Played it all wrong on the 8:17 this morning. Despite my better judgement, I went looking for my beloved Conductors-Only…or Not? seat. The first one I came to was locked in the upright position. Heading into the next car, the second one I came to was… occupied! (By a man who surely read about the wonders of the 1 3/4-seat on this very cyber-pages, no doubt!)
And boy, was he working it–laptop out, headphones on, needing only a masseuse and martini to complete the picture.
As the train rumbled along to Valhalla, I had to move quick. By this point, I was near the front of the train. And the front fills up much quicker, as riders with morning appointments and/or actual work to do are steps closer to work when it pulls into Grand Central.
I eventually found an open seat in the handicapped section, a fold-down seat that’s hardly a choice location.
The front of train experience is different. There’s something to be said about someone who’s looking to be at work a minute or two before the rest of the train (of course, one wonders why they didn’t take the earlier train); put a hundred of them in a car, and the dynamic is indeed different than with the slackers in the middle and rear. They seemed to be more efficient commuters: quieter (yes, nary a cell phone!), and fitting better into a tight space.
Unfortunately, at White Plains, one of these go-getters was looking to grab the fold-down seat across from me. It’s only about 18 inches between the two, so we were more or less having sex by the time the train cruised through Scarsdale: My leg, his leg, my leg, his leg, you get the picture. There’s wasn’t even room to read the Times, though at least the smaller trim size of the Wall Street Journal came in handy.
But, as promised, I was mere steps from Grand Central as we braked at the platform. Must’ve saved myself a whole 60 seconds. Hope the boss appreciates it.
