To the woman who pretended to not hear me as I said "excuse me" three times with increasing volume as she insisted on standing directly in front of the train entrance on the Grove Street station platform and made me miss my train this morning:

You are on notice!

The next time I see you on Grove Street and you insist on blocking the doorway, be prepared to be pushed aside because I won't be as nice.

And that goes for anyone who insists on blocking the train entrance during rush hour.

Sincerely,
jc_insomniac

Teddy is my longtime PATH nemesis. I can't remember when it started but long ago I had to jump the turnstile because he somehow managed to turn it an extra turn and use my last ride. I felt a little strange asking him for money, decided to jump the turnstile (as I didn't have any money on me), and ended up injuring myself. Oh, Teddy, we'll meet again.

As far as puking on the train goes, my friends have always joked that it's a right of passage. One friend tried to go between cars to spare everyone but discovered too late that she was in the end car--and the door doesn't open (a good thing, I think we can all agree). What a mess. Someone was nice enough to give me a teeny, tiny potato chip bag to throw up in once. Never could eat sour cream and cheddar chips again. But I was incredibly grateful!

But my favorite PATH experience....the day I bought my wedding dress. I was heading home around midnight, lost in my own thoughts. I was leaning against the door, a woman was standing in the space to the right of the door, and close to her, a girl was hanging onto the pole for dear life on her way home from celebrating her 21st birthday. Her friends were kind enough to warn everyone that she was about to "blow chunks." In order to give the woman to my right some space, I moved a big step to my left. As I swing my head left, I notice that the guy in the space to the left of the door has his pants unzipped and has his not-so-private parts in his hands. I was completely flabbergasted and didn't know what to do, where to go. For some reason, the words "PUT THAT THING AWAY" come flying out of me. Now, everyone's looking at me because I'm the crazy lady yelling on the PATH train. I somehow decided that I didn't want to be on the train with this guy but that it wasn't fair that I'd have to wait at Christopher 1/2 hour for the next train, so I start screaming at him that he'd better get off (ha!) the train at Christopher St. He motions to me to "keep it down" like this will just stay between us. At Christopher, I am still screaming at him, and (admittedly, in retrospect) no one on the car still has any idea what is going on. I couldn't figure out why no one was helping me! So, finally, I scream out, "Does anyone want the guy who was jerking off to stay on the train?" A packed train collectively gasped and screamed "NO!" The guy literally tipped his hat to me as if to say "well done, you win" and stepped off the train. The drunk girl was so distracted that she made it all the home.....to Hoboken....without puking.

Does anyone know what the occupancies are for the new buildings going up by Grove St? Are they planning to run more trains at rush hour to accommodate the added commuters?

One Friday night back in 2000 when playing "who's getting off in Hoboken" was a no brainer, a whole carload of passengers and I watched anxiously as this cute drunken suit sat and slept slumped on his seat on the way home from 9th St. He got closer and closer to the edge of the seat as the train moved thru the tunnels and when he finally fell (in a sitting position mind you) he didn't wake up, he was so drunk he had no idea he'd fallen on the floor and continued to sleep. 2 passengers picked him up as we were pulling into the Hoboken station and proceeded to deposit him on the platform without even having to ask if that was his stop. The guy didn't miss a beat as he came to, and headed up the steps to catch a cab to continue his nap at home.

"Hi this is Kenny from the Bergen Laffayette Homeless For Help The Feed The Family Organization... Food... Soup... Children... Nervous Breakdown... Fire..."

Help ME Jesus.

Scene - HOB-34th ST PATH train about 7:50 am one winter weekday (before I moved ? miles south, before there was a List - or even AOL)
SRO Max occupancy, 2nd car from front of train, right outside the windowed office, Moments from departure.
A brief commotion, some noise and - Ever watch a drop of dishwashing soap hit a sink full of greasy water? A standee faints to the floor.
Instant buffer zone around the body, but nobody moves to help (no matter how crowded it is, there's always more room).
The news is rippling thru the car like the wave at Giants Stadium.
A coupla people suggest "call for help," "Get the Conductor," "Pull the emergency brake!"
Chorus of loud "NO!! DON'T PULL THE CORD!! WE'LL NEVER LEAVE!!"
And, by now - not even 10 seconds - as the train pulls out, I can see, it's a young woman (Suzy McHoboken?), on her back.
Three shoves, two steps and slide down onto my knees, do my ABCs and I get her torso up and she starts to comes to - believe it or not - somebody gives up their seat for her.
I get here head between her knees, some color's coming back, do a quick vital check. Just doin' my survey, the train's chuggin' along.
Turns out, she's taking diet pills, hasn't eaten in like two days. I give her two big gulps of my coffee* and force her to eat 1/2 a Clif bar and give her a 0.5l bottle of Poland Spring. She's more embarrassed than ill.
I stood the rest of the ride to Christopher . . . thank God no one was late to work!! Now that would have been a tragedy for them - but somebody else fainting? DON'T PULL THE CORD. Such nice young people.
The Hi Speed Line, the T, BART - PATH is pretty bad, but it is what you make of it.

