Would You Like My Number?

I can’t believe in my last etiquette post back in May I forgot to mention the cardinal sin of train etiquette. And the only reason I remembered is because it happened to me two days after posting my etiquette guide.

I was on my way home. I was in a two-seater, sweating profusely, because I hit the triple play: I was on a subway car with no air conditioning, then I had to run to get to my train , then had to wait on the platform for my train, which was late, to pull in, and the platform area in Penn Station was a cool 451ºF (a grand slam would be if the LIRR train had no air conditioning as well).

So some dude sits down next to me, I get it, it’s rush hour and you don’t want to stand, but if you want to sit next to someone sweating like a whore in church, that’s your prerogative.

About halfway through the ride, a lot of seats start opening up. The ride goes on and a lot more seats open up and this guy doesn’t move. There were completely open two-seaters, four-seaters, three-seaters and even six-seaters, and this dude is sitting right up next to me as if there weren’t a single other free seat. This, my friends is the cardinal sin of train etiquette. If you don’t have to sit right on top of someone, DON’T SIT RIGHT ON FUCKING TOP OF THEM! It’s one thing if you’re asleep and you couldn’t possibly notice seats opening up due to lack of consciousness. Hell, I can even forgive it if you were deeply immersed in a book or something. But no, this clueless fuck was fully awake, looking at his phone, putting it down, looking around… It’s just plain weird.

PRO TIP: If you’ve reached this point in the trip where there are enough empty seats and the person next to you is sleeping, just slam your thigh against theirs. They’ll jolt awake, see empty seats and promptly move.

But not this guy. All attempts to signal to him by clearing my throat and blatantly looking around at the empty seats were met with, well, nothing. Sometimes when one of these people doesn’t get up when they ought to, you will have to ask to get up. Usually then they realize the complete douche they’ve been, get the fuck out of your way and jump into an open seat. When I realized this guy wasn’t budging, I asked to get up. He took his dear sweet time, barely moved out of my way, and I sat down in a free seat on the other side of the aisle. Did this guy take notice? Of course not.

It must be so nice to be so oblivious. Kind of like the people who run the Long Island Rail Road. Heyyyy-ooo!!

The Bar Can't Go Any Lower

2013 has been a banner year for shitty service aboard the Long Island Rail Road. I’ve been late to work more times than I can count. I’ve been getting home late even more.

I’m not even sure the LIRR reports their Peak On-Time Performance anymore, since there’s no way it’s above 50%. This is usually reported in Train Talk, a newsletter the LIRR leaves on seats for no one to read, and is ranked only slightly above the New York Post on the list of most worthless publications to ever waste ink and paper.

Every time my commute comes up in conversation, I almost always hear the phrase, “And the service has gotten so much worse!” This is coming from people who don’t commute on a regular basis. Yes, it’s gotten so bad that common public perception has gone from, “What a fun little ride!” to “Fuck that nonsense. They have no idea what they’re doing anymore.” Kind of like public perception of M. Night Shyamalan films.

The twist is that you were thinking it before I even said it.

Right before I leave from work tonight I get a handy email alert saying that there are delays due to signal failure, worded in a way that makes it sound like the LIRR is trying to pass the blame off on someone else. I’m a lucky duck and I manage to catch the 5:41 express to Ronkonkoma, where the only stops are Hicksville, Central Islip and Ronkonkoma. But lo and behold we get to Jamaica and guess what? We’re going to be making all local stops! Thank god. I thought this pleasure cruise was too short as it was.

So all the displaced refugees from whatever cancelled train the email alerts failed to tell me about shuffled on board and we’re on our merry way. After sitting at Jamaica for a while, naturally. The voice over the PA is extra high and grating and sounds kind of like a mixture of Janice and Scooter from the Muppet rock group Electric Mayhem.

These two. If it were Statler and Waldorf I might have been able to deal with it.

So this testicle-free man reminds us about a hundred thousand fucking times that we’re making all local stops, and he does it in the most condescending way possible. That’s because the employee handbook of the LIRR reminds you that if you’re going to stab a man in between the ribs, make sure you twist that knife so you can watch the agony in his dying eyes.

I think back to a time long ago, when people took pride in their work, and imagine that if a conductor were anything but courteous and apologetic to paying customers, riders could drag him off the train and beat him within an inch of his life and that would be perfectly acceptable behavior.

Always signal problems. You’d think they’d have figured this shit out by now after being in service for almost 180 years.

So when I should be getting home and giving my fiancée a kiss and petting my dog, I’m sitting at Wyandanch waiting for the second coming of Christ. I think about how much money was just charged to my credit card today for this stellar daily service. My blood pressure has risen. The sun has set. I contemplate the decisions I’ve made in my life.

Signal failure. That’s what they said.