If You Can Make It There

NEW YORK—I’ve been a commuter since I started kindergarten—or so I thought. For years I traveled from the suburbs to school in New York City, cozily nestled in the back of my dad’s car. But now that power suits on an express bus to an internship surround me, the identity that I share with thousands of New Yorkers has taken on new legitimacy. In a few short weeks I’ve realized that the New York City commute, though stressful at first, is deceptively simple. Here’s what I have learned:

1. There is one person you need to please.

Always wish the ill-tempered ticket vendor a wonderful day, even if all you receive in return is a scowl and barely audible grunt. If you don’t do so, she might take an excruciatingly long time to count out your change, causing you to helplessly look on as your bus—and your hopes of being on time for work—slip away.

2. Choosing whom to sit next to is crucial—and hazardous. There are four types you want to avoid:

The reader

Only a seasoned commuting professional can avoid the guy who will unapologetically elbow you in the arm every time he switches sections of the newspaper. This passenger is often identified by his thick-rimmed glasses and, of course, daily newspaper.

The talker

Next the infamous loudtalker—the one who spends the ride bellowing sales figures into his BlackBerry: “No, no, no, I said fifty! We have six days left to reach quota. Let’s make it happen, all right team?” Watch as his equally annoyed neighbors pry their eyes from their Kindles to shoot him admonishing—though futile—warning glares.

The sleeper

If you’re unlucky you might find yourself in a tight place—trapped between a window seat and someone who dozes dangerously close to your shoulder. A New Yorker, I cringe at the thought of physical contact with a complete stranger. So I inch closer and closer to the window until I am plastered to the side of the bus, torso pivoted and practically clinging to the window.

People

Hey, it’s New York. Sharing a commute may give you a sense of solidarity, but a seat to yourself gives you even more. If you are fortunate enough to get enough your own, kick up those vagabond shoes and give yourself a pat on the back. You deserve it.

Galila M. Gray ’14 is an arts writer in Leverett House.