Culture on the Cheap
Crosstown Local Chicanery: Who Moved My Cheese?
Yesterday the Heathers took a day trip to south Brooklyn. Mr. Heather took the usual precaution and looked up the MTA service advisories for the almighty G before we left. All was clear, he said. The Mister is fanatical about such things. He loves structure and order.
This is unfortunate given the Crosstown Local is our subway line. The capricious nature of the G has taught me to take a certain Zen approach to rapid transit. Does a bunch of people berating the crappy service on said line at City Hall make a sound? No, not really. Does a subway entrance for the Crosstown Local unencumbered by tape mean there is service? Not necessarily. Anything goes on the G. It is a joy ride of the absurd, as you will see.
We ducked into the Smith and 9th entrance for the G at India Street. It was open for all to enter. This would lead a reasonable person to believe said platform was in service. But the Crosstown Local does not toe the line of reason; it was closed. So we schlepped to the Queens-bound platform. That’s where we were met with the following piece of transit-related hilarity.
Let’s think about this for a moment. If one is standing on the Queens-bound platform waiting for the Smith-9 St bound train on a Saturday afternoon at 2:30 p.m. what good does this annotated sign do— other than to confuse?