My Thoughts of Trains

Over the past week I have had a lot of time to ride the subway. Along with the long and tiring commutes came some very interesting trains of thought. There is no limit to the amount of interesting experiences that are possibly encountered while riding MTA subways, and I feel I have already had my fair share of those. However, just being forced to sit on a train full of random people for more than an hour can create a wellspring of very interesting thoughts even without any overly interesting incidents. I have therefore decided to relate some of my interesting subway thoughts along with an intuitive rule of the rails.

While on a long train ride to a fairly unpleasant destination, my mind frequently plays with a few distinct recurring thoughts. When I first set foot on the train I generally think of just relaxing throughout the long ride while placing any thoughts of the destination outside of my conscious mind. Eventually, I am inevitably gripped with an irrational desire to explore and go free. As I pass through various unexplored stations I find myself with an uncontrollable urge to exit the train and abort the mission. I figure it will be extremely entertaining to just walk out at a random station and just roam the streets of an uncharted territory. Station after station, I sit in my seat longing for that adventure that doesn't really exist. After all, I have explored most of Brooklyn, and I am not really missing out on any exciting sites. The only actually mysterious site is the train stations themselves. Also, my lack of interest in my real destination gives me the desire of just acting in a haphazard manner. Fortunately, I rarely fall for these temptations, and more often than not I just fall asleep to the soporific rocking of the train.

When I awake from my unintended nap, I generally notice that the train is far closer to my destination than expected (I rarely miss my stop). Having forgot about all the previous encounters with foreign stations, my mind becomes filled with another familiar train of thought. I start longing to stay on the train. The train continues to the next station after it drops me off. And after that station, there is yet another station. I want to remain on the train and see how far the train can go. I am aware of the length of the line as depicted in the train map, but seeing is believing. Besides, who wants to leave the train? It feels like leaving a baseball game after only the fifth inning. I will only reluctantly leave the train knowing that I will probably never visit those remaining stops. I typically remain sitting in my seat until the train is about to close its doors in order to savor every last minute of the commute.

On some special commutes, the long train ride gives me opportunity to develop new laws of commuting. During one of my most recent train rides I encountered a fairly common problem that gave some support to an already well established rule of the rails. As the train opened its doors, I began entering what I thought was a completely empty car. Only after a quick inspection of the far end corner seat did I notice a vagrant individual that seemed to be fast asleep. Almost immediately following the sight was the smell. The entire car reeked of an unknown odor. I couldn't see myself staying in that car another moment. Without a second thought I made a dash for the next car, and was able to enter safely with my olfactory equipment still intact. I knew from that point on that my commute wouldn’t be one of the boring sleepy kinds.

As the train pulled out of the station my mind became flooded with thoughts regarding my recent experience. First I thought of how wasteful it is for these people to claim an entire car to themselves. But then I realized that there were probably no people taking the next train on account of his presence, and the same amount of people would occupy the train either way. Then I started to wonder how it must feel to have a whole personal train car. Was he insulted or was he proud to be left alone? What laws can be written to prevent people from doing what he was doing? Was he even doing anything wrong? What could be done to help such people? How did everyone in the car feel back when this guy originally entered the train? The questions continued faster than I could find answers, and I was already quite entertained.

The entertainment didn't stop with my entering the adjacent car. Apparently, every normal human being agreed with my assessment of the situation, and with every stop of the train my car saw an inflow of smelly car refugees. Some people would enter the odorous car and immediately run out and head to my car. Others were not as fast. These people would wait in the car until a critical level of odor registered in their neurons. At that point these people would form a line and walk through the door connecting the two cars. I was sitting at the other side watching the faces of each victim. Each new person would enter the car as if he or she had a story to tell everyone. In reality, they were only providing entertainment for people who had already experienced the encounter with the stench. I was in no position to think anymore. I just watched people making different decisions with equally different facial expressions. I watched as a few people even braved the fumes and decided to stay in the smelly car. I could feel their pain as they sat in the spatial car wondering why they chose to endure such a treatment. Many people run from painful situations, but some people are just not able to give up. However, sooner or later everyone left that car and came into my car with an entertaining grimace.

This story lends credence to one of the most fundamental rules of the rails: One should never enter an empty train car. There are times late at night when average pleasant smelling individuals have the privilege of having a full car to themselves. However, such situations are extremely rare during normal commuting hours. If something seems too good to be true, it probably isn't true. When an empty train car greets you at the station, pass it up if you wish to avoid any unpleasant circumstances. If a car is empty you should always be suspicious of something. During this ride it happened to be a homeless individual. But, there are a number of possible deplorable circumstances as well. One of the times when I entered an empty car I was greeted by a pigeon. At least the bird didn't smell. But it was trying to fly away, and that can be quite distracting to someone who routinely takes naps during a daily commute. If you enter a crowded car, you are not necessarily guaranteed a seat. But you are also less likely to encounter very unpleasant situations.

Taking a daily subway commute leads to a plethora of train ideas. I have random thoughts during normal commutes, and even crazier thoughts during those eventful ones. Just the other day I was wondering how many people would fall off the train if the conductor mistakenly opened the wrong doors. Now I am wondering how that homeless man would have felt if he found himself in the same car as the pigeon. Add to that two people with guitars and you have some seriously bizarre situations. With all of the joy of taking the trains I wonder why anyone would commute in any other way. I can't speak for other people, but I enjoy the thought of trains.

