The day I crawled onto the NYC subway tracks to save my iPhone, or every 20something's worst nightmare realized*

If you have been fortunate enough to spend any time around me, you probably know at least two things: 1. I'm clumsy as fuck, and 2. My iPhone screen is cracked to hell from a (completely sober) tromp around Times Square this summer. And now that these two highly relevant facts are general Internet knowledge, we will proceed with the story of my morning, and mayhaps you will find said story - though still hilarious - a bit less shocking.

It's perhaps a lesser known fact that when it rains, NYC becomes CFC: Cluster Fuck Central. The trains get fucked up, the buses gets fucked up, the average commuter is practically reduced to tears from the frightening - and very real - prospect that she might drown in a sea of wet umbrellas. It's miserable. This morning was no different, as my bus was about eight minutes late. Therefore, I blame the MTA for the pseudo-tragedy that followed, and nearly made me one of those "I'm only 23 and I've had a heart attack" statistics.

After I got off my late bus, I walked to the subway and waited for the downtown train, which I'm sure was also late. (Because, from what I hear, the subway trains are actually supposed to run on this thing called a "schedule," though I have never seen any evidence of this.) As per yooj, I was listening to music on my iPhone. I really wish I could remember what I was listening to, because I'm sure it was something that now reveals itself to be super fucking ironic, as the universe tends to have a twisted sense of humor about stuff like this.

Anyway. The train approached. Naturally, I decided to pull my iPhone from the safe coccoon of my pocket so I could begin reading The New York Times daily email, because, you know, it was of the utmost importance that I read it right then. Because I always read it, every morning, and never fill my valuable time and brain space with Word Warp or Tap Tap Revenge.

The train stopped. The doors opened. iPhone in hand, eyes fixated on screen, I moved toward the open door. Then, something happened. I have no idea what. I would not be surprised if, had a photo been taken at the precise moment when this thing happened, you could literally see the hand of God reaching down through 116th street, into the subway station, and through my earbud cords, tangling them up and yanking with a malicious intent I will never understand. The iPhone tumbled from my hands, the earbuds popped from their snug homes in my ears, and the whole kit and caboodle went crashing down. Of course, this all happened in slow motion.

The phone hit the train, then the subway platform. My hand shot up to cover my mouth. (Side note: why is this such a natural human response when bad stuff happens? It's like the international sign for "OH SHIT! FUCKKKKK! SHITITITITITTTTT FUCKETY FUCK GODDAMNIT!") I said a silent, fervent prayer. Are you there, God? It's me, Meghan. Please please please no please don't let my iPhone fall into the gap, onto the tracks. No no no please.

I watched. It fell. It was gone. Heart stopped. I peered down and saw it. The screen was still lit up from where I had opened my e-mail. It glared up at me, and I could almost hear it crying: "You bitch! How dare you?! I (sob sob) love (sob sob) you (sob sob) so (sob sob) much (SOB). I looked up, into the still open doors of the train, and all the people were looking at me. Every single person on this crowded 6 train was staring at me, this poor jaded girl who had just lost her iPhone and her earbuds in one fail swoop, with her hand over her mouth. They all looked genuinely concerned and sympathetic. The front part of my iPhone case was on the train, so I reached in to grab it, and a man reached down to help me. They all scooted in to make room for me to board. But no. I waved thank you to them, and politely declined. I knew what I had to do.

The doors closed and the train lurched forward. Chucka, chucka, chucka. I looked down into the gap and saw the reflection of my still-lit iPhone screen over and over again in the frosted silver covering each subway car. Chucka, chucka, chucka, faster now. I would have taken a photo, but alas, in a brilliant fucking twist, the only camera on my person was now sitting at the bottom of the New York City subway. Chucka, chucka, chucka, faster still. Its light was a beacon of hope, on repeat. Here I am. Here I am. Here I am. I'm still here. I'm still here. I'm still here. To the beat of the train's wheels gliding along their tracks. Chucka chucka chucka. Come and get me.

The train passed. I moved faster than I've ever moved in my life. I took off my bag and put my (yes, wet) umbrella down. I jumped down onto the tracks. I grabbed my phone and the earbuds, which were still attached. I placed them on the platform. I looked down one more time. No sign of the back of my two-part iPhone case. Oh well, casualty of war. I hoisted myself back up, which was no small feat, because those rails are pretty far down. Standing in the pit, the top of the platform came up to about my chin. So I had to do that awkward move you do whenever you're getting out of a pool. Hands up, hoist up, lift one leg to the side and hoist again.

