train rules
by Candie
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There are many rules for riding the train. No running on the platform, stand clear of closing doors, no smoking, spitting or loud radio play. Remove your backpack, let the other people exit before you board. Give your seat to the elderly or disabled. My personal favorite; Move to the center of the car so others may board. Some are written on posters, some are warbled from the static coated intercom. Most of which are never obeyed. I never thought about it too much until one day when I boarded a comfortably filled late morning N/R.
As usual I was in a rush and as I whisked into the train I unknowingly jostled the arm of a very large man drinking a coffee and standing directly in the doorway with his back to the opening. As I made my way further in, past this mountain of a man who had no interest in adjusting his position, I felt a blunt strike on my upper arm. It reminded me of playing punch buggy with my sister in the backseat. The game where you actually get punched.
I actually got punched. I almost couldn't believe my arm. It was a painful intending strike and as I turned around to the offender I was faced with a looming, obnoxious dust-covered over fed gargoyle with donut powder around his mouth and a hobo beard, fisting what was left of the donut and his coffee in one hand while his other rested like a smoking gun.
All I could think to myself was "I'm a girl. I can't believe he did that." What I actually said out loud was "Excuse me, did you just punch me!!?", using my best ghetto affectations (which are not that good since I didn't grow up in the ghetto). His response.."Yeah, you spilled my coffee."
I moved shy, sheepish and self-consciously into the further recesses of the train. Smarting from that unusual fear of knowing someone physically stronger than you means you harm and the pain of the punch. Not to mention, these days I was bringing my little Pomeranian puppy to work with me everyday in a pouch. Not the greatest of guard dogs.
A woman who had witnessed the incident, gave me a look of utter sympathy. I stood there staring glassily in the other direction while he continued to mumble his own rants about the commute and the rude audacity of riders. Then I thought to myself. "He just punched me." my mind rolled over it again. "He just freakin' PUNCHED me." One more time. "THAT FUCKING ASSHOLE WITH THE POWDERED DONUT FACE JUST TOOK THE LIBERTY OF STRIKING ME WITH HIS FAT DUSTY FIST!!!!!"
Between Lexington and 5th Ave, I plotted my revenge. I've been in many confrontations since I moved to the city 8 years previous. After the 3rd year or so I realize it's unavoidable. Some you win, most you lose.
I was determined not to lose this one. Not just for me, but for every woman who has ever been subtly or overtly harassed. For every time I or others of my sex have been groped or felt up during a crowded commute and couldn't do anything about it. For all those who live in fear on the trains because a few violent or perverted dregs of society prowl the train like wolves in a mobile chicken coop. I had to stand up and deal with this ogre.
At 5th Ave a few people got off. I sidled over to the pole centered between the doors. I stood facing him and made piercing eye contact.
The older woman who had witnessed the earlier scene moved quickly to the other end of the car, far enough to hear and see. I sucked up courage with a deep breath and cut my eyes in her direction to give her a 'watch this' smile. She nodded her head in encouragement.
Me: "So you think it's ok to hit women?"
Him: "You spilled my coffee."
Me: "So what... Does it make you feel like a big man? To hit women?"
Him: "Yeah, and I'll hit that little dog too."
He threw a self-satisfied smirk, subconsciously punctuated by a self-doubting eye shift. If I had looked away for a second I would have completely missed his involuntary show of weakness.
My dog was stretching to reach the last bit of powdered donut clenched between his fingers and dangling from his scraggly chin.
I began to smile, a toothy, white winning smile that I save for moments of sheer triumph.
Me: "Wow, big man you are, threatening a girl and a six pound dog. You must be so proud of what a big tough man you are. Hey the lady over there has a baby you wanna threaten him too?"
By now the entire car is enrapt.
Me: "I'm guessing you have no job, no education... can you even spell education?"
Him: (In a low discreet voice) "Hey, this ain't television. There ain't no cameras"
Me: "Why are you worried? Is it cuz you know you're too much of pussy to have hit me if I were a man?"
I look to the older woman, she offers a triumphant grin and daintily pumps her leather clad fist.
At 42nd street he shyly, sheepishly, selfconsciously moves from the opening doors to the other side.
Him: "Hey look lady, leave me alone, if it bothers you that much why don't you just call the police."
It's my stop
Me: "Ya know I would call the police but you look like you're already pretty well acquainted with the criminal system and obviously it hasn't worked so far."
My best exit ever. As I walked alongside the rushing late commuters I felt smiles of congratulations and respect. I went to work. Another day.
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