© 2012 Phylicia Joannis
Cameras clicked from every angle as the City Commissioner came to the podium. “Commissioner Wright, can you elaborate on the city’s decision to cut funding for the subway transportation system?” The commissioner’s response was cut off by another reporter.
“C&M News has had several calls from citizens complaining about the condition of the subways.” The reporter pulled out a list from his jacket pocket. “Reports of broken windows, tumbles and injuries from sudden stops, overcrowding, vandalism and graffiti, the list goes on and on. What is your response to our viewers? Why isn’t the city taking public safety seriously?”
“Public Safety is a top priority-” the commissioner began but a fresh wave of questions cut him off again.
“Why has the city postponed the replacement of obsolete and damaged subway cars?”
“Some of those cars have been here since the 1930s, and they still haven’t been replaced!”
“What about the fare increases last year? Weren’t those funds supposed to go to repairing and replacing those subway cars?”
“What happened to that money? Is someone inside siphoning our transportation funds?”
“Of course not! Don’t be ridiculous,” the commissioner chuckled. “Ladies and gentlemen of the press, if you please. Just calm down and your questions will be answered in the order they were received.” The commissioner waited as several reporters took their seats, the clicking of cameras never skipping a beat.
The Commissioner smiled grimly as he began. “As you all know, costs have gone up for everything from fuel to food. In the past year alone, the average cost to maintain one subway car has nearly doubled. Even with the fare increases, we could not have anticipated this year’s record-breaking costs to escalate so quickly. Rest assured that no one is siphoning any public funds. Every cent is going to transportation, but costs have gone up. The recent budget cuts were necessary to maintain the subway cars we already have.”
“But is it safe, commissioner?” one reporter shouted. “There have been three fatal subway crashes in the last six months. Speculation as to the reason for those crashes is still highly debated. How do we know that it wasn’t poor maintenance, age or rust that caused those collisions?”
The Commissioner raised his hand. “Those crashes were the result of human error, not faulty equipment, which is why the commissioner’s office is proposing implementation of a program that would cut down on those kinds of mistakes. We’re hoping to launch a campaign as early as the fall of next year to install an automated system for subway conduction. It would cut down on labor costs and the costs associated with human error, such as those crashes. The money it would save could be used to purchase new subway cars and renovate older ones.”
“You’re saying that replacing a man with a machine is the answer? What will that do to the unemployment rate?”
“Commissioner, what about the old subway tunnels from the early 1900s? What’s going to be done about closing those off?”
“Those old tunnels are a hazard. Aren’t some of them still connected to the new track routes?”
The Commissioner held up his hand. “Rest assured that we’ve taken every precaution necessary to ensure the safety of both our passengers and our employees. The old tracks are in the process of being phased out, but please understand that you can’t just close off an underground route. There are several factors involved that prevent blocking off the routes—including having access to the pipes and electrical systems already in place. We’re currently bypassing those old routes so that they aren’t directly connected with new tracks but are still accessible for authorized personnel. We’re doing as much as we can, but it’s a slow and tedious process.”
“Why not just send a crew of people in and bypass the tunnels? Why is it taking so long?” Another reporter scribbled furiously as he asked the question.
“I’d like to point out that some of those tunnels are over 100 years old, several have rotting or decaying tracks, and it’s very dangerous for workers to safely close off those tunnels. We have light systems in place now that warn conductors of those old routes, and every employee in control of a subway car is trained to recognize and follow those signals. There are also diagrams in each subway train that list the location of those old route entrances. Until an automated system of conduction is approved, the rest is in the hands of the conductor.”
“Why weren’t those tunnels closed off when new tunnels were created? Why were they left to rot?”
The Commissioner smiled. “I wasn’t in office when those decisions were made, so I can’t accurately answer those questions.”
“Commissioner, so far there is only one subway system in the United States that has automated conductors. The revenue saved from reduced labor was overshadowed by the mechanical and electrical costs they incurred. They actually lost money. How do we know that an automated system would be worthwhile? Or is this another political tactic to keep you in office?”
“I’d love to answer more questions, but unfortunately that’s all the time we have for today. Forward any further questions to my secretary. Thank you.”
“Commissioner Wright? Commissioner Wright!” Several reporters launched questions at the Commissioner as he was escorted from the podium.
***
Marcos spat on the platform floor before returning to his artwork. He had to take a short break to smoke a cigarette. He’d been at the wall for at least twenty minutes. All the guys called him Marcos Da Vinci, because his work was always the best. His unique style and technique couldn’t be copied, in part because he was left handed.