Once back amongst the living, I grabbed my phone and cradled it in my hands like a just-born kitten I had saved from certain death. I have no way of knowing this now, but I feel like I might have actually rocked back and forth, there on my knees on the subway platform. Don't fear, baby, mama's here, everything's going to be OK now. Amazingly, the screen was no more cracked than before I had dropped it. It was responsive to touch, and the home screen button appearaed to still be working. For good measure, I turned it off. It had just had a really traumatic morning. It needed to rest.

I turned it back on a few stops into my ride. It appeared to be working fine. Fuck, how lucky. The only thing I lost in this whole experience was the back of the case, which was a $5 investment I made on the streets of Harlem. Oh, and a little bit of my dignity and cleanliness - small prices to pay for a working iPhone that has made a trip to the bottom of the NYC subway.

I was planning on asking Santa for a new one this year, but now I kind of want to stay with this one forever. You know what they say about two individuals who have been through serious trauma together: they are connected for life, forged together forever, never to be torn asunder. My iPhone and me, we got this shit. We are strong. We are resilient. We are one.

And I just realized that I never fucking read The New York Times e-mail. Typical.

*It's worth noting that I wrote a good chunk of this post on the train, on my iPhone, post-drop

The dark side of New York

I know I talk about a lot of meaningless shit on this blog, and I do it because I enjoy trying to make y'all laugh and feel good; but sometimes, things happen that are not happy, not funny and not easily forgotten. Sometimes things happen that really affect you, shake you to your core and make you question things you thought you knew about yourself. Last night on my commute from work to home, one of these things happened to me.

I got on my usual train at my usual time, headed uptown on the 4/5 from the Brooklyn Bridge/City Hall stop. I spotted a seat and quickly moved to grab it, and as I sat down, I realized that a woman across from me was raising her voice at one of the two children with her. I had my earbuds in, listening to music, so I couldn't quite hear everything she was saying, and I tried desperately to ignore her. But after a while it became clear that I wasn't going to be able to, because she wasn't going to stop.

She looked like she was in her 50s, and she was with two young children, a boy and a girl, probably 10 and 8, respectively. She wouldn't stop yelling at the little girl, saying something about how embarrassed she was by her, and how she deserved to be embarrassed for what she had done. It was not immediately obvious what this poor child did that was so terrible, but the woman was clearly unhinged.

She just kept yelling and saying terrible things, and her verbal abuse reached a peak when she reached across the little boy, threatening to hit the girl with a rolled-up magazine, and then making a fist and threatening to punch her. The girl, shockingly, was not sobbing or even crying, but just sniffling a little bit. At this point my heart was in my throat and my stomach was in my shoes - why wasn't someone doing something? This woman was threatening to beat this child, in public, and no one was doing or saying anything. More importantly, neither was I.

At this point, the woman caught a person of another race - I didn't actually see the person so I'm not sure which race he or she was - staring at her, and she said, "What? What are you looking at? Please. The [inaudible race of people] beat their kids more than anybody. And have sex with 'em too." Of course, all of this was laced with obscenities.

At this point, a seat opened up next to me, and the woman instructed the little girl to move across the train from her and sit in the seat. She obeyed, taking the seat beside me, sniffling and looking embarrassed and terrified. My heart cried out to do something, to take this little girl's hand and tell her everything would be OK, that she didn't deserve to be treated this way - no matter what she had done wrong - and that she deserved love. The woman continued yelling at her from across the train, and instead of following my heart and my gut, I did nothing. I sat there, along with everyone else on the subway car, feeling angry, scared and helpless. I knew what I was witnessing was wrong, but I didn't know what I could do to stop it.





























I thought of writing the little girl a note and passing it to her as I exited the train; but then I realized I didn't have a pen. I thought of hugging her on my way out, whispering in her ear that she would be OK. But what if this unhinged woman had a weapon? Then I would be endangering everyone on the train, including both the children. So I did nothing. Aside from snap some photos of the woman and boy (but not the little girl) on my iPhone.

The thing about New York is that all these nasty sides of life are right there for everyone to see; had it been six o'clock anywhere else, some small town in rural Mississippi or Alabama, this exchange would have taken place behind closed car doors. But because it's New York, and everyone takes public transportation, it's all out there in the open as a reminder that life is not always good and people aren't always good and terrible things happen to innocent people everyday.

