The Underworld

As I descend the steps, I think: this must be the entrance to what Shakespeare referred to as the everlasting bonfire.  The Heat rises to welcome me to the Underworld; it is an entity that inhabits this subterranean tangle of tunnels.  Its fiery fingers clutch at my throat and it seems to be sucking the oxygen out of the air.  Rivers of perspiration meander down my back at a frenetic pace, gathering at the base of my spine. What is the smell of this place: sweat, urine, garbage? Or a pungent combination of both?  It invades my nose and attaches itself to the insides of my nostrils.  I try not to make eye contact with the other weary souls on the platform.  I wipe my brow with the back of my hand and simultaneously catch a glimpse of my watch. How much longer are we expected to survive down here?  I empathize with Livingston’s solitary prospector and wonder if we will share the same fate. Below me, something moves in the shadows, among the waste discarded by the worst of humanity.  The choir of carrion crows assembling perhaps? 

My reverie is interrupted by a low rumbling in the distance.  The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse approach, I think!  Their thundering hooves fill me with momentary terror before a sudden gust of air assails me.  And then I see lights and I am overcome with relief.   The silver carriages flash past, the promise of arctic salvation inside.  Eventually they come to a stop with an ear-piercing screech, like that of demons being exorcised.  More fatigued souls file out and I step inside, immediately embraced by the comforting coolness.  Everything is going to be okay now, it seems to whisper.  Only, I know that this is not the case; it is but a temporary respite and a host of unknown horrors await.  This is the MTA after all. 

***

If you are a stranger to the Underworld, here are some of the delights you have to look forward to (sometimes all on one trip):

• Delays due to signal problems, the activation of automated breaks, stalled trains, police incidents and sick passengers
• Incomprehensible announcements from train drivers, reminiscent of Charlie Brown’s teacher (I swear one driver was Laverne Hooks from Police Academy)
• “Ladies and gentlemen, sorry for the interruption.  I’m out here today selling candy…”
• Showtime (if you see a group of guys getting onto the train with a boombox, you’d better step aside or risk a foot in your face)
• A homeless person draped across a seat (if a subway car is empty, there is a reason)
• An inconsiderate asshole who does not believe in earphones, forcing fellow passengers to endure some god-awful music spewing from their phones
• Parents with obnoxiously large strollers containing equally obnoxious children
• A man who thinks his balls are big enough to justify his spread legs
• Passengers who stick a hand or foot or other body part between the doors to keep them open
• Passengers who defy the laws of maths and physics by insisting that space on an overcrowded train will be magically created when they squeeze themselves inside (because, you know, this might be the last train ever)

***

Last year Governor Andrew Cuomo declared a state of emergency for NYC subways, stating the following: “The delays are maddening New Yorkers…They are infuriated by a lack of communication, unreliability and now accidents. Just three days ago, we literally had a train come off the tracks. It’s the perfect metaphor for the dysfunction of the entire system.” Having said all of that, the MTA, with all of its flaws and frustrations, is an essential part of NYC and complaining about it is also a quintessential part of living in the city.  Perhaps Dennis Haysbert has the right idea: “Sometimes you have to laugh to keep from crying or getting overly angry or to maintain control.”  The MTA is certainly not worth your tears or elevated blood pressure so you just have to go with the  (interrupted, odorous and uncomfortable) flow.