Marcos looked down at the dirty subway floor and shuddered involuntarily. A young woman had climbed down onto the track to grab her designer purse the day before. When she heard the train coming she panicked and was crushed. Marcos was at the station when it happened, and the look on the woman’s terrified face had haunted him the rest of the day. Marcos paused briefly to listen to the tunnel sounds. He heard a faint drip coming from the water drain above ground. It hadn’t rained in two days, but the local vendors outside had no bathrooms to go to. Marcos made a mental note to stay away from the drip and kept listening.
The faintest of rumbles vibrated in the subway beams, an indication that a train would be coming by soon. It was a soft sound, barely noticeable to the untrained ear. But Marcos was a pro. He knew the tunnels well. This particular spot was new to him, but the sounds were the same everywhere. Marcos scratched the side of his face, contemplating which way to spray his next line.
He looked at his black and brown shirt and pants, noticing the shimmering residue from the spray cans. It was pretty dark here. Aside from the light shining from the drain, there was only a small signal lamp for the subway trains passing through. No one riding or driving a subway train could see him here. They’d be going too fast. Marcos rubbed the silver chain connected to his pants, a habit of his when he needed guidance. Some people had rosary beads or a rabbit’s foot. Marcos had a foot-long chain. Finally, he decided to spray several layers instead of one line. Satisfied, Marcos took a step back.
Marcos looked at his masterpiece. Swirls and zigzags gleamed proudly in the early morning sunlight shining through the drain above him. It was the sign of his gang, the Shigna. It was also a sign to any rivals that this was Shigna territory.
The rumbling became louder. The train was only a few stops away now. Marcos spat as a rat ran across the platform. It wasn’t running fast; most of the rats were at ease with the presence of people in the tunnels. Marcos grabbed a half-empty spray can and tossed it at the rat.
The rat barely flinched as the can bounced past it; instead, it walked over to the can, hoping to find some morsel of food. Marcos frowned and picked up another can. This time, it connected with the rat’s body before falling to the tunnel floor. The rat squealed in pain as it scurried off the platform and down the tunnel. Marcos laughed and returned to his artwork. One final touch and the symbol would be complete. He needed to add a rattlesnake tail to the bottom of the S in Shigna. It had to be gold. Marcos picked up a golden aerosol can and shook it. It was empty. He picked up another and shook it. He began to spray at the bottom of the S, but the can fizzled shortly after his first swirl.
Marcos swore as he kicked the other spray cans. A Shigna symbol without the tail was an insulting image. Only a rival would paint their sign that way. Marcos swore again as he picked up each can, checking the color and shaking it. He couldn’t leave it like this. Marcos glanced around the platform, searching for a can he might have missed. He spotted one at the platform edge, but it was blue, not gold. Remembering the rat, Marcos looked down at the subway floor, searching for the can that had fallen. Just beside the subway track was a golden can. He knew it was at least halfway full, so he jumped off the platform.
Marcos swore again as he heard the familiar blow of a subway car. It was coming. Fast. Marcos ran quickly towards the spray can. It was just under the electrical side of the rail, centimeters from touching the high voltage track.
Marcos weighed his options. If he reached for the can, it might touch the track and he’d be electrocuted. The train would be coming soon. He hadn’t heard it make the local stop, so he knew it was the express. It would fly through the track at 40 miles per hour. Marcos looked around the tunnel, searching for something to push the can away from the track. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he stared at the can. The potential for bragging rights was irresistible. The other Shigna would be impressed to hear how he risked his neck to finish the sign.
Marcos leaned down towards the can, balancing his feet between two boards. He could almost see the heat emanating from the electrical rail and he began to sweat. He wiped his brow and slowly reached out for the can. He heard the train, just seconds away from his section of the tunnel. He felt himself losing balance and quickly pulled his hand away, grabbing the wooden post beneath him. The train squealed behind him; just one more turn and it would be here. Marcos reached his hand out again, carefully placed two fingers on the tip of the can, and pulled it out. Once it was safely away from the track, he jumped in the air and whooped. He smiled as he turned back to the platform, but tripped over a raised portion of wood and fell.
Marcos wailed in pain as he landed, but the screeching subway train behind him drowned out his voice. The can was gone; he’d flung it involuntarily when he fell, and now it was somewhere on the other side of the track. Marcos tried frantically to pull himself up, but his leg was twisted underneath one of the boards. Marcos swore, knowing the train was seconds from running him over. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the rat scurrying back onto the platform where it was safe. The train screamed again. Marcos screamed with it.
***
Several passengers quietly rode along in the first car. One was reading a newspaper while his child sat in a stroller chewing her hair. Beside him stood a young girl dressed in a school uniform. She looked to be about sixteen or seventeen. A few seats down was an older gentleman. He wore a suit and tie and had a distinguished, well-bred demeanor.
“A Rockefeller in the subway,” I allowed myself to joke and laughed. I immediately became self-conscious as the older gentleman glanced my way. I pulled my jacket collar closer to my neck and looked away.
