doors
by Arne Christensen
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I'm on the 1 train Wednesday afternoon, in mid-January. We're heading down towards Times Square, past the Columbus Circle stop, coming into the 50th Street stop. It's rush hour, right about 5:00, so the train's crowded, but not completely jammed. We get to the station, and as always, a few people get on, a few people get off. Like a lot of riders, I'm putting on my gloves, taking my bags into my hands, and generally preparing to leave the subway in Times Square. The subway doors open, then close. Again. Another time. One more time. The conductor says, "Please don't hold the doors in the back of the train."
Open, close. Open, close. Open, close. He repeats himself. Open, close-another six times or so. He repeats himself. Open, close-three or four times later, we're looking around-not at each other, but, with exasperation, at nothing in particular, the way subway riders do. The doors open and close a few more times. No one's saying anything, but the tension's rising markedly every second, in time with the doors, which keep opening and closing about once a second. I look to see if the fellow who's been standing on the platform, just looking at the train, and not even trying to get on, has left by now. He has. I'm wondering why someone-the conductor or someone else-doesn't head to the back of the train and haul the door holders out of the train, preferably by recourse to violent methods. Finally, we hear the conductor's mike open: this time, he says, "Please don't hold the doors in the front of the train."
That's the punchline: a rush of angry laughter bubbles up, and I think the delay's surely almost over. But then doors are opening and closing again, and it looks like we're in the middle of a story Kafka could have written. We're not, though, and after maybe 10 more seconds, the doors clench shut, and the tiny rocking feeling you get when the train's starting back on its
way tells us this ordeal's over, and we can soon escape the subway and release ourselves into the circa 0 wind chill that waits for us outside.
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