Again, with the trains!!

Here we go again...

Woman faints on the 14th Street Uptown N,R,Q platform. Hits her head hard on the platform. I can still hear that T-H-U-D!!!

I go over and put her feet in my lap. I know first aid. She's pregnant. Didn't eat any breakfast. The woman, not me. Yell for help. Typical New Yorkers stop, gawk, walk away. Now you know why I love people so much.

A man comes over to help. No, not the man from the grapefruit episode, another man. He stays with us until help arrives.

Meanwhile there's some whackadoo woman who somehow got pulled into this drama yelling something about that's how she lost her baby and never could have babies after that. After what, your guess is as good as mine. Didn't have the time to ask. As she's being hysterical, I'm thinking how I am gonna get this looney bin outa here? Lo and behold a local train pulls into the station. I turn to her and say very calmly: "Oh look, your train just pulled in. Hurry up, you don't want to miss it". She actually listened. Can you believe that? Was it her train? Don't know, don't care.

Finally, the EMS, cops, firemen show up and I think I even saw Mayor Guilliani.

All in a NYC day's work!!! I'm exhausted!!!

This Time it's the #6

OK. So you already know that alot of stuff happens to me on the subway. So why should this entry be different?

One day I was on the #6 local train going to work. As I boarded, I noticed a man who looked as if he were choking on something. I went over to him and asked if he needed assistance. He shook his head no. This should have been the first clue that something was wrong. I could see it coming, so I sat down across from him.

Next thing you know, he comes over to me and motions that he can't breath. So, I turned him around and clopped him on the back five or six times. (Another passenger helped me hold the man up). Next thing you know, a huge and I mean huge wad of grapefruit comes out of his mouth. It looked like something out of the X-Files.

While his pupils were dilating and the color returned to his face, I asked the man if he wanted to go to the doctor or the emergency room. He declined both.

Only goes to prove. Fruit kills.

Pass the potato chips, please.

Kevin Bacon Would Plotz

You know that game Six Degrees of Separation that has something to do with Kevin Bacon? Well, I'm totally convinced that in the Jewish community (world-wide) we as a people are separated by One Degree.


I got in touch with a former classmate, Ms. T., whom I haven't seen in 34 years. Yes, 34. Stop doing the math. Yes, 34. Stop asking. I'm positive 34.


Anyways, (as we say on East 14th Street) Ms. T. e-mails me the pictures of her son's Bar-Mitzvah. How old? 13. That's why it's called a BAR-MITZVAH!! So, as all good employees do, I "open" the pictures at work wasting as much time as humanly possible. As I'm looking at them, one of the gentlemen who rents space at the office where I work, comes in my office (if you can call it that) to fax something to his brother. Big deal? Right? Like faxing is such a novelty. I'm telling him I haven't seen my friend in 34 years and he's totally ignoring me as any typical man would until I say: "hey, this man looks just like you". He takes a look at the photo and says: "Yeah, that's my brother!!!" His brother was the officiating rabbi at the Bar-Mitzvah!!!!

Kevin Bacon eat your heart out!!!

Say, What??

I was coming home on the R train (does everything happen on the trains?) the other evening and a deaf passenger was passing out little pieces of paper with the American Sign Language Alphabet (ASL) on them. She was asking for donations.

A passenger wanted to give her a donation except the deaf passenger was on the other side of the car. The "donor" yelled out, "hey, Miss". She stopped for a moment, picked up her head and started laughing....she totally forgot the recipient of her generosity and kind deed is deaf. Well, of course who ever was sitting near by also got a good laugh.

Better than a Broadway play and we got our moneys worth, too.

Grin and Bear It

Last weekend I went to meet my friend M. for lunch. M. works on the 8th Floor at Macy*s (Herald Square). M. should win a prize for working at Macy*s this time of year. Oh yeah, it's called a paycheck.

Santa's workshop/theatre happens to be on the 8th Floor. (Good luck, M.) Between the elves, the kids ( a virtual land of germs) and the life-like walking bear the place is well, like, I practically ran off the floor with my hands over my ears.

Well, at one point a little boy around 3-4 years old started to scream and cry. And I mean scream. Everyone in earshot looked up in horror. You would think the kid's mother was beating him with a Martha Stewart gravy boat. Everyone looked to see what the kid was screaming about. Lo and behold the kid saw the bear. The mother just took the kid's hand and walked off the floor.

I looked over to see M's. reaction. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Ephes. M. is a cool cat. He just kept ringing up his customers' orders. He probably hears this all day and at night in his sleep. Like I said the guy should win a prize.

Lucky kid.

Take the R train

This happened when I first moved to Brooklyn in 1985. An oldie but goodie.

I had shopped at Alexander's. Remember their Shoe Department? All those bins piled high with plastic and pleather (look it up!!) shoes, boots and slippers. Disgusting. They were not only monstrosities (both the bins and shoes, etc.) but for some reason, please, I still don't understand this, just looking at that stuff made my hands hurt. I know, insane. A shrink would have a field day. Just thinking about it makes my hands hurt.

Anyways (as we say in Brooklyn) I was coming home on the R train when a man came into the car and wanted to know if the train was going to Queens. I truned and said: "no, Brooklyn". He proceeds to argue with me that the train was going to Queens. After about four of these back and forth I finally said: "Look mister, do me a favor. Travel two hours into Brooklyn (R to this day is a local) and three hours back to Queens". He looked at me, realized he was an idiot and got off the train. Three minutes of my life I will never get back.

Please, remember to recycle

Dear Family and Friends,

After much cajoling, haranguing, imploring and just plain hocking from all of you, I finally decided to start a blog. Not just any blog. A blog about living, working and playing in the greatest city in the World.

The following story is true. R., S. and I went to an event on the toni Upper West side near Lincoln Center. Now, whoever said "stuff" does not happen in this nabe is either a liar, in a coma or dead.

So, here is my maiden blog. Enjoy!!! If I happen to offend anyone, I apologize in advance. Some of the language is a little spicy.

While R, S and I were walking to the the Barnes and Noble on Broadway and 66th Street, a teenager threw a plastic bottle at my head filled with Mountain Dew and then ran down the stairs to the subway. Of course, former Auxillary Policewoman Herman was ready to pursue and R told me not to. So we went to the token booth or whatever the hell it's called these days and the woman was really nice. She called the police and said she was sorry that this happened. So by the time the police came the thug was probably assaulting someone else. Then the ambulance came, then the police brass came. All 20 of them. At this point I expected the Messiah to walk down the stairs to the 66th Street downtown train. Son of a Bitch could at have at least thrown a bottle of Diet Mountain Dew. I will never look at Mountain Dew the same way.

S. asked the Police Officer who was taking my information (and I repeated my phone number at least 3 times) when the ambulance would come because she wanted to see the cute guys. R said that the Police were already here. Ladies, get in line. This is NYC.