* " . . . I don't need you to tell me how #OOPS#ing good my coffee is, okay? I'm the one who buys it. I know how good it is. When Bonnie goes shopping she buys SHIT. Me, I buy the gourmet expensive stuff because when I drink it I want to taste it."

A beautiful story of train karma...

I got on one morning, and there was one seat left. However, it was covered with the purse and shopping bag of some b*tch who stared at my (clearly) pregnant belly and pretended to go to sleep. Someone else graciously gave me their seat, which I gladly accepted.

Next stop--your typical crazy ranting homeless guy got on, screamed at the woman to move her stuff, plopped down right next to her, and proceeded to rant and rave to her about Armageddon for the next twenty minutes.

Priceless.

I hate it when trying to get off a crowded train at Grove and some yokel is standing in front of the door holding onto to the bar over the door. Instead of letting go of the bar and stepping off the train, letting people off the train, then getting back on. He just continues to hold the bar and make people push past.

Also hate when getting on the train, people will just step far enough in to get themselves in then block the way oblivious that someone may be behind trying to get on.

And the jerks who crowd the door even though there's so much room if they move in. Then they look annoyed that you have to push your way past them.

You wear a big backpack but fail to take into account your extra appendage. Every time you turn to yuck it up with the similarly nerdy guy you recognize from your building, you jostle me. By time we reach the Newport station I want to beat you to death with your Linux-running laptop.

You?re dressed well and obviously have a respectable job. So why are you reaching into a trash receptacle to snag someone?s discarded NY Post?

You pick up a copy of AM New York on your way down to the platform, discover it?s about what you can expect from a free commuter rag, and so you drop it to the floor. Soon it?s blowing all over the place. Thank you.

You?re the Indy-looking guy who sits on the floor of the train. I know you?re already filthy, but for Pete?s sake man just looking at you there makes me want to buy you a bar of soap.

You have sweaty hands, and you change the position of your hand holding the support pole often, leaving enough subway pole grunge that the next person to touch it skeeves out and runs straight to the bathroom upon arriving at work.

You?re the Grove turnstile on the extreme left of the West side entrance. Why don?t you accept my Metro card? Over the years I?ve noticed technicians spending a lot of time repairing you and still you won?t behave. If it was up to me you?d be transferred to the Harrison station.

It?s a rainy day, and you?re the person who stops at the top of the exit stairs so that you can leisurely remove your umbrella from your bag and open it, while behind you people are running into each other on the staircase.

You?re the guy next to me last Friday evening: look dude, you?re over 40, don?t you know that reading Harry Potter books makes you appear dimwitted? Do like perverted Japanese male commuters do in Tokyo while reading about people peeing on each other: swap the cover out for a book jacket of a more respectable title.

Another one . . .

People who sit on the stairs at the PATH station, blocking the stairway !!!

sorry if this one has been mentioned already . . .

But what gets me, and this happens mornings all the time at Grove, people who stand waiting for a train, are standing where the doors open, a train pulls in, it is not their train, but they insist on still standing there, so you either have to ask them to move, or bolt around them so you can get on the train.

I usually take PATH to WTC, so not sure if this happens oth ways, but it seems people heading to 33rd do this a lot.

OK, in the 4-5 times that I've used the PATH in the last five years I have observed a lot of what your saying and I feel for all of you.

My suggestion is next time you get on the train yell, `I'm mad as hell and I won't take it anymore' When you hear someone else yell, join them and we'll see how many JC Listers are on the same train and start a revolt.

or

Do nothing...

"Good evening, brothers and sisters . . . if you confess your sins with your mouth. . . . "

I have heard this sermon probably close to a hundred times during my homeward bound commutes, and I still am unconvinced about ending my sinning ways. Please, please stop.

On the other hand, the Richie Havens lookalike playing Hendrix on his boombox on Friday morning, that I kinda dug. Too bad there were some who found it too loud. If it were something other than Jimi, I might have had a word with that guy, too, but as it was, it fit my mood.

To you (usually men) who kept your seat when I was nine months pregnant standing up in front of you in a crowded train... Yes, you who buried your head in your newspaper/sudoku/trashy novel pretending not to see me...

And, before I forget, my thanks to all the people (invariably women) who got up and gave me their seat when I needed the most...

I've noticed the legs-open-wide sitting posture for the last few years now and have come to assume that, since it's always males, the purpose is to advertise the purported enormity of the member hidden within. Real adult.

