Yorker (noun): A resident of New York City (or the surrounding area) who has seen it all and is therefore unfazed by any sight, sound, or smell he/she may encounter. 
(Antonym: Overly Excited Tourist)

One of the greatest assets NYC has to offer is the jaded New Yorker. JNYs are fascinating creatures to behold--they don't even blink when passing a man with a cat on his head, a homeless man peeing on the sidewalk in broad daylight, or a Naked Cowgirl (a topless grandma with a guitar not quite big enough to cover her saggy skin) singing to people who can't quite look away in Times Square. New York City is like a giant Ripley's Believe It or Not! museum. It's insane what you can watch happening outside. But nothing can get this breed of urbanites to slow down on their race to the subway. I often marvel more at the JNYs than at the spectacle they're ignoring.

I get to see the JNYs firsthand when I film videos with my 80s dance troupe. Yes, you read that correctly. I belong to an 80s dance troupe that is changing the world one body roll at a time. Under the strict supervision of Deb and Ted Spangles, the Spangles Dance Company aims to bring back awesome moves and attitude and outfits from the 80s. We were even featured on America's Got Talent last year.

We film amazing music videos at various locations in midtown Manhattan. At least, until the cops kick us out. With blue eyeshadow, giant mall bangs, and sequin legwarmers, we make quite a spectacle of ourselves, and we often draw crowds of Overly Excited Tourists, who are pleasantly baffled that group dance numbers happen so unexpectedly on NYC sidewalks. You can almost see them trying to remember every detail to tell their neighbors in Iowa.

However, the Jaded New Yorkers could care less. They barely glance in our direction as they travel speedily to wherever they have to be in such a hurry. I love watching their blank stares in the background of the Spangles videos. We can high kick in their faces and they don't even flinch. I can't say I blame them. I know exactly how long it takes me to get where I need to be in the city, and I often get agitated if anything slows down my carefully timed travels. After 10 years here, I wouldn't say that I stop to watch oddities I see on the streets, but I do slow down when I pass a group of fast-talking breakdancers. Or a woman who has never cut her hair playing a musical saw. And when I see a drunk passed out in his own puke on the subway stairs, I always check to see if he's breathing. It seems like the charitable thing to do--especially around the holidays

And on that pleasant note, please enjoy the Spangles latest video: It's The Weather Girls (of "It's Raining Men" fame) singing a tune that sounds exactly like "It's Raining Men," but with the words "Santa" and "Christmas" in it. And if you like what you see, learn more at www.SpanglesDanceCompany.com.