The Subway

What's underground, extremely fast, crowded, dirty, and extremely famous?

The only possible answer?

The NYC subway system.

Subways criss-cross back and forth under the streets of New York City like a maze of rat tunnels under a landfill. The trains are many, their destinations are all different, and their alpha-numeric configuration is extremely confusing - especially to a southern, redneck, musician from Georgia.

There's the 1, the 2, the 3, the 4, the 5, the 6, and the 7. Then, there's the stops that go by the, A, B, C, D, E, F, G, J, L, M, N, Q, R, S, & Z. Then, there's the Northbound, The Southbound, The West & Eastbound. Finally, there's the Full Time, Part Time, Express & the Local.

I admit that while I am not the sharpest razor blade in the pack, I am also not a yokel raised in a one-traffic-light town. I grew up in a big city and am familiar with big city things. But, even this old Georgia Boy has to admit that he ain't never seen nothin' like this before.

Thank goodness that my eldest child took after her mother in more ways than just outward beauty. She is also extremely smart, sharp, and catches on to new things very, very fast. She led her old folks through that maze of steel and flesh like a pro - maybe even better than Moses led the children of Israel out of Egyptian bondage.

By the time she was done on each trip, we wound up in a completely different section of town than we started. And yet, we always seemed to wind up at the right place. Then, when it was time to come back to her apartment, she seemed to know exactly which train to take - where to get off - and which stairway to exit in order to get up to the proper street.

Getting on and off the subway only begins with knowing the schedule. There's also the fight for a seat, or, at the very least, an empty place with an unoccupied pole where one can stand.

Each time, when the train would come gushing to a stop, Sarah confidently led us in. Sometimes we stood aside to let the crush of passengers come off before we went on, and sometimes we didn't. One soon learns that subway passenger etiquette includes learning and performing the fine art of pushing and shoving.

When there were no seats, we found a place to stand. The few times there were empty seats, we quickly filled them. The heaters aboard the subway trains are located along the base of the outside walls of the cars - conveniently tucked under the seats. Therefore, on the freezing cold days we were there, when we did get to sit down, it was like having our own personal, heated, subway seat(s) - which was even more of an incentive to fight unmercifully for a place to sit down when one was, "available."

Folks on subways are unhappy that they don't have cars. That was my impression, and my guess. They are unhappy about something. None of them smiled. Not one. You look at them, they look away. They mostly sat looking at the floor. When they did look at you, it seemed like either a blank stare, or a glazed look that gave you the creeps - like, for instance, when a mountain lion sizes up its next meal.

Most of the NYC subway passengers have iPods or iPhones. Regardless of which one they have, their ears are almost all plugged with ear-buds. They are listening to music, to sports-talk radio, or maybe even a broadcast of some kind in the language native to their homeland.

In any case, you do NOT look across the subway at a stranger and strike up a conversation. Especially if you plan to speak to them in the accent native to YOUR homeland. If you did, it would surely come out sounding just like Jim Nabors' Gomer Pyle voice.

"Gaw-Lee, ma'am...Ain't ya'll New York folks sick and tard of ridin' this here subway train?"

I dared not open my mouth. And, I especially, and with great force, held my hand over Debbie's mouth. She is always striking up conversations with strangers - everywhere we go. I could not afford to allow Debbie to engage the wrong person in casual banter. After all, our daughter has to live in this place.

Who knows but what she would have unknowingly struck up a conversation with an axe-murderer or a terrorist. I can just hear Debbie now, "Hello, are you a native New Yorker? Where do your parents live? That is a pretty scarf, did you buy it at Wal-Mart? Would you like to come have Sunday dinner with us?"

It ain't happenin', Sally.

If you come to NYC, ride the subway. It will make you thankful for that guy who cut you off in traffic last week.

At least you were above ground when it happened.