A heavy downpour last week caused some unusual natural water features throughout the city. This cigarette geyser in Grand Central is especially beautiful.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Monday, June 18, 2012
Proofreader Needed...
I downloaded the new Weekender iPhone app from the MTA, which is supposed to show revised weekend subway maps with modified routes based on planned service changes. I think they should have also invested in a proofreader...
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Spreading Out
We all feel the need to spread out when we can, especially living in a small apartment or toiling in a small workspace. We are consistently pushed, prodded, jostled and stepped on, but nowhere is this more prevalent then on the subway.
I'm as guilty as the next, if there's an empty seat next to me, I'll put my bag on it, but the second that I see the train is filling up, I'll put the bag on my lap or on the ground and let someone sit down. This common courtesy is not always followed by other commuters. It drives me crazy to no end to see people taking up more that one seat, and then complaining if you ask them to move their bag so you can sit down. Like these women, for example, whom I photographed last week:
They didn't just take up one extra seat with their bags, they took up an ENTIRE ROW of seats. It's fine, because I'm sure they bought fares for each one of those bags.
So coming home one evening last week, the train was quite crowded by the time I got on and there were almost no seats available except for one. This one seat wasn't quite "available", however, as it was occupied by an enormous king-sized bed in a bag. You know what I'm talking about.
An unnecessarily large densely-packed plastic suitcase miraculously stuffed with a sheet set, six decorative pillows, shams (regular and European), a quilt, a dust ruffle (a what?), a bed skirt and a coverlet (??). I asked the two ladies, and presumed owners of said bed, if they could put it on the floor so I could sit down. But instead of putting it on the floor, the two of them pulled the package onto their laps, trying to get it off the seat.
Now, try and imagine two heavyset older ladies with good-sized bellies, and breasts the size of decorative pillows trying to set a king-sized bed in a bag on their laps. It really just gave me about 4 inches of room to sit on the seat, so when I squeezed into the seat, I had this wall of plastic pressed against my arm and face. It also was a warm evening so immediately my right side of my body pressed against this package was immediately sweating. That lasted about 10 seconds before I asked them if they could set it on the ground. I got the double eye roll and they did give in.
I understand completely how people don't like to set their packages on the floor of the subway. But I also am guessing that they did not lug that bed in a bag all the way from Macy's to their spot on the train without resting that bed on the ground somewhere along the way. Thank you, ladies, for relinquishing your extra seat. I hope you slept well in your new bed.
I'm as guilty as the next, if there's an empty seat next to me, I'll put my bag on it, but the second that I see the train is filling up, I'll put the bag on my lap or on the ground and let someone sit down. This common courtesy is not always followed by other commuters. It drives me crazy to no end to see people taking up more that one seat, and then complaining if you ask them to move their bag so you can sit down. Like these women, for example, whom I photographed last week:
They didn't just take up one extra seat with their bags, they took up an ENTIRE ROW of seats. It's fine, because I'm sure they bought fares for each one of those bags.
So coming home one evening last week, the train was quite crowded by the time I got on and there were almost no seats available except for one. This one seat wasn't quite "available", however, as it was occupied by an enormous king-sized bed in a bag. You know what I'm talking about.
An unnecessarily large densely-packed plastic suitcase miraculously stuffed with a sheet set, six decorative pillows, shams (regular and European), a quilt, a dust ruffle (a what?), a bed skirt and a coverlet (??). I asked the two ladies, and presumed owners of said bed, if they could put it on the floor so I could sit down. But instead of putting it on the floor, the two of them pulled the package onto their laps, trying to get it off the seat.
Now, try and imagine two heavyset older ladies with good-sized bellies, and breasts the size of decorative pillows trying to set a king-sized bed in a bag on their laps. It really just gave me about 4 inches of room to sit on the seat, so when I squeezed into the seat, I had this wall of plastic pressed against my arm and face. It also was a warm evening so immediately my right side of my body pressed against this package was immediately sweating. That lasted about 10 seconds before I asked them if they could set it on the ground. I got the double eye roll and they did give in.
I understand completely how people don't like to set their packages on the floor of the subway. But I also am guessing that they did not lug that bed in a bag all the way from Macy's to their spot on the train without resting that bed on the ground somewhere along the way. Thank you, ladies, for relinquishing your extra seat. I hope you slept well in your new bed.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
A Mess
This was the first sight in my subway station. Now I know that it's impossible to keep everything spotless, but it's a sad way to start the day.
