Lean Into It
It takes me about 40 minutes to get to work on the subway in the morning.
The first leg of my journey is quick, and if the M and R are running smoothly, it takes about 5 minutes to get from point A (Prospect) to point B (Atlantic) with stops at 9th Street and Union in between.
Then I shuffle nudge squeeze my way across the platform and insert myself into an N train. Here is where the fun begins.
It is, more often than not, sardine-ville on the train, as everybody in Brooklyn really, really wants my face in their armpit, and will do everything they can to make sure I’m jostled into prime face-armpit position by the time the ‘bee-boo’ of the closing doors is heard.
Today, for some reason, the N was far less crowded than usual, so, while I still had to stand, I had plenty of room to enjoy my New Yorker without breathing in some dude’s musky Eau de SpeedStick.
The Grand Street exodus allowed me to snag a seat, and I plopped down with joy and settled in to read in peace.
Then, out of my peripheral vision, I felt it. The gentle, but steadily growing pressure of the woman on my right leaning in to me as she fell asleep.
Subway sleep is a funny thing, as are subway sleepers. It’s not a restful sleep, but instead is based on the dodge and weave model of boxing, where your exhaustion overtakes you and you slump, only to jerk yourself awake until the next bout drags you down again. This can happen several times in rapid succession, and there’s no fighting it.
Sleepy lady drooped ever closer to my shoulder, only to yank her head up like she’d been electrified every time the train shook.
Then, out of my peripheral vision, I felt it. The gentle, but steadily growing pressure of the woman on my left leaning in to me as she fell asleep.
I was sandwiched between two subways sleepers, both of whom seemed to be inexorably drawn towards the dubious pillows of my shoulders. Sleepy lady on the left was either more tired or more aggressive, as her head actually touched down a few times before she recoiled herself. Sleepy lady on the right was more delicate about it, and I only got most of her body weight, but not much of her head.
I was hesitant to wake my beautiful dreamers, but 34th Street was where my service as a nap-platform came to an unceremonious end, and I let myself get swept away in the rush of departing riders.
The first leg of my journey is quick, and if the M and R are running smoothly, it takes about 5 minutes to get from point A (Prospect) to point B (Atlantic) with stops at 9th Street and Union in between.
Then I shuffle nudge squeeze my way across the platform and insert myself into an N train. Here is where the fun begins.
It is, more often than not, sardine-ville on the train, as everybody in Brooklyn really, really wants my face in their armpit, and will do everything they can to make sure I’m jostled into prime face-armpit position by the time the ‘bee-boo’ of the closing doors is heard.
Today, for some reason, the N was far less crowded than usual, so, while I still had to stand, I had plenty of room to enjoy my New Yorker without breathing in some dude’s musky Eau de SpeedStick.
The Grand Street exodus allowed me to snag a seat, and I plopped down with joy and settled in to read in peace.
Then, out of my peripheral vision, I felt it. The gentle, but steadily growing pressure of the woman on my right leaning in to me as she fell asleep.
Subway sleep is a funny thing, as are subway sleepers. It’s not a restful sleep, but instead is based on the dodge and weave model of boxing, where your exhaustion overtakes you and you slump, only to jerk yourself awake until the next bout drags you down again. This can happen several times in rapid succession, and there’s no fighting it.
Sleepy lady drooped ever closer to my shoulder, only to yank her head up like she’d been electrified every time the train shook.
Then, out of my peripheral vision, I felt it. The gentle, but steadily growing pressure of the woman on my left leaning in to me as she fell asleep.
I was sandwiched between two subways sleepers, both of whom seemed to be inexorably drawn towards the dubious pillows of my shoulders. Sleepy lady on the left was either more tired or more aggressive, as her head actually touched down a few times before she recoiled herself. Sleepy lady on the right was more delicate about it, and I only got most of her body weight, but not much of her head.
I was hesitant to wake my beautiful dreamers, but 34th Street was where my service as a nap-platform came to an unceremonious end, and I let myself get swept away in the rush of departing riders.
posted by Liz at 10:50 AM
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