4:47PM Thursday, August 25th
I stroll out of Baruch into the 25th street plaza and began to contemplate the journey ahead. I needed to reach the Jersey shore that night to visit some family, and that meant using the dreaded NJ Transit. Since we were let out of class early, I had a good shot at catching the express train at 5:06. This would enable me to avoid the more crowded 5:25 train, which is more commuter-friendly, and thus much slower.
Though this good fortune should’ve lifted my spirits, the dark overcast felt menacing. The one thing the NJ Transit consistently provides for its customers is high-powered air-conditioned cars (though I guess $16.25 for a one-way ticket has to go somewhere). Getting wet beforehand is a recipe for disaster.
Now that I am out here, I have to make a decision. Is it too risky to make a quick coffee pitstop? Having been pickpocketed on the Transit before, I’ve developed a preference for vigilance over sleep. Caffeine seemed to be the answer, and the deli on Lex and 25th is the quickest coffee on my route.
After spending less that half a minute in the bodega, I began my gallop to Penn Station. I walked in true New York form: a furious pace, slowed down only by several zigzags past the plodding, unhurried masses whom I harshly judged as I jumped at miniscule angles to circumvent them.
Uncharacteristically, I reached the station several minutes early. After considering overpaying for Auntie Ann’s Lemonade, I headed to track 8, where a double-decker train awaited my arrival.
Though most people seem to prefer the top level, I have always gravitated towards the bottom level. It’s the path of least initial resistance, since I had climb down to inspect the car for an open two-seater. This decision also affords me a snapshot of potential openings. Of course, there are many teases throughout the search; countless two-seaters seem empty until the very last instance, when I discover a small old lady had already claimed the seat. So, more often than not, I am forced to climb back up the stairs and reinitiate the search once again.
Fortunately, my early arrival allowed me to colonize one of the four seater complexes located at each end of the train cars. This was key, as those seats are the only ones with a guaranteed outlet, and my Galaxy already buzzed me twice about its rapidly decreasing energy. I use the word “colonize” because it best describes the control I had over this prized possession. My bag took one seat, my body another, and my feet the third. The fourth was left open for anybody who dared encroach on my territory.
Anyways, this train ride was filled fantastic scenery. Though much of this journey takes place in the marshlands, I cannot help but appreciate the nature around this vehicle. My favorite part is when the tracks travel on this little sliver of land separated two larger bodies of water. I cannot tell what is the nature of these waters: for all I know, they can be natural or man-made, rivers, lakes, ponds, canals or even dams. I lean towards the artificial; the fact that the train is basically level with the water suggests some level of human intervention.
At the time, being alert for the ride seemed like a valid justification for grabbing a coffee. But as I sit on this train with a bladder that’s about to burst, it is apparent that coffee was not the answer.
Hey Michael,
You capture moments that I’m sure every one of us has experienced, and I know exactly what you’re talking about each time, things like: “Is it too risky to make a quick coffee pitstop?” and “Of course, there are many teases throughout the search; countless two-seaters seem empty until the very last instance, when I discover a small old lady had already claimed the seat.” I could picture it, and you had me laughing with your stylish writing voice. Your description of what it means to walk in “true New York form” in the fourth paragraph made the image so easy to imagine. Even though I’m sitting in the Baruch library as I read your post, I easily recalled exactly what I felt like this morning walking from the train to Baruch. Loved it!
I also wrote my blog about my journey to the Jersey Shore from NYC, and could very much relate to your post. I enjoyed your stream of consciousness of the thoughts and observations inside your head that many travelers could relate to. From power walking to Penn Station and fighting your way through bovine masses of tourists to regretting having a coffee on the ride (which I always regret as well), it all felt very familiar. But, one could relate even if they have never encountered what you wrote about. You used great choice of which details to include. BI’ll have to ask you where on the shore you were traveling to.
Michael,
You so perfectly and hilariously hyperbolized each of the situations you encountered on your way to NJ. With each dilemma, which were explained very thoroughly, you had me experiencing your contemplation. My favorite part has to be the ending- how you updated the reader on the earlier coffee incident, and also weaved in a sort of life lesson with the alertness and bursting bladder combo. Sometimes you just can’t win.
Like what was said in the other comments, I love how this is such a relatable post. Not only did you entertainingly describe the basics of a daily commute, but you also brought up some good tips/things to consider when traveling.
I wish there was a sequel to this, or maybe a movie rendition.
Hi Michael,
I liked that each component of your trip had the ability to change the course of it – from “catching [or not catching] the express train at 5:06… [rather than] the 5:25 train, which is more commuter-friendly, and thus much slower” to deciding if ” it was too risky to make a quick coffee pitstop”. I also thought that your unconventional use of the word “colonize” to depict you occupying the train seats was quite creative. Although that word has a negative and dark association, it was made comical by your use of it in such an ordinary yet unexpected setting.
Hi Michael,
This piece does an excellent job of turning an ordinary activity into a game filled with suspense and minor victories. Like Alex-Nicole, I was struck by the way chance and decision-making structured the narrative, turning it into a matter of risks and outcomes. Well done.
Prof Kolb