Kaetlin Perna
February 9, 2007

"Hey, your bag is touching my dick. Yeah... your bag is touching my dick. That's why I have a cane for people like you because your bag is touching my dick! IT IS!" I heard as I rode the A train last week. New York City: a city ruled by pedestrians; where cars are near obsolete and public transportation, such as trains and buses, are dominated by a population of nine million. The train during rush hour is always crowded and I always seem to be standing during those times. I prefer riding backwards on the train, that way if you're watching outside your car to the one passing by (usually a local train), you can see the looks on the faces of the passengers passing you by.

There are always tired faces in the seven o'clock hour, as I ride an hour to training in Tribeca. Some are drinking much needed coffee, others reading the paper, some writing observational notes, and others listening to their iPods (or simultaneously all at the same time). I have had no more than six hours of sleep a night - it's an adjustment. No more lazy leisurely days; no more vegging out at night, eating cheetos and watching Wet Hot American Summer for the thirty-third time. It's the city that never sleeps and it's about time I got used to it because you get up, take a shower, eat breakfast, throw some makeup on, and at all costs not waking up your roommate in the other room, who just brought home a guy from Texas that she knows who you accidentally flirted with before dinner, the night before. If you're my other roommate (that I share a bed with), you go to work for eight hours, go to the gym or a gallery opening and are home by nine or ten (if you're lucky). It's an endless cycle here, but it makes sense. The trains are the heartbeat of this city.

The downside of train travel: the homeless panhandlers. Here is the general announcement. "Hello everyone, I know you hate this, and I know it's old but I have no money, I have no job and I'm going to bother you for the next twenty five seconds giving you my sob story about how I have no money it's a) the government's fault, b) the homeless shelter's fault where it's oh, so dangerous and c) your fault because boo hoo I have enough money to ride the train but not enough to buy a meal or find a job. So please, if you will - please give me money that will be wasted elsewhere that I also didn't earn properly." Now, don't get me wrong, I'll give money but with a stipulations. I will give money to a) random strangers sitting on the street not bugging me if I "feel" like it, b) subway street performers, i.e. dancers, musicians, joke tellers, c) someone whom I don't feel is bull shitting me. Hey, you're begging, you best be sitting there and allow my judgement of you, it's the best kind of modesty, it will make you stronger. Plus, I don't have money and you will never see me making this announcement, "Hello, my name is Kaetlin, I'm a writer, I just moved here from Rochester, New York and I need money because I planned this move poorly and gee, I'd really like to buy some clothes from American Apparel and buy a slice around the corner. Thanks!" Please, only when I'm drunk.

Which brings me to my next little insight about the train. There is no smell, sound or action that is too ridiculous for the ride. Last Friday, on my way home from "The Rob and Mark Show" at the Parkside Lounge on Houston, I was drunk, like barely standing up, practically falling asleep kind of drunk. I'm sitting on the A train, again, I'm tired, I'm falling asleep when I hear a man start yelling at another man (who seemed to be minding his own business). "What are you a cop? Huh? Are you? I am." Sure, you are. He was pissed drunk and belligerent, and apparently he got caught coming out of the conductor's booth (to non-nyc people: the booth where conductor's sit to drive the train, make announcements or make sure passengers entering their cars aren't blocking the doors) where he just took a leak. The man took a leak in the conductor's booth - it's not a bathroom in the least (at least I don't think so). So, instead of just being embarrassed about it he starts picking a fight with the very mellow dude. I turn to the girl next to me, "I'm drunk but not that drunk." And here's a thought for all of you, what would be so wrong in saying, "Yeah, I had to pee, I couldn't hold it. Sorry." There would have been nothing wrong with it, we all would have been accepting...I had to go to the bathroom too, and everyone would have forgotten about it in the end, but no, we did not.

The hustle and bustle, the sleepless nights and the inability to adjust are just a few issues of mine. I'm slowly assimilating to the hasty nature of the cities inhabitants. You can barely make friends with anyone because people can't look you in the eye, I'm rushing passed slow people to make my train just a little bit faster, and I don't care who I knock over on the way. And I just have to say even though I may look down pretending to be annoyed at the singing pandhandler, I secretly enjoy her french accent and little yodel while she walks around with tapping a stick on the ground. With a town that's all rushing and no relaxing, it's difficult and it's something that I'm going to have to get used to (even though I really don't want to). But you can't ask me to get used to the rats... or R.O.U.S. for you Princess Bride lovers. Gross!