Subway Turnstiles

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“Please be aware of the gap”, was repeated at every subway station. If only there had been a ‘please be aware of the turnstiles.’ Thankfully New Yorkers can be friendly in a pinch—or at least when the only way they can move forward is to help you, or your luggage, out of a tight spot. I thought I was blending into city life—wearing mostly black, pulling my nondescript, black roller board quickly and efficiently through the subway station, appearing to know where I was headed. Okay, except for when I asked directions to the express subway track and the kind New Yorker pointed to the track beside me with hardly a condescending look. In retrospect that was a bit of a ridiculous question. As my daughter pointed out, “it wouldn’t be much of an express if the train were on the track behind the local, now would it?”

But all in all I was looking capable as I scanned my metro card, moved quickly forward through the turnstile and then stumbled as my roller board failed to roll on behind me. I gave the handle a tug. No go. What was up? I turned around to see the handle caught cleanly over one of the turnstile arms. Unfortunately I had just used my last swipe of the metro card. Fortunately, New Yorkers can be more friendly than they are typically given credit for. As the subway arrived in the station below, commuters started pouring up the escalators heading for the exit turnstiles—also known as the entrance turnstiles—where I stood with my luggage trapped. Bracing for exhortations aimed at my incompetence, I was pleasantly surprised to have not one but two independent travelers stop and help jiggle, push and wrench the handle of my roller board until it snapped free of the turnstile. And I was on my way, once again, appearing competent, although feeling a bit less so.

Virtual Conversation in Silicon Valley

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Walking by myself, but hardly alone, through the California foothills last week, I felt as if I were walking with an eccentric conversationalist. As I merged into the flow of walkers, joggers, runners and strollers on the paths of the park, I caught snippets of dialogue. The conversation skipped along like a pebble over a glassy lake, only sinking in the short pauses between groups of walkers.

“So he barley makes it to the dome and he sees the cable and says, ‘I’m done’.”
“Oh my God, it must have been huge!”
“Unbelievable!”
Something in Indian
“My wife has actually broken her heel bone, so in the midst of everything else,”
”I can see what you mean.”
“Yeah”
Something in Chinese
Something in Indian
“The same thing happened to her.”
and then a bit of a non sequitur,
“really thinly sliced.”
Hmm, was the heel bone was ‘really thinly sliced’?”

Perhaps if I were bi-lingual I would have been able to make the leap between the heel bone and thinly sliced. As it was, I let the dialogue continue without comment.

During the short pauses in my virtual buddy’s banter, my ears tuned in first to the more distant human sounds like the hum of the highway, and then were drawn to the natural crunches and swishes close at hand. “swshhh,” as a small mammal skittered away through the underbrush. “Whhheet, whhee-eet”, from above.

As I looked around I realized that nearly all of the walkers must be enjoying the integrated natural and human dialogues. Here I was in the middle of Apple territory, and I spotted only 2 dazzling white iPod earbuds. A third walker wore her black earphones discretely obscured by her long dark hair as if she were reticent to admit she preferred her man-made music over the natural symphony now in full swing.

“ch-ch-ch-ch-chee”
“threeet!”
“because it’s upstairs”
“yeah”
“thrump.”
“I like it and even though I’m not, it’s great, I’m not practicing, but umm”
”I may be doing the same thing, you know.”
Something in Indian.
“I was just doing that.”
“driving me crazy and I don’t go up there”
Something in Indian
swish
“You know, so, um”

My dialogue partner was wonderfully tireless; my legs however were not, so I said so long to my virtual conversationalist and exited the flow of walkers.