Though not as sad as my pants after I sat down in the puddle of water on the seat after someone thought it would be a good idea to put their wet umbrella on the seat instead of the floor or in their bag. WHO DOES THAT???
Monday, April 30, 2012
Too Clean...
Today's guest post is from a loyal Cranky Commute reader who recently returned from Asia with some opinions about mass transit in China and Korea vs. NYC. Thanks for contributing, dad! Send your own opinions and experiences to thecrank [at] crankycommute [dot] com.
My wife and I just completed a two-month Pacific odyssey that included stops in Shanghai and Seoul. Both of these burgeoning cities recently built spanking new subway systems that whisk you to destinations far and wide in whisper-quiet comfort. The trains run on time, there is absolutely no graffiti, stops are clearly announced in both Chinese (or Korean) and English, while the stations are brightly lit, crime-free, and clearly signposted. Except for the rush-hour crowds (a universal phenomena) there are usually seats available for the elderly, disabled, and pregnant. This would appear to be a dream scenario for those of us who ride the NY subway system: nice new stations that are all escalator accessible, spotlessly clean trains that always arrive on time, and absolutely no fears of late evening travel.
While there are certainly many things to admire about these two transit systems, after riding them for a couple of weeks I yearned, rather surprisingly, for the gritty reality of our own imperfect MTA. I found the sparkling cleanliness of Shanghai and Seoul to be sterile, impersonal, almost bleak. There were no buskers or street musicians to entertain the crowds; no beggars yelling over the track noise “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen…”; no interesting examples of lifestyle, dress, body art, or piercings–in short, no good people watching. In these subways similarly dressed individuals stand in clearly marked lines to board a car, sit down, pull out smartphones, and sit quietly reading email or texting until their final destination.
Although you have to put up with the litter, panhandling, and an 80-decibel noise level, the NY city subway represents all that is wonderful, interesting, and frustrating about our city—the enormous diversity of behaviors, races, ages, incomes, orientations, and nationalities. While I would probably not mind better lighting and a little more attention to schedule, I would never want to give up the real-world edginess, even grittiness, of our imperfect but lovable NY subway.
My wife and I just completed a two-month Pacific odyssey that included stops in Shanghai and Seoul. Both of these burgeoning cities recently built spanking new subway systems that whisk you to destinations far and wide in whisper-quiet comfort. The trains run on time, there is absolutely no graffiti, stops are clearly announced in both Chinese (or Korean) and English, while the stations are brightly lit, crime-free, and clearly signposted. Except for the rush-hour crowds (a universal phenomena) there are usually seats available for the elderly, disabled, and pregnant. This would appear to be a dream scenario for those of us who ride the NY subway system: nice new stations that are all escalator accessible, spotlessly clean trains that always arrive on time, and absolutely no fears of late evening travel.
While there are certainly many things to admire about these two transit systems, after riding them for a couple of weeks I yearned, rather surprisingly, for the gritty reality of our own imperfect MTA. I found the sparkling cleanliness of Shanghai and Seoul to be sterile, impersonal, almost bleak. There were no buskers or street musicians to entertain the crowds; no beggars yelling over the track noise “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen…”; no interesting examples of lifestyle, dress, body art, or piercings–in short, no good people watching. In these subways similarly dressed individuals stand in clearly marked lines to board a car, sit down, pull out smartphones, and sit quietly reading email or texting until their final destination.
Although you have to put up with the litter, panhandling, and an 80-decibel noise level, the NY city subway represents all that is wonderful, interesting, and frustrating about our city—the enormous diversity of behaviors, races, ages, incomes, orientations, and nationalities. While I would probably not mind better lighting and a little more attention to schedule, I would never want to give up the real-world edginess, even grittiness, of our imperfect but lovable NY subway.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Share!
Since I've started this blog, I regularly have people come up to me and say "I have something for your blog..." and then tell me about their annoyance coming to work that day.
This morning a colleague told me about a man who whistled on her Metro North commute and then she couldn't shake him through Grand Central. "I just glared at him," she said.
Another colleague yesterday told me about the woman who fell asleep on her shoulder on the bus from New Jersey and snored the whole way.
