Oh, 7 train.
I rely on you everyday, but like a jilted lover, you constantly have to derail me. Like yesterday, when you kept in your overcrowded subway car in the same station for 30 minutes, and later stuck in between stations for 20 minutes, crushing my dreams of actually being on-time or even early for class.
You are the closest line to me, yet I wish that you had a semblance of order. I wish that you were constant, and not come scatteringly – three trains all at once, and no trains for 15 minutes – all while me and a packed platform full of people a few hundred feet above ground grumble.
You seem to let everyone come into the train, even if the people already inside are suffocating due to the unlawful maximum capacity you claim to have in each subway car. Looking at you, 61st St-Woodside.
As I slowly get crushed while the “express” train I’m in inches by, I usually just knock the fudge out as I lean on the door. If I’m lucky, I’ll wake up just in the nick of time before the doors open and I tumble out into the platform. It’s happened once – not a good way to start the morning, I tell you, to fall off the train and into the platform at Grand Central.
Yet, you’re still my 7 train. For better or for worse, I rely on you, and to be honest, as a train buff, I admire the 7. I wouldn’t be able to go anywhere if you weren’t there, opening the doors, and chugging along a few hundred feet above Roosevelt.
But can you do me a favor? Be a little faster and more frequent, will you?
