When you are in New York subway ...

[From the creator of Dilbert, Scott Adams's blog]

"This week I am in Manhattan, living like a New Yorker. I have learned many things about the city. Today I will teach you how to ride the subway.



First, when you drop part of a cookie in the subway station, the five second rule does not apply. That cookie is dead before it hits the ground.

Second, when someone with a badge throws you on the ground, puts your arm behind your back, puts his knee on your neck, and yells, “DO NOT RESIST! DO NOT RESIST!” you should not resist. I learned this by watching. I also learned that you are not supposed to watch. You are supposed to “KEEP ON MOVING!”

To ride the subway, you must purchase a card with a magnetic strip. You learn this by observing other people “in the know” swiping their cards as they enter the turnstile. There are many options for what type of card you might want for particular purposes, and no apparent posted instructions. Luckily, you can ask for guidance from a helpful person who is behind thick glass. This transaction involves mumbling, rushing, condescension, the supposition that you are a moron, much evidence to support that assumption, and eventually the exchange of money for a little card that may or may not have some application for riding the subway.

Once armed with your little card, you swipe it on the turnstile. This is a frightening experience because there are at least nine wrong ways to swipe a card in a turnstile. I discovered all of them as a line of impatient New Yorkers formed behind me. I was holding the card the right way, and swiping it in the right direction, but as a uniformed guard eventually showed me, there is also something about the speed, trajectory, and possibly your state of mind that is also necessary for the turnstile to accept the card. I don't know how many times the turnstile has to reject you before the guy with the badge puts his knee on your neck and starts yelling “DO NOT RESIST!” but I am sure I was close to the limit.


Once you are on the subway, you must find a seat next to a person you judge least likely to drool on you, rob you, or start a conversation. My wife picked a guy who eventually fell asleep and slumped on her. I picked a guy who was muffin-topping into my seat and listening to an iPod. We felt blessed with our choices.

Next comes the wondering if you are heading in the right direction. There is one sign in each subway car showing the names of stations along the line. This sign is printed with tiny lettering so only the people sitting directly below it can read it. I didn’t want to risk losing my sweet seat next to the muffin-top guy so I relied on listening to the conductor announce the stations.

The announcements sound like Charlie Brown’s teacher on Quaaludes, approximately this: “Muwa muwa muwa.” I assume the conductors have the option of speaking in some language that humans can understand, but that is not their way. So we defaulted to the “get off when most other people get off” method of navigation.

This worked well traveling from Grand Central Station to the US Open tennis match in Flushing. To travel to any other destination, you have to become a native, either intentionally or because you can’t figure out how to get to the airport."