Still another told me about the man who ate a banana on the subway and then left the peel on his shoe so he would remember to throw it away when he left the train. (Which he did!)
These are all great stories! Write them down and send them to me at thecrank (at) crankycommute dot com. I love hearing them and I'm sure all the blog reader would as well!
Sane travels home and happy Friday!
This morning a colleague told me about a man who whistled on her Metro North commute and then she couldn't shake him through Grand Central. "I just glared at him," she said.
Another colleague yesterday told me about the woman who fell asleep on her shoulder on the bus from New Jersey and snored the whole way.
Still another told me about the man who ate a banana on the subway and then left the peel on his shoe so he would remember to throw it away when he left the train. (Which he did!)
These are all great stories! Write them down and send them to me at thecrank (at) crankycommute dot com. I love hearing them and I'm sure all the blog reader would as well!
Sane travels home and happy Friday!
Friday, April 20, 2012
Bikes
Whenever you descend onto the subway platform ready to fight the mayhem, there is only one thought on a commuter's mind: How long do I need to wait until the next train arrives? How much longer do I have to stand on this stifling, stuffy platform before I hear that glorious distant rumble on my side of the tracks? (Some lines now have countdown clocks which help, but it's still a crapshoot on how accurate they are.)
We've all made that stressful run from the entrance of the station, down the stairs to the turnstile, fumbling for a MetroCard, hearing the train screech to a stop, hoping to make it to the platform before the doors close, a rush of satisfaction as you catch your breath, and sensing the disappointment for the commuters who can't run as fast and have to wait for the next train.
But twice last week, I leisurely strolled through the turnstile after work, walked down the stairs to the platform and saw every commuter's nightmare: A platform packed with people. Obviously a train hadn't been through in a while and it just got more and more frustrating as other trains barreled through in the other direction. I could see the faces of people on the passing train mocking us in their spacious half-empty cars. I knew that as soon as a train finally decided to arrive on our side, it would be so full that it would be the most unpleasant trip home.
Just to set the scene, it's now rush hour at the Times Square 42nd Street station, one of busiest, if not THE BUSIEST, station of all 468 stations in the system. Finally a train decides to grace us with its presence. The doors open and tons of people stream out of the train (some people try and push their way on before everyone is off, thinking the train may suddenly lurch forward leaving them behind, but that's another story...) and I hope that enough get off so we all can push our way on.
I notice some sort of bottleneck at one of the doors so I move to the next door, and as I get on, I see that someone has a bicycle on the train. It's held vertically on one wheel as the owner was trying to take up as little space as possible I suppose, but he was blocking the door so was actually doing more disservice to the flow of humanity.
OK. I understand that if you live really far away and you had a great bike ride and you're now ready to head home totally exhausted, but do you need to do it at rush hour? The MTA even has suggestions for bringing a bike on the train: "Bicycles are permitted on Subway trains at all times. However, we strongly recommend that cyclists avoid boarding crowded rush hour trains." And even a web page devoted to bike safety and courtesy: "Try not to use the subway during rush hour. Avoid rush-hour crowds. Bicycles can create dangerous situations when they prevent people from moving."
Once you drag your bike on a crowded train, everyone then has to do that awkward dance around your muddy tires and greasy chain as to not get dirty, and it's just unpleasant for everyone. So come on. You're already on two wheels. Do your body a favor and bike home, while doing our bodies a favor and stop taking up valuable commuter space.
We've all made that stressful run from the entrance of the station, down the stairs to the turnstile, fumbling for a MetroCard, hearing the train screech to a stop, hoping to make it to the platform before the doors close, a rush of satisfaction as you catch your breath, and sensing the disappointment for the commuters who can't run as fast and have to wait for the next train.
But twice last week, I leisurely strolled through the turnstile after work, walked down the stairs to the platform and saw every commuter's nightmare: A platform packed with people. Obviously a train hadn't been through in a while and it just got more and more frustrating as other trains barreled through in the other direction. I could see the faces of people on the passing train mocking us in their spacious half-empty cars. I knew that as soon as a train finally decided to arrive on our side, it would be so full that it would be the most unpleasant trip home.
Just to set the scene, it's now rush hour at the Times Square 42nd Street station, one of busiest, if not THE BUSIEST, station of all 468 stations in the system. Finally a train decides to grace us with its presence. The doors open and tons of people stream out of the train (some people try and push their way on before everyone is off, thinking the train may suddenly lurch forward leaving them behind, but that's another story...) and I hope that enough get off so we all can push our way on.
