How You, Too, Can Get Killed on the 4 Train

I've been fairly knackered lately.

Someone said to me recently our easygoing habit of emails would have to stop because they are too wrapped up in an artistic project right now.

I was miffed... what a great word!..feeling slightly, well, slighted.

Now, I understand... and I can write with great importance, that I, too, am burdened down and cannot take part in our easygoing habit because of my being wrapped up in my silk robe... umm..my film, right now.

The subject matter at hand, however, is how to get killed on the 4 train.

Lately, I've been slipping into 'crazy lady on the train mode'. I'm reading like mad, I have pencils stuck behind my ears, a rolled up copy of the script, two bags, and a dog with indigestion.
I also buy strange food on the streets, tend to do my laundry at The Boss' house, and with little sleep between jobs, nod off.

After being dropped off at the 86th and Lex station around 3.30AM to catch the 4 on Tuesday by the Director, I scrambled past the passed out drunk.. he was a well dressed drunk, considering where he was...and dashed downstairs where I could hear trains coming and going.

My one joy was, the 4 ran local at that time of night.

Local.

I sat on the express platform.

And waited.

And fell asleep.

I was not mugged there...I guess it was the bag of smelly food, and the line of drool that ran down my chin, the filth from the tar paper rooftop smearing my pants and darkening my exposed skin, the once white terrier that would now give a shelter mutt a run for their money for just plain filthy....

Eventually, myself said, "HEY... notice the rumbling on a regular basis above your head? I think you are on the wrong platform." Of course, Self had a good nights sleep, and was feeling perky.

We shambled up the stairs, and sure enough... there was the 4, running local.

I dragged all of my belongings, including an exhausted terrier onto the train and nabbed a seat. For the life of me, I do not understand how the 4 is never empty. No matter what time I ride it, that sucker is packed. It's along the lines of shopping at 3AM at an all night grocery store, and finding other people and wondering what they are doing there, never questioning the fact you are there yourself.

I started a conversation with a woman who scratched the dogs head...brave soul. The terrier had investigated every nook and cranny in the warehouse. She was now the colour of ewwww.

In the middle of our conversation, which served as both a pleasant way to pass time and to keep me awake, a group of young men started to yell and talk in a different language, obviously disturbing everyone else in the car.

The rest of us made eye contact, as they shoved each other and yelled back and forth, jumping out of the doors when we'd stop, shouting... dashing between cars as the train moved.

It's 4AM...DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR TEENAGER IS???

Finally, when the cacophony reached it's crescendo, I said, "Gentlemen, please... would you lower your voices?"

I presume they'd never A) been addressed as gentlemen or B) been asked to not run the place.

You could hear the soundtrack from High Noon in the air.

A sudden torrent of Spanish said in a cracked pubescent voice directed at me with nods to his friends for backup started and carried on for a good minute, the r's rolling in that beautiful way they can do on certain words.

He looked at me in a smug way, then his eyes flickered to his friends, all of them looking pleased with the dressing down I'd been given.

The men on the train glanced at me, to see how I'd take this obvious insult to my womanhood, my place as a human... hell, they more than likely insulted my nice blue shirt that I'd purchased at Pretty Girl on Grand Concourse.

The train was pulling up to 161st. You could see they were going to get off .... always time your insults if you think they may cause you harm.... as the doors opened, and they were departing, I said,

"Jack, do I look like I understood a word you said? So, allllllll of that, was wasted energy. Never insult anyone in a language they don't know, because then... it doesn't mean shit."

The doors closed, they stood there, and I went back to my conversation with the lady who was laughing.

It's how I drive, too... if you don't look at that person you cut off accidentally, whatever hand gestures they make towards you don't count... any yelling or verbal barbs thrown go into the void. Last night, we had to dash to the store to replace my Maglight, and not being familiar with Greenpoint, the driver went the wrong way down a one way street... he says it's because I yelled "TURN HERE!"

I was very clear about the fact I don't drive and I had no idea where I was.

We ended up facing a driver who was very facial and very hand friendly... and we didn't make eye contact, so, it didn't count. See? It's a great concept. If you are screamed at in any language you don't know, it's in the manner of the adults in the Peanuts films, you don't understand it, so, it doesn't count.

Just make sure they get off far away from your stop.


Far, far away.