There's an epidemic of multiple bag carriage, though. What's with that? Why the necessity, male or female, for two or three increasingly large satchels? I get on with a newspaper and a book. Everything else I need is in my wallet. Why do I get the impression that, especially for guys, a man-purse has become de rigueur for impressing your boss that you're taking home work? And ladies, a regular purse is annoying enough. Three purses is absurd. The average number of bags seems to increase with body weight, I notice, expanding the individual's silhouette out to around five feet.

- the yuppie who didn't learn how to read the wsj properly in b-school and extends his arms fully in front of him so he can read and turn the pages, all the while taking up too much valuable space and/or smacking other passengers' faces with his pages

In 4th grade (not b-school) at PS173 (The Fresh Meadows School) we were required to bring in a NYTimes one day and were taught how to fold and read the paper when riding the bus or subway. Good old Mrs. Hudes, a real bitch, but she knew what we needed to know. Oh, and for currents events you couldn't bring in articles from tabloids - The News, Post or Mirror (RIP). What part of my elitism I didn't inherit from my Grandmother, The Dowager Duchess of Bed-Stuy I got from Mrs. Hudes, the old bat.

To add to the list:

- the meathead, possibly a distant cousin of the bony teen, who likes to spread his legs to air out his big b@lls, or so he likes to think

- the yuppie who didn't learn how to read the wsj properly in b-school and extends his arms fully in front of him so he can read and turn the pages, all the while taking up too much valuable space and/or smacking other passengers' faces with his pages

- the creepy guy who stares at me the entire length of the ride (valkin, is that you? ok, i don't cut anyone off so it couldn't be)

Wow - no one hit on some of my "faves"
The garlic for breakfast crowd - take the first car of the 7:12 out of Grove Street to WTC - there are mornings when it reeks.
The my pits are too tender to use deodorant crowd - I actually saw one guy tell another guy to lower his arms to his sides on a hot day last summer.
The - Oh, isn't this the dining car of the Orient Express Group - please, no Egg McMuffins - they have a particular stench.
And the most disgusting - The Turn Left When You Get to the Bridge Group. These are the folks that think the PATH, and other public venues are appropriate places to do deep mining of their nostrils. Once they find a "gem" they feel compelled to remove it and study it ad nauseam (Latin for until it makes me sick, Fast Eddie). This appears to be a uniquely Chinese activity.

That being said, a prime reason for remaining in JC is the PATH. Whenever I've looked at other places - the beaux quartiers of Brooklyn, for example - the idea of having to take the subway to get most places is a major disincentive.

The platform is empty, at least where I'm standing. You see me, you know I was there before you, you also know that I'm standing right about where the door opens. So tell me why when the train pulls in, you must dodge in front of me and get the last seat on the train?

Just for that, I'm going to stand right in front of you and stare at you the entire time.

Oh, and if I'm sitting in the seat closest to the door, please don't turn and put your butt cheeks through the bars so that it's in my face. I won't ask again.

To the person who leans over and starts reading my magazine or newspaper or whatever else I'm reading so that now I can't focus on what I'm reading. I hate you. Get your own reading material.

Very amusing. You hit the nail right on the head. I feel your pain.

too funny. You're right about the people that run through the doors, just to get a seat. Like they never stood before in their lives. Every morning, people run to those doors and fight for seats. It's pathetic. I dont even bother. I'd rather stand.

You're the person who pushes through everyone to get to the doors as the train pulls into the Grove St. station. You'll knock me over, spit on me, walk across my spine just to be first off the train. And then... you move up the stairs like you lost a leg in Vietnam, causing everyone behind you to trip on each other as we wait for you to finish your slow ascent.

You're the lumpy, middle-aged Asian woman who is always first on the train. It doesn't matter that I'm twice your size and 10 years younger, or that I know precisely where to stand so that when the train pulls into the station, I'm squarely in front of the doors. You always win; you'll always beat me to the last available seat. The only solace I have is that at some point in my life maybe I've doinked your daughter.

You're the teenager who sits with his bony legs spread so that he takes up three seats. Or you're the lady who puts her shopping bags on the seat next to her, blissfully depriving someone of a seat so your bags can ride in comfort.

You're the guy who cranks up his iPod so loud that the entire car can hear your hideous music through your earphones.

You're the tourist who thinks your dollar is going to buy juice and milk for the Bergen-Lafayette Coalition for the Homeless. There's a shortage, you see.

You're the hideously obese person who plops into the seat next to me in February, and your body against me is hotter than the already sweltering heater beneath the seats, making me feel like I'm in a microwave. But I know if I give up my seat I will offend you, so I endure your hot flab until my stop.

You're the person who drinks a bottle of Snapple and drops the bottle to the car's floor. Then, in excruciating silence, all the other passengers must endure the sound of your bottle moving back and forth across the aisle as the train accelerates and slows.

I just wanted to let you know: I don't like you.