I notice some sort of bottleneck at one of the doors so I move to the next door, and as I get on, I see that someone has a bicycle on the train. It's held vertically on one wheel as the owner was trying to take up as little space as possible I suppose, but he was blocking the door so was actually doing more disservice to the flow of humanity.
OK. I understand that if you live really far away and you had a great bike ride and you're now ready to head home totally exhausted, but do you need to do it at rush hour? The MTA even has suggestions for bringing a bike on the train: "Bicycles are permitted on Subway trains at all times. However, we strongly recommend that cyclists avoid boarding crowded rush hour trains." And even a web page devoted to bike safety and courtesy: "Try not to use the subway during rush hour. Avoid rush-hour crowds. Bicycles can create dangerous situations when they prevent people from moving."
Once you drag your bike on a crowded train, everyone then has to do that awkward dance around your muddy tires and greasy chain as to not get dirty, and it's just unpleasant for everyone. So come on. You're already on two wheels. Do your body a favor and bike home, while doing our bodies a favor and stop taking up valuable commuter space.
Friday, April 13, 2012
Sous Chef - Explained
My previous post Sous Chef with the young woman chopping onions on the train is explained in Gothamnist, along with a video.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Snack Man
This guy simply stopped a fight on the 6 Train while eating Cheddar Pringles. If all fights could be stopped so easily.
Read about him here.
The New York Times has a great profile of the Snack Man as well. "He was cool incarnate. No weapons. No visible bloodshed. Not even a loud word. A newcomer to the city, munching on chips, and a poker face for the ages."
Read about him here.
The New York Times has a great profile of the Snack Man as well. "He was cool incarnate. No weapons. No visible bloodshed. Not even a loud word. A newcomer to the city, munching on chips, and a poker face for the ages."
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Comfort
The subway is often a study on human nature. At what point does someone give in and do something they wouldn't normally do just for comfort? At my station, which is about 20 minutes from midtown Manhattan, there is usually a fight for a seat in the morning. I usually get one, but sometimes people get a little pushy just to get a place to sit.
(On a side note, one morning I was waiting for the train to arrive, and I was positioned on the platform right where I knew the door would open. I could feel someone starting to push against me from behind as the train pulled into the station, but I was not going to move. When the train stopped and the door opened, the person behind me started pushing past me to get a seat. I turned around and was ready to give them a piece of my mind, when I saw it was a woman with a teenage boy with Down's Syndrome just trying to get a seat. I stood for weeks after that...)
There is occasionally a homeless person asleep on a seat when the train gets to my station. Commuters will sit everywhere else while avoiding that seat with the unusual neighbor. If there are no open seats, however, I can see the wheels turning in the commuter's mind, actually hearing their thoughts as they decide whether to break down and sit next to the homeless character.
"I'd rather sit next to him then stand."
"If I breathe through this dirty handkerchief he almost smells like my grandfather."
"At least I'm not sitting next to that girl putting on her eye liner."
It's the same situation with a wet or dirty seat. Sometimes a seat will have water in it, and the poor person sitting closest to it is tasked with telling everyone who runs to it thinking they will have a leisurely ride, "No, it's wet. I'm sorry."
Sometimes this bearer of bad news revels in their job, I can see the glee in their face as they break heart after heart. Or they are sympathetic, breaking the news with a sad grimace, told from their perch of comfort.
Again, however, there's a breaking point and someone will eventually whip out an old tissue or a scarf to sop up the mess, or if it's just a little damp spot, they will just dive in and sit down, thinking their absorbent panties will just take care of the mess, like a human Bounty.
Comfort almost always wins out.
(On a side note, one morning I was waiting for the train to arrive, and I was positioned on the platform right where I knew the door would open. I could feel someone starting to push against me from behind as the train pulled into the station, but I was not going to move. When the train stopped and the door opened, the person behind me started pushing past me to get a seat. I turned around and was ready to give them a piece of my mind, when I saw it was a woman with a teenage boy with Down's Syndrome just trying to get a seat. I stood for weeks after that...)