The subway car screamed and swayed violently, and I distinctly heard something hiss and pop. I gasped in fear and clutched the pole beside my seat. Another passenger swore as she lost her balance and fell. The lights flickered, and for a moment, I thought we’d been in an accident. Funny, I’d always thought subway trains were safer than cars.
The man with the child gripped the stroller firmly, waiting for any other sudden motions, but there were none. An elderly woman clutched her heart and looked at me.
“These subway conductors drive so wildly!” she exclaimed. “That nearly scared me to death!” She looked absolutely horrified.
“You’re not far from death as it is,” the older gentleman joked.
She glanced at him, confused, before she realized he was making fun. I watched her to see how she would respond. She smiled.
“Now I know who you are!” the old woman laughed. “The disgraced Congressman! Didn’t you lose your seat a few years back because of a nasty scandal?”
The older gentleman rolled his eyes and turned away. The elderly woman looked at me and winked. I smiled, despite the fact that my heart hadn’t left my throat yet, and released the pole I’d been hanging onto.
“Can you believe this?” one passenger exclaimed with a very thick Jersey accent. He was speaking to his companion, a tourist judging by the looks of him.
He continued, “They just cut 1700 workers from the subway staff. They already don’t have enough people to keep the stations clean, let alone offer service to the public. If you have a problem in the station you’re screwed. Now they’re gonna cut more people? Who’s gonna drive the trains?”
“In this economy, I’m sure someone will, right?” the tourist chuckled.
His friend rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Please! They pay these people next to nothing. I know because my cousin used to work for the subway system, you know, before the big strike a year ago. That’s why we have such lousy conductors. They don’t screen their employees, half of them are crooks and have no business conducting subway cars. What qualified worker would accept the salary these clowns are offering? I tell you something else, I’ve signed eight separate petitions-”
The tourist interrupted. “Eight? Are you serious?”
His friend nodded. “Eight petitions my friend, with several different groups demanding that the city do something about these rundown subway stations and crappy routes. They got so much junk on the routes it’s no wonder we’ve had so many crashes. And they got these old routes that aren’t even blocked off. They’re dangerous, and they cause sinkholes.”
“Sinkholes, really?” the tourist furrowed his brows in disbelief.
His friend nodded. “Listen to me, I worked in construction for 25 years and let me tell you, these old passageways are an accident waiting to happen. Sooner or later, one way or another, the city’s going to pay for it.”
I stopped listening as the subway car screeched to a halt. It was the end of the line.
***
Billy wiped the sweat from his brow as he rushed down the stairs and into the subway station. Marty called out to him from the station window.
“You’re late again, man!”
Billy waved him off and entered the platform.
“Okay, everybody, let’s go! This is the end of the line!” Jimmy from the cleaning crew hollered at the straphangers lingering in the cars. A few stragglers slowly made their way out of the car. Jimmy turned just in time to see Billy scramble towards the conductor’s car.
“Billy, you’re late!” he yelled. “Boy, do you know how long we’ve been waiting for you?”
“I know, I know!” Billy replied in irritation. “Just lay off me, alright?” He was about two hours late, having overslept after a wild night with the guys followed by a heated argument with his girlfriend. He scrambled into the active subway car scheduled to leave the station in approximately three minutes. The train’s previous conductor was still in the hub.
“It’s about time you got here,” he fumed. “Mike had to work overtime because you weren’t here, man.”
“Yeah, well I overslept,” Billy rolled his bloodshot eyes and waved him away.
“You overslept? Are you kidding me?”
“Lay off!” Billy shouted. “I’m here ain’t I?”
The conductor shook his head and walked out of the hub. “I’m sick of you, Billy! Whenever you come in late, we have to cover for you. We’re already working long shifts, man. You need to get it together.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Billy muttered before entering the hub and adjusting the controls. His head was pounding from a hangover, but at least he could see the tracks. He belched before adjusting the PA system.
“This is your conductor speaking. The train will be moving shortly, stand clear of the doors.”
***
Jimmy grabbed his broom and made his way to the small facility room. He removed his gloves, revealing dark hands with white calluses. After a long sigh, he unlocked the station door and entered the tiny compartment. His stomach burbled and growled and he grabbed the small, brown paper sack containing his lunch.
After wolfing down a very dry peanut butter sandwich, Jimmy cleared his throat and walked out towards the break room to buy a soda. The break room was on the far side of the platform, directly across from the last car on the subway train. A faint hissing sound caught his ear just before he walked inside. Jimmy turned towards the subway car and the sound became more distinct. He stepped to the edge of the platform and leaned in close to inspect the metal connections between the last two cars. The chains hung limply to the side, but everything was in place.
The hissing stopped, and Jimmy walked away to buy his soda.
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