As I exited the train, I paused outside the train's window and looked back in at the girl. She was still sniffling, and she looked up at me. I smiled at her, weakly, trying to convey a million emotions with one human expression. I just wanted her to be OK. I wanted her to know that everything was going to be all right. I'm not really even sure if she saw me.

Dear little girl on the express train,

You are a person who deserves love. You deserve a happy life, and you are capable of doing great things, no matter what the adults in your life may tell you. You are beautiful. You have god and the universe inside you. Never let someone talk to you like this again. Never let a man threaten you, or take advantage of you, or abuse you. Never accept abuse from anyone. Be brave. Be yourself. Love others. Everything will be OK.

Love,
Meghan

MTA, not PDA

I took this photo at approx. 2:15 a.m. Saturday night on the L train back to Manhattan. For once, I was not drunk, but everyone else was. I.e., my own personal hell.

Please get out of New York.

Of all the wrong ways to ride the NYC subway

This is probably the wrongest.

A little Friday morning perspective

This morning on the train I was looking over this woman's shoulder as she was typing on her Bberry - because I am a bit of a creepy voyeur - and here is what I saw her write.

I have had a hard couple of months or so. My dad died in June and then two weeks later I found out I was losing my job.

I don't know if I believe in God, but I do believe that the universe has a way of speaking to us in its own subtle ways. This was the universe's way of either 1) telling me to notice how amazing my life is, or 2) giving me the heads up that terrible things happen to everyone, and that life is hard, and that I should be prepared.

Duly noted.

Until next time.

PS, I really hope it's the first one?

Kissy-face on the subway

AKA VOM VOM VOM ALL OVER MYSELF.

Few things enrage me more (slash make me feel more awkward) than kissy-face couples (KFCs) on the New York subway. Maybe I'm bitter because I just broke up with someone, or maybe I'm bitter because I don't have a person in the city with whom to be kissy-face on the train; I fully acknowledge these possibilities. But really, I think I just don't like it because it's fucking awkward and inappropriate.

On my way home tonight (went out with J in the LES, which, PS, I'm totally over) I got on the E train to take it over to 53rd/Lex to get on the 6 to come up to El Barrio. Whilst on the E, a couple boards. No big deal. Couples are fucking everywhere in the city, and while I'm pretty much over all of them, I can't blame them for being in love. But this couple is particularly offensive. Evidence follows.

1. The girl is wearing short shorts, nigh to hot pants, with no tights. No leggings. Nothing. Just bare legs and ridiciulous red patent Mary Jane flats. GIRL IT'S 20 DEGREES OUTSIDE PUT SOME FUCKING CLOTHES ON CRAY CRAY.
2. The guy, presumably her boyfriend, is obviously gay.
3. They proceed to talk about stupid shit, make kissy-face at each other, and full-blown make out on the train. This is particularly awkward because they are standing in the center of the car. It's not as bad when the KFCs are sitting in the seats on the sides or something, but when they are STANDING in the center of the car, everyone is forced to watch them awkwardly make out. Ugh. I lolzed at least three times. I couldn't help it! I felt so awkward I didn't know what else to do. It's like seeing someone fall down or trip over their own shoe or something.

Another couples trend I've noticed on the subway: they're all either madly in love and can't wait 20 minutes (or however long their commute is) t0 kiss each other, or they're in a terrible fight. On the way down to the LES, there was a couple talking about what they would have for dinner. They seriously talked about this for the whole time they were on the train (from 96th street to Bleecker) because she was either trying to lose weight, or had recently discovered a food allergy, or something else really annoying--I'm not sure. She couldn't eat this, or that, or this, because it has too many carbs in it, and she can't eat carbs. Her boyfriend looked like he was on the verge of choking himself with his iPhone earbud cord. Finally he said, "What about pizza?" Her response: "No! It has carbs! I can't have any carbs!" My response, internalized: "UGHHHHH KILL ME." Then: "Mmmmm I want some pizza." So I had some when I got off the train.

Then on the 6 on the way home, I saw another couple in a fight. A pretty blonde girl and a less attractive Latino guy. She was obviously upset about something and he was just looking at her expectantly, as if he were just waiting patiently for her to build a bridge and get over it. Their stop came and he got off before her, not turning back to see if she was following. Then she got off and I watched them walk down the platform in silence.

KILL ME. I want a boyfriend in the city eventually, but I don't want to be either of these couples. If I ever become a member of a KFC or a CFC (constantly fighting couple) just go ahead and deport me. Manhattan is too amazing for all you bitches.

Until next time.