There is occasionally a homeless person asleep on a seat when the train gets to my station. Commuters will sit everywhere else while avoiding that seat with the unusual neighbor. If there are no open seats, however, I can see the wheels turning in the commuter's mind, actually hearing their thoughts as they decide whether to break down and sit next to the homeless character.
"I'd rather sit next to him then stand."
"If I breathe through this dirty handkerchief he almost smells like my grandfather."
"At least I'm not sitting next to that girl putting on her eye liner."
It's the same situation with a wet or dirty seat. Sometimes a seat will have water in it, and the poor person sitting closest to it is tasked with telling everyone who runs to it thinking they will have a leisurely ride, "No, it's wet. I'm sorry."
Sometimes this bearer of bad news revels in their job, I can see the glee in their face as they break heart after heart. Or they are sympathetic, breaking the news with a sad grimace, told from their perch of comfort.
Again, however, there's a breaking point and someone will eventually whip out an old tissue or a scarf to sop up the mess, or if it's just a little damp spot, they will just dive in and sit down, thinking their absorbent panties will just take care of the mess, like a human Bounty.
Comfort almost always wins out.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Commuter Photos in The Times
The New York Times Lens blog today has some great photos of commuters racing for trains. The introduction to the photos is very poetic:
"To navigate New York’s mass transit is to experience all of this competitive city’s struggles, pleasures and pains, only transposed underground, into the subterranean arena otherwise known as a train station. Faced with sprints, crowded staircases and down-to-the-minute departure times, the successful urban traveler must display an agility and athleticism akin to a gladiator’s.
And in an environment where seconds count, there are glorious triumphs and heartbreaking defeats."
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Homeless
I was on the subway one morning on my way to work, happy to have a seat since it was pretty crowded. I was half asleep reading the paper, not really paying attention to the people around me as I suddenly heard the familiar sound of a guy asking for money, combined with the commotion of the commuters trying to get out of his way as he passed down the aisle.
There are always homeless people on the train asking for money or food, but there are definitely levels of homelessness. It can range from people who look clean but may be recently sick or down on their luck for a short time, all the way down to others who look absolutely destitute with no shoes on in the middle of winter wearing clothes made out of plastic bags.
The guy coming down the aisle was in between those two extremes but definitely more toward the destitute end of the spectrum. I could smell him as he paused right next to me, waiting for people to move, slowly repeating his plea for a penny or a quarter, as I was enveloped by that strong, unwashed smell that anyone who rides the subway is keenly aware of.
At that moment, the train suddenly lurched and the man lost his balance, falling right into my lap, crushing my paper and shocking me awake. It all happened so fast, I barely had time to comprehend what happened as the whole carload of people were awaiting my reaction. I tried to help him up, and as he started to stand he looked me in the eyes, smiled, licked his lips, and clearly shouted out a guttural "YUM....." He then stood up and proceeded down the car.
I just tried to act like nothing happened as I tried to read the paper again, feeling the eyes of everyone in that car boring though me.
There are always homeless people on the train asking for money or food, but there are definitely levels of homelessness. It can range from people who look clean but may be recently sick or down on their luck for a short time, all the way down to others who look absolutely destitute with no shoes on in the middle of winter wearing clothes made out of plastic bags.
The guy coming down the aisle was in between those two extremes but definitely more toward the destitute end of the spectrum. I could smell him as he paused right next to me, waiting for people to move, slowly repeating his plea for a penny or a quarter, as I was enveloped by that strong, unwashed smell that anyone who rides the subway is keenly aware of.
At that moment, the train suddenly lurched and the man lost his balance, falling right into my lap, crushing my paper and shocking me awake. It all happened so fast, I barely had time to comprehend what happened as the whole carload of people were awaiting my reaction. I tried to help him up, and as he started to stand he looked me in the eyes, smiled, licked his lips, and clearly shouted out a guttural "YUM....." He then stood up and proceeded down the car.
I just tried to act like nothing happened as I tried to read the paper again, feeling the eyes of everyone in that car boring though me.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
The bird
This woman was eating a bag of sunflower seeds at rush hour and spitting the shells on the floor. By the end of the trip it looked like a large bird had been on the train. I almost said something to her, but she started yelling to herself so I thought it wise to stay silent.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
I love pork!
