What About The Other People, Who Got Off Of The Train??????????????

                                     "And another hundred people just got off of the train."
                                          --Stephen Sondheim, "Company," (1970)



                                      That song reverberated in my head long before I actually became one of those people.  It is still one of the quintessential New York City songs.  And for 35 years of my working life, I was, again, one of those people.

                                        I mean, what choice did I have?  Besides, I loved riding the subway, because it gave me a chance to zone out, and do what I do best--read.  At my retirement party, I joked that I would have to start compulsively riding the subway while reading, because I was so used to doing so, to the "rhythm of the rails," to borrow a phrase from Arlo Guthrie.  I have not done that, as yet, but I am thinking about it, more.  Certainly, if I want to top my new record of 116 books read in a year, I should be doing this.

                                        But I cannot spend my entire waking life on the subway.

                                        And who would want to?  Because, since I have ceased riding the trains every day, whenever I get on now, I wish I did not have to.  True, I still read as much as possible, but, more and more, I find myself distracted by strange behavior and abnormal goings on.  And sometimes that scares me.

                                          If a group of rowdy teens get on, I instantly brace myself for trouble.  Is this me, or has riding the subway less made me more aware of the nut jobs, of all types, and ages, out there?  Have they always been there, and I just never noticed?  Or am I noticing them more?

                                           Have the mental hospitals turned more patients out to the street?  I have to wonder.  I know many of the pitiful homeless feel safer on the trains than in the shelters, and I cannot say I blame them.  And I don't disparage them; many are quiet, unconscious, and just want to be left alone.

                                            It is the ones who get in your face, who will not leave you alone, that get on my nerves.  What are their stories, and why are they not being dealt with?

                                           My favorite is one I call the Opera Singer.  He is a huge man, dressed in rags, tied with a rope at the waist, looking as if her stepped off the Met Opera stage.  The strange thing is he has the voice to match.  With a heartiness that belies his situation, he sings of his need for help from others, while I wonder why he does not at least audition for the Met chorus?  I bet he could land a spot, and then he would have a gig!

                                            He is the least of it.  The show-timers, the break dancers, the space invaders, are the ones I fear.   Just as I am about to zone out, on my way home, more and more these types pop up.

                                             What is going on?

                                              The monsters are not just on Maple Street, anymore.

                                               They are on board the IRT and BMT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!