pleaselowerthat

I’ve been talking about it for eight years now. Blogging about it. Writing it. Editing it. Proofreading it. Rewriting it. Re-proofreading it. And now, my first book on commuter etiquette is here. “Please Lower That” recounts some of the biggest Do’s, Don’ts, Wish-I-Dids and Wish-I-Didn’ts that I’ve amassed in over 40 years of commuting. It’s an honest (probably too honest) recounting of the craziest commuter stories I’ve witnessed, mistakes I’ve made and how you can avoid making them on your commute. There’s romance, heartache, and, I hope, a few good laughs. Just like life I guess. Please give it a read. And if you’re so inclined, leave a review. But don’t be like me and take eight years to write it! #etiquette#kindness#commuting#manners#homeless#cycling#betterworld

So there I was. 6:42am. Three other commuters and myself on an otherwise empty train, like four little islands surrounded by a sea of vacant seats. Sitting. Reading. Crossword puzzling. Enjoying that sprawling expanse of space that was made possible by all those empty seats around us. R   o   o   m. A wonderful buffer zone between us and the bags, legs, elbows and coffee cups of another commuter. “Next stop is Ridgewood.” I hardly even noticed we were stopping, being so deeply immersed in my Siggi’s Blueberry yogurt with 0% milk fat. Suddenly, the silence, the solace, the yogurt paradise is broken…by a big, brown, suitcase-like bag slammed into my half of the middle seat, followed closely by the owner of that bag flopping into the third seat in my row. Boom. In an instant, my cocoon of space was gone. So, why this particular seat? Of all the other empty seats? Of all the possible seating options? I can only think of one reason. Communtitus Lonelyitus. Commuter loneliness. The desperate need to sit next to someone else, even when most of the train is empty. The fear that, if they were to sit by themselves, they wouldn’t know what to do with all that extra room. Was it a strange form of agoraphobia? Could it be the angst that forces someone afflicted with this disease to curl up in a fetal position and die if they didn’t have another commuter sitting right next to them? So, in order to avoid that eventuality, he sits next to me.  If this behavior was disease related, I’d be more forgiving. But I couldn’t help but think, “Dude, what station are you, and your big, brown bag, getting off?”

It is the first train car in the morning. And the last car at night. It is the protected, vinyl-seated sanctuary of those commuters who are reserved instead of rowdy. Who prefer peacefulness to raucousness. It is, of course, the Quiet Car. That blissful, tranquil escape from those uncivilized train cars that are loud, noisy and occasionally punctuated with a cell phone ring tone of Twisted Sister’s “We’re Not Gonna Take It.” And above our heads, as a quiet warning to those who don’t know how commuting is conducted on the Quiet Car, hang the words we live by. A bullet-pointed manifesto, in black and white (and some cheesy rust color) intended to inform the uninitiated. A set of rules that is most often adhered to, but sometimes broken. And when those times come, as they sometimes do, I will channel my frustration into yet another post. I get to work on my anger management. And hopefully, you get to be entertained. How lucky are we?

Take away the atmospheric, New Age musical backdrop. Lose the warm towels. Forget about the ginger-infused tea. No, this is a different experience altogether. I’ll call it the Knee-To-The-Lower-Lumbar massage. It’s not Shiatsu. And it’s not Swedish. Unless the person’s whose knee is grinding into the back of your train seat is named Anders or Erica. As you might have guessed, I’m not a fan of this kind of massage. And I’m sure I’m not alone.

Let’s get this thing started. You’re like, “What thing? What’s Please Lower That mean?” It’s my reflections, observations and exasperations (I just like “tion” endings coming in succession. Just one of my many quirks…you’ll get used to it…I did) that come with commuting in general, and riding in the Quiet Car in particular. I’m going to try to remain anonymous, but if you’re on the Quiet Car and you hear someone say, “Please lower that,” well, I guess I’ve blown my cover.