G Train Glory Part II: Meet The Parents
Over the last several days my parents have become quite familiar with the infamous Crosstown Local. Well, last night they finally had a true G train experience in all its resplendent and abject glory. Here’s how it all started…
Earlier in the day my father was bemused by something that amused me at the intersection of St. Mark’s Place and Third Avenue: an old man popped out his denture plate, blew on it several times and nonchalantly stuck it back into his mouth. Noting my excitement, Pa Heather laughed and shook his head. My rebuttal was as follows:
Hey, things like that make me happy. Living up here, I see quite this kind of thing pretty often. This is why I am happy most of the time.
Now jump forward to 9:30 p.m. Sunday night. My parents, Mr. Heather and I had just completed a fantastic dinner at De Stefano’s and it was time to hail our crosstown chariot (at Metropolitan Avenue) and go home. After waiting a fair amount of time it arrived and we got on board. I soon tired of watching the man across from me play video games on his cell phone and casted my glance downward. In so doing, I caught a glimpse of G train g
I gleefully pointed out my new find to my mother:
Hey, that looks like blood!
Ma Heather: That’s what I was thinking.
The gentleman playing video games paused, took note of what laid beneath his Nikes and moved them so I could get a better picture. When not engaged in pommeling the shit out of each other, G train patrons are some of the nicest people you will ever meet.
Me (to the guy across from me): That had to hurt.
Guy across from me: (laughing)
Me (exiting G train): Thanks a lot for moving your shoes so I could get a good picture of the blood. Take care and don’t let that happen to you.
(Laughter from several Crosstown local patrons.)
From the November 25, 2007 edition of the New York Times:
In the opinion of Gene Russianoff, a spokesman for the Straphangers Campaign, if the G train in its current incarnation were to disappear, its riders in all likelihood would happily let it slip into history. As Mr. Russianoff summed it up: â€œWriters in Greenpoint and Williamsburg wonâ€™t write poems about it.â€
I want the G train to stay shitty. The recent media “make over” of my neighborhood has attracted the attention a certain element I would just as well live without: yuppies hellbent on suburbanizing and homogenizing neighborhoods beyond recognition. Unlike the media (or the real estate industry), the good ol’ Crosstown Local train keeps on keepin’ it real. And as long as the blood shed therein is not my own, I do not mind it the least bit.