Seven Hours Underground: A New York Subway Adventure

By Maggie Astor
PUBLISHED FEBRUARY 26, 2008
On Saturday, I rode 22 of New York’s 25 subway lines, excluding the B, V, and W, which don’t run on weekends. What follows are some of the trip’s highlights.

9:27 a.m.—Canarsie-bound L

A man is talking to his reflection in the subway doors and slapping himself. “Take your shirt off, don’t look at nobody!” he shouts to no one in particular. “La ropa, whoooo! Crayola, crayola—I like it like a jelly bean ... You don’t know me, baby, they got me in lo-ove!”

Like typical New Yorkers, everyone is ignoring him. Every so often someone glances over—their eyes flick upward, but they don’t move their heads. It’s entertaining, but I feel sorry for him, and feel like a horrible person for being amused.

I transfer to the Manhattan-bound L at Brooklyn’s Montrose Ave. According to my subway map, I should get off at 14th Street and Seventh Ave. to catch the 2, but the train goes straight from Sixth Ave. to Eighth. Annoyed, I turn around, go back to Sixth, and walk to the 1/2/3 platform.

A woman with three toddlers is walking alongside me, yelling. “Justin, stop! Get off the wall. Justin, get OFF of me!”

10:10 a.m.—14th Street and 7th Ave, 1/2/3 platform

A guy jumps onto the tracks, picks up something he dropped, and hoists himself back up. My first thought: “Wow, that was idiotic.” My second: “Wow, he has a lot of upper arm strength to climb back up like that.”

I wonder what he dropped. Was it something valuable, like his wallet or wedding ring? Or something stupid, like a MetroCard or nail clippers?

10:48 a.m.—Uptown 4

The train is packed. I can’t even reach a pole to hang onto. I only pray I don’t topple over.

This is as crowded as the subway gets—I was afraid the doors were going to close on me as I boarded. At 28th Street I transfer to the 5, which is crowded too, but at least my face isn’t wedged in other riders’ armpits.

There’s a woman sitting in the corner, applying mascara. I’m impressed—I can barely do that in front of the mirror, much less on a moving subway.

11:40 a.m.—Queens-bound 7

The train goes above ground and around a sharp curve. For a few moments I have a panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline. Court House Square is an open station, and I can see my breath in the air. The station reminds me a bit of Vienna, with frosty tracks and snow-covered awnings.

To transfer to the G, I have to go through the turnstiles, exit onto a busy corner, enter another station a few yards away, and re-swipe my MetroCard. I find that obnoxious, but at least I get a taste of Queens.

12:00 p.m.—Brooklyn-bound G

The G is unique—the only line that doesn’t enter Manhattan, directly connecting Queens to Brooklyn instead.

The train in the direction I want isn’t in service. I’m on the Brooklyn-bound G now, and I have a nasty suspicion that my planned route has gone awry.

I get off at Greenpoint Ave., which is cold and drafty. I return to Court House Square and transfer to the V, the next line on my route. Crisis averted.

1:08 p.m.—34th Street, B/D/F/V platform

Waiting at 34th Street for the B or V, I hear violin music coming from across the platform, but can’t see the source. Another invisible person in a dirty, crowded station—another untold story.

After about 15 minutes, the F comes in on the local track and the D on the express—but I’ve already taken both. I look at the signs and realize why the B and the V haven’t come: they don’t run on weekends.

Oops.

1:37 p.m.—Downtown A

Three passengers are sleeping. Unfortunately, I’m not one of them. This whole enterprise is losing its purpose—I’m tired, bored, and hungry, and I feel sweaty and disgusting from being on the subway for five hours.

We get off at Chambers Street to transfer to the C, but lo and behold, a sign tells us the C isn’t running due to signal work.

But five minutes later—wait, is that the C pulling into the station? Why yes, it is. Is it running uptown local on the downtown express track? Again, yes. I only hope the downtown express isn’t running on this track too. That would just make my day—death by colliding subway cars.

1:57 p.m.—Downtown C

This ride is incredibly bumpy—even holding on to the pole, I have trouble keeping my balance. The jumping back and forth along the tracks makes me feel sick.

I’m supposed to get off at Fulton Street, the last stop in Manhattan. But when we pick up speed and don’t stop for several minutes, I suspect we’re going under the East River into Brooklyn. How did I miss my stop?

I get off at Jay Street and board the Manhattan-bound A. Upon closer examination of my map, I realize the A and C actually stop at Broadway-Nassau, which then connects to Fulton via tunnel. I get out and make my way to the J/M/Z lines. I’ll ride those, then return to campus. Believe me, I’m counting the minutes.

I follow the signs only to hit a metal barrier. Since it’s the weekend, I have to take the 4 to yet another station to catch the J/M/Z. Will this day never end?

3:00 p.m.—Uptown 2

At Broadway-Nassau, two women with Eastern European accents asked how to get to Times Square. I told them to take the 2 or 3, but said they might be running on the local track. They looked bewildered, and I couldn’t blame them. I thought I was a subway pro, having grown up 12 miles west of the city and attending Columbia, but even I got confused today. New York City’s transit system is not for the faint of heart.

As the day went on, all the lines started to look the same, and the idea of riding all 22 lost its novelty. Obscure trains like the G, M, and Z no longer seemed exotic or exciting. All the faces blended together—all those people, all those stories, crushed into hermetically sealed cars in miles of tunnels over seven hours underground.

When I walked onto Broadway, I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see my dorm. I showered, ate, then crawled into bed. And yet, as much as I hated the trip, I loved it too, craziness and all. I’ve never had such a sense of fondness for this city and its quirky, crazy inner workings than I do now.

maggie.astor@columbiaspectator.com



TAGS: Reporter's Notebook, Subways

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