Adaptive Commuting Theory

Being the kind of guy who welcomes phone calls and never takes steps to bring a conversation to a close, I typically have phone conversations lasting until the early morning hours. This tendency can cause problems for someone who wakes up at 5:40 AM in order to attend daily morning prayers services located a mile and a half away. Going to bed late inevitably leads to a late rise, and an already stressful morning is compounded with additional time constraints. After sloppily tending to all the necessary morning chores, I am left with only one venue for mitigating the unbearable time pressure: The commute.

The time needed for commuting is frequently underestimated, especially when dealing with relatively short distances. If an appointment is scheduled for 10:00, and I leave my house at 9:45, it doesn't usually bother me that the normal travel time for that distance is twenty five minutes. To the contrary, if I happen to be running late, I typically plan to gain back lost time by commuting a little faster. When commuting by bicycle, there is always extra energy stored somewhere in my legs specially made available for these circumstances. When commuting by automobile, I push the gas peddle just a little closer to the floor. Even when commuting by train, I can play some neat tricks by transferring to express trains and then returning to local trains. The later I am, the faster I commute. The extra adrenaline rush helps me perform maneuvers that would have been unthinkable during a normal ride. I can sleep comfortably at night knowing that my adaptive commuting theory can take care of any delay that may arise from my tardy awakening.

Unfortunately, my beautiful theory of everything is lacking in one minor detail: There are other people on the road and there are other people in the trains. These people are going about there daily routine, and the fact that I am in a mad rush doesn't seem to cross their minds. While I slam the door, gun the engine and floor the gas peddle, a different and completely random human being is going about his daily drive in his good old humdrum manner. Although my world may be rushing, planet Earth isn’t rotating any faster. People of all kinds are capable of throwing a monkey wrench into adaptive commuting theory. School buses, garbage trucks, ambulances, fire trucks, pedestrians, cyclists, people looking for parking spots, people taking my potential parking spots, people double parking, people triple parking, people becoming sick on trains and people casually driving for fun, are all potential shocks to this otherwise perfect equilibrium. Although at least some of these threats should be anticipated, they are frequently overlooked.

These disturbances add elements of uncertainty to adaptive commuting theory. Can the commute really be relied upon to make back lost time? Some days I wake up late, yet everything works according to theory. On other days, I find myself stuck behind a garbage truck while circling for parking. This morning I was able to experience the clear contrast between both of these options during my daily commute.

I had been chatting with my brother until 1:00 AM, and the conversation only came to a close after his phone's battery went dead. With a working alarm clock and a theory of commuting, I fell into a peaceful slumber. At 5:40 AM an annoying alarm began slowly invading my dreams. I hit the snooze button three times and turned on the radio while only 10% awake. When I finally realized that all the vicious murder and robberies were not coming from my imagination but from 1010 WINS, it was already 6:20. I was running late! I had to reach my destination by 6:40! I hurried as fast as I could, and I was in the car and ready to go by 6:33.

I knew that I could make it on time if everything went according to theory. I backed up my one-way street to avoid a strategically placed traffic light. Approaching the first intersection, a delivery truck passed me by and stopped at the light. I was in no mood of following that slow moving vehicle, but there appeared to be no other option. The clock ticked to 6:36. Four minutes was more than enough with no lights and no trucks. After following the truck a few blocks, I noticed a red light ahead. It was at this point that I devised a plan to beat the traffic. I turned on a side street hoping to use a different avenue. As I raced down the block at about 40 mph, I noticed a car with New Jersey plates just thoughtlessly moving out of a parking spot. This time I floored the brakes, and was about to hit the horn. Didn't this guy realize that I was in a hurry? I held myself back from honking him, and I watched as he slowly and aimlessly glided through the yellow light, leaving me in the red. I didn't believe what had happened. I missed a crucial light because someone from a different state couldn't realize that my schedule was at stake. After waiting at two lights it was already 6:40. To make matters worse, I saw the same truck pass me by as I was waiting at the light. It turns out that my trick had made me even more late. It seemed like the commute would not be as adaptable as anticipated.

My plan failed and I was already late, but I wanted to be less late than more late. At this point I was ready to fly. The light turned green and I hit the gas. Light after light, I continued at a cruising speed of at least 45 mph. There were no cars! My plan was now working. I turned on a side street, found parking instantly, and arrived at my destination. It was only 6:43, and I managed to make up the lost time. The extra will power propelled by my desire for being slightly less late managed to shorten the commuting time substantially. The commuting theory had been partially vindicated.

I found partial evidence for adaptive commuting theory, but it still seems like giving one's self plenty of extra time for the commute is definitely the ideal. I have found that commutes can be completely unpredictable, and adaptive solutions can have equally unpredictable consequences. I still remember the time when I kept missing the train because I was switching back and forth between different platforms. I waited at one platform, watched one train after another arrive at the other platform, and finally switched platforms right before my train would arrive. Fortunately, my destination was only the Bronx Zoo. Commuting time should never be underestimated, and negative shocks frequently offset any gains produced through fanciful tricks. However, for the days that I happen to wake up late, I find comfort in fooling myself into thinking that the commute is relatively flexible.