Eating on the train is one of the biggest pet peeves I have. Well, top three. With so many people working jobs at all hours, I can understand why you may need to eat, but sucking down a full basket of wings while you throw the bones on the floor?? Even coffee or juice should not be allowed, as they spill and never get cleaned up at the end of the line. And don't get me started on the smells...
If I were king of the subway, I would sign the following three laws about food on the train:
- No hot foods (ribs, McDonalds).
- No foods you have to touch with your vile, dirty subway hands (peeling an orange, popcorn).
- No food requiring utensils (that stinky old tuna salad in Tupperware you're eating next to me).
I'll revisit this often but it's a good lead-in to my ride Tuesday night to meet my sister and her friends for dinner.
I was on a downtown F train squashed in the middle of the car, and a man pushed his way onto the train just as the door was closing. Because it was so crowded, the door kept opening and closing, waiting for everyone to get out of the way. This slight delay gave him a chance to ask his close neighbors "Is this going to Brooklyn? I have to get to Brooklyn. I have to go to downtown Brooklyn." I looked at him closer and he looked a bit off or drunk, not really paying attention as people responded that yes, this train went to Brooklyn.
He continued to mumble quietly to himself with his eyes partly closed as the train moved along, when suddenly he piped up in a louder voice and opened his eyes "I love pork! I eat a lot of pork!" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a little brown paper bag, still pressed against his neighbors. He unwrapped some sort of empanada or meat pie and took several big bites with his eyes closed, in pure bliss.
At the next stop, the door opened but because he was standing directly in front of the door people were trying to push him out of the way to get off the train, but he was in such pork bliss he barely noticed, a huge smile on his face, chewing contently.
If I were king of the subway, I would sign the following three laws about food on the train:
- No hot foods (ribs, McDonalds).
- No foods you have to touch with your vile, dirty subway hands (peeling an orange, popcorn).
- No food requiring utensils (that stinky old tuna salad in Tupperware you're eating next to me).
I'll revisit this often but it's a good lead-in to my ride Tuesday night to meet my sister and her friends for dinner.
I was on a downtown F train squashed in the middle of the car, and a man pushed his way onto the train just as the door was closing. Because it was so crowded, the door kept opening and closing, waiting for everyone to get out of the way. This slight delay gave him a chance to ask his close neighbors "Is this going to Brooklyn? I have to get to Brooklyn. I have to go to downtown Brooklyn." I looked at him closer and he looked a bit off or drunk, not really paying attention as people responded that yes, this train went to Brooklyn.
He continued to mumble quietly to himself with his eyes partly closed as the train moved along, when suddenly he piped up in a louder voice and opened his eyes "I love pork! I eat a lot of pork!" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a little brown paper bag, still pressed against his neighbors. He unwrapped some sort of empanada or meat pie and took several big bites with his eyes closed, in pure bliss.
At the next stop, the door opened but because he was standing directly in front of the door people were trying to push him out of the way to get off the train, but he was in such pork bliss he barely noticed, a huge smile on his face, chewing contently.
Welcome!
Welcome to Cranky Commute, a place to share our daily experiences just getting around town and safely home again that make you want to scream or laugh out loud.
We've all had funny, gross, scary and awesome stories on the train, and I've been wanting to share my insights on human behavior for a while. What makes you so angry on the train that you want to punch someone? Clipping fingernails? Dropping chicken bones on the floor? People playing games on their phone without headphones? What about stories that make you smile like two strangers meeting or random acts of kindness? We can share it here.
This blog will be primarily New York-centric, as I've been here for many years, but I welcome hearing from anyone who has a story to share anywhere about getting around on mass transit, planes, bikes, walking, skateboards, ferry, or anything else that gets you to and from home that may make your blood boil. Or smile.
Send your stories and photos to thecrank at crankycommute.com
We've all had funny, gross, scary and awesome stories on the train, and I've been wanting to share my insights on human behavior for a while. What makes you so angry on the train that you want to punch someone? Clipping fingernails? Dropping chicken bones on the floor? People playing games on their phone without headphones? What about stories that make you smile like two strangers meeting or random acts of kindness? We can share it here.
This blog will be primarily New York-centric, as I've been here for many years, but I welcome hearing from anyone who has a story to share anywhere about getting around on mass transit, planes, bikes, walking, skateboards, ferry, or anything else that gets you to and from home that may make your blood boil. Or smile.
Send your stories and photos to thecrank at crankycommute.com
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)