I had two unique experiences on the 2 train in two days.
One: I was relieved to feel the breeze of the 2 train at Fulton street. The few minutes I waited felt like an hour, as dreams of my bed danced in my head. I was tired. The train arrived, I jumped on and Uptown was our destination. The train was fairly packed, so I hadn't noticed the man in the zoot suit when I stepped in and took a seat. He was tall, dark and unusual. His bald head perspired and was adorned with an old-school headset which was attached to a small tape recorder. The zoot suit was an odd shade of deep blue that looked like purple. Thin white pinstripes dashed up and down the long jacket and baggy pants. A white shirt peeped out of the top of the jacket which was conservatively buttoned up to only reveal the collar of the shirt. Although there appeared to be nothing conservative about this man. His voice rose decibels above any train noise, passenger conservations, or conductor announcements. He was having his very own reggae concert and we were the audience. This gravely thick Jamaican accent echoed through the train car. His eyes remained closed as he concentrated on the lyrics accompanying him from the mini tape recorder. He held on to a pole and shifted back and forth, once and while he bounced down to the floor and rocked back up. I wasn't always certain that his song was matching what was being played on the recorder. His lyrics rolled heavy...'she say she wanta good man...she no love me no more...me no care.' He barked loudly a few times to add emphasis to his actions and song. The crowd on the train was mixed. Some people tried desperately not to look (who couldn't help but look he was so loud). A couple of people ran out of the train car to another section when we stopped. Several people laughed so hard their faces turned red and their shoulders shook uncontrollably. Most of us looked, rolled our eyes, or just accepted this was another ride on the 2 train. He exited the train at 42nd Street. Enter, the men with the African drums. Just when we thought we would get some rest from all the noise, another reggae fest quickly unfolded. They recited Bob Marley, even threw in some James Brown and Aretha Franklin...'r-e-s-p-e-c-t, take care of tcb.' The two men sported dreads and after their show, gave a speech about being nice, having positive attitudes and living each day with a smile. Music, insight, and please-make-a-donation all in one moment. And when I thought I couldn't get to my stop quick enough, another man joined the festivity at 96th Street. He squeezed in while the Rastas where still collecting and imparting knowledge on the crowd. He quickly unfolded his chair and plugged in his electric guitar. His look was young Stevie Wonder-ish with dark glasses and a suit and bow tie. Unfortunately his show was a cross between wanna-be James Brown and a comedy club routine gone bad. He chimed into the crowd with jingles about Mexicans selling tacos and a crack on R. Kelly's love for the young girls. And it turned out that the guitar player knew the drummers, so they all joined in for a tribute to Motown with a reggae feel. 'Living in America...jump back, I wanna kiss myself.' Or at least it went something like that. Alas, my stop. I couldn't get out of the train quick enough. I stumbled over the feet of other passengers, bumped into one of the drums, and edged out before the doors shut tightly behind me.
Two:
I figured he was a teenager en route to private school. With a backpack in tow, he wore a navy blazer, gray slacks and a trendy pair of kicks. I didn't think much about the fact he was a holding a tube of clear lip gloss when I plopped down next to him on the crowded morning train. It started slowly. At first I thought he was talking to someone next to him that he knew. Then I thought maybe he had an iPod. None of the above. He was indeed talking to someone but it was no one that I could see. He laughed. He got a little animated. He recounted a story of how the cops should have handled the situation better. He even got a bit agitated. I wasn't afraid sitting next to him, but did feel a little uncomfortable. I thought maybe he was high, mentally unstable or for a moment I thought he was doing it for jokes. I really didn't want to make eye contact since we were sitting so close but my curiosity got the best of me. I took a sip of my coffee and looked over at him and caught his attention for a second. His eyes seemed happy, I couldn't tell he was bewildered. He continued his conversation. He laughed out loud at what must have been really funny in his mind, because his chuckle continued a little longer than the last time. He swirled the lip gloss tube between his fingers, told his (playmate) that their stop would be next. He got up, adjusted his jacket, let the ladies exit first. And he was on his way.
