By Cherno Baba Jallow
TRAVEL/COMMUTE
Several weekends past, our New York-based writer got stranded on his way home in the city. He encountered his longest train delay – yet. The experience left him pondering. His reflections:
I am a long way from home.
And I do not know when I will arrive. I am stranded here at the train station on 149 Street/Grand Concourse in The Bronx, New York City. I am not alone. This station is chock-a-block with people —- they keep coming. It is a multitude of us on either side of the train tracks. But for some of us headed uptown, to the other side of the city, the wait is taking a tad longer.
There is no train on the way. At least, not anytime soon.
So, what do you do when you find out your train has a long delay —- a wait of 45 minutes? Well, you sit or stand or amble along the embankment. You wait, and while at it, do something to kill the time. You try some reading (a book or a newspaper). Or you do some eye-surfing, selfie-taking. Or you talk on the phone. Or you play some games (scrabble?) on your phone. Or you give your mind a free rein to dissect the realities of quotidian life or to travel back in time, to the idyllic years of a distant childhood. You try to preoccupy your mind with something, anything.
This has been my longest train delay, so far. As a resident of New York City, I am no stranger to disruptions in public commuting. During the weekends, train traffic can be unpredictable. Trains run infrequently. They skip some stations. And they are re-routed because of ongoing track repairs. So regular commuters, like me, are at the mercy of service disruptions and changeable schedules. It comes with it, this life-easing dependency on mass transit in mega cities like mine.
Living in Michigan, where driving a car is a necessity and where the public transportation system is not reliable, I never knew what a train or a bus delay was. I drove my own car to work, to soccer training, to see friends, to run my errands. I conquered distances with ease and certitude —- well, if you factor out the unexpected flat tires or the hurdles of snowy roads or the encumbrances of the long-turning, 18-wheeler trucks towering over city traffic or trundling beyond the city limits.
I left Michigan in 2014 to attend grad school in New York City. And I left all my driving skills behind. I do not drive anymore. It is a matter of necessity and convenience: owning a car in New York City can be a burden. The insurance costs are high. And parking is a headache.
But my pedestrian lifestyle in the city is also due to my own personal insecurities: Can I handle this city traffic? Am I going to bump into another car? This sea of cars and these traffic-clogged streets continue to affright me. I keep doubting myself. But then when I see the elderly honk their ways out of traffic jams and gleefully give the middle finger, too, I am reminded of the wimp that I am — that if others can drive in the city, I can do it, too.
Until then, it will be a life of ceaseless train delays. But I will always try to get some good out of it all. As I wait along the embankment, I will read a book or finish up my day’s newspaper. I will take beautiful selfies, steal quick glances of my fellow stranded travelers, and imagine what they are possibly going through: Running late for work? Missing out on those sweet weekend deals at the shopping mall? Staring at the possibility of a delayed or cancelled first date?
Waiting for a train, and a delayed one at that, can be frustrating and lead to a heightened state of hopelessness. But it also can be exciting, a motivation for contemplation. Physical immobility along these tracks shouldn’t impede mental motility.
