feature

The F Train

On December 20 the F train will turn 70. Service on the F train officially began in 1940, running from 129th Street, Jamaica, Queens to Coney Island in Brooklyn. The F train is an express train that runs on the IND Sixth Avenue Line through Manhattan. Ranking 16th place of the 21 subway lines (rated by the Straphangers Campaign) the F train helps get thousands of people to their destinations each day.

The subway is a strange place. Although in New York City one is never alone, the train is the one place that people can enjoy and somewhat have time to their self. I ride the F train almost every day. Although I live in Manhattan, my sister, friends, and work are all stops off the F. Taking me from my front door to theirs I spend more time on the F than any other train. Personally, I find the train to be therapeutic. It is the 20-30 minutes each day where I can read, listen to music, or just observe other people without being disturbed.

Due to my F train diligence I began to observe the people that I saw on a daily basis. On my way to Brooklyn I always ride on the last car, when I return home I’m always on the first. Day after day I began to see the same people. At first we would exchange glances of recognition, then it transitioned into a slight smile, and now we smile as if we have known each other for years. I have seen all kinds of things while riding the subway. From people wearing stilts and body paint dressed as avatars, to break dancers, mariachi bands, face painted babies, face painted adults without babies, and elderly couples dressed in nice clothing arguing about where the doctor’s office is. I have seen just about every book there is from Helter Skelter to Ana Karenina to Dr. Seuss. People from all over New York packed inside a tiny subway car traveling through tunnels as fast as it can go.

On Tuesday afternoon I waited on the West 4th street platform. It was around 4:40pm, a time I have found that is considerably less crowded than 5:00pm. As I waited for the train a little boy, I guessed around 10 or so walked down the stairs with his scooter, backpack, math book, and iPod, out of breath from running. With light brown hair in the same style as Justin Beiber and glasses like Harry Potter, he collapsed on the bench next to me. Soon after he caught his breath the train came roaring through and the breaks screeched to a halt. I looked up from my book and began to approach the doors when I realized the little boy was having trouble gathering all of his things. So I quickly grabbed his scooter and helped him. He looked shocked, scared, and a little uncomfortable.

When we got into the car there were 4 open seats to the right of the door so I sat down and he followed. “Thank you,” he muttered very quietly. “You’re welcome”, I said back with a smile. He got out what I assumed to be some sort of Apple product and started to play a game involving guns and grenades, and quietly asked me what my name was. I didn’t hear him because I was reading and listening to music so he tapped me on the leg. I took out one of my headphones, and he asked again.

“What’s your name?”

“Anna, what’s yours?”

“Randall,” he said while an explosion went off on his game.

“It’s nice to meet you Randall.”

It was not long until it was my stop; Bergen Street. I said bye to him and got off. I walked to work and got back on the train around 10:10pm. This time the train was much more crowded. I was pushed into the corner by the door and squished behind two men wearing leather vests with braids down their backs and bandanas on. They smelled like a mixture of Axe and whiskey so I decided not to ask them to move so I could get out my book. They got off at 2 Avenue and I was able to breathe again.

Wednesday afternoon I got on the train at a different stop than normal; 14th street. It was around 5:15pm and there was one open seat, I took it. When it got to West 4th I saw Randall with all of his things. This time his math book, I assume, was in his backpack. I thought that he would not remember me or that I would seem very creepy if I said hi to him so I kept on with my conversation.

“Hi Anna,” he said as he moved his backpack with his feet in front of where I was sitting.

“Hi Randall how are you?” I asked.

“I’m good, almost beat my high score,” he said barely looking up from his video game.

His game ran out of battery so he decided it would be the perfect time to talk to me. He told me about himself. How he lives in Park Slope but he goes to school in the West Village because his mom works in the area. I asked him why she didn’t take the train with him and he explained that it was because she got off work at 5:00pm and then had to get his little sister, Violet, from day care and he didn’t like to wait that long before going home. He told me that his favorite part about the train ride is between East Broadway and York Street because his ears pop when we go through the tunnel to Brooklyn. He asked me how old I was and told me that he just turned 12 on Thanksgiving. His favorite sport is baseball and his favorite team is the San Francisco Giants, even though he should be rooting for the Yankees.

At this point the train was held up due to another train at the next station. We were stopped for longer than normal, probably around 4 or 5 minutes.

Randall and I talked about Tim Lincecum, the pitcher for the Giants. We talked about his hair, his hats, and of course his stats. I obviously knew more about his clothing choices and personal life than his statistics but I played along and let Randall explain why he likes Lincecum way more than the Yankees A.J. Burnett. I agreed.

The train got to my stop and we said goodbye.

After work I got back on the train around 9:30pm. Once again it was very crowded. I stood by the door and read my book periodically glancing up to see who was getting on and off and if there were any seats available. There weren’t. Most of the people on the train were reading or listening to music. At Delancy Street a guy got wearing a huge dark brown puffy jacket, really baggy pants and a bright yellow beanie. My music was soft enough that I could hear him as he started to rap.

“Boom boom hit the bitch, give it to her nice and good she won’t be a snitch.”

I tried to think of what rapper sang that song. I had no idea.

“Tie her up on the kitchen floor, tell her about yo’ gat and that she a dumb bitch and a whore.”

I was still unaware of who sang this song and at this point I was disturbed. I had to pass him before I got off at my stop and as I was exiting he said, “Ey babygurl, like what you heard? Buy a CD.” I couldn’t help it and started to laugh as did a few of the other people who got off at the same time as me.

On Thursday I luckily didn’t have to work so it was also my day off from the F train.

On Friday I got on the train around 8:45am but only took it to 2 Avenue. The morning crowd is much different from the afternoon and night crowds. Everyone is drinking coffee, reading newspapers, and some even eat their breakfast (this I find repulsive.) On Fridays, since I work from9am-2pm, I walk home instead of taking the train. I went to my sisters so I got back on the F train around 4:45pm.

The train only had one seat open so I let a woman who might have been pregnant take it and I once again went to my usual corner of the train by the door. The car was more crowded than normal. I noticed some of the same people that I see almost every day. There is a tall man with dark hair and perfect bone structure who looks just like Jon Hamm. A woman with long dark hair and her daughter, who looks to be about 2, and has a bright pink coat covered in flowers. A couple, the girl with short reddish hair who holds onto the belt loops of the guys pants; he has blondish hair and wears a beanie. The countless men with briefcases and papers, the students studying or doing homework, the nannies going to and from work, and the stay at home dads with strollers and Baby Bjorn’s. And of course there is also the occasional pan handler.

The train is going extra slow today. Taking me over 40 minutes to get to Bergen Street I forgot my book and my iPod died. Finally the train approached my stop and I got off.