Staffer Sophie Tobin recounts her near-death experience at the hands of the MTA.
Listen. I don’t ask for much. I have pretty low expectations for most things. When I get on the subway, at the very minimum, I expect to eventually exit alive. But apparently even THAT is too much to ask.
I was minding my own damn business on the 1 train late last Thursday night, chatting with my friends, and making plans for the weekend ahead. How foolish of me, to assume I would be alive to see this weekend. When we reached the 116th street stop, we stood up and began to walk out the doors. There was a consistent flow of people exiting, and I was the last in the group, DIRECTLY behind the person in front of me. None of this mattered to the MTA. The doors began to slide shut, so I stuck out my arm. I felt the doors close around it, and waited for the split second it usually took for the doors to open again whenever there’s someone blocking them from shutting. But that never came. My arm was tightly gripped by the demon that is the 1 train.
I realized that the subway was going to take off with my whole ass arm dangling out the side. I had one of two options: quickly reenact the entirety of 127 Hours, or yank out my arm. After a brief moment of deliberation, I went with the latter. I felt the rubber edges of the doors drag along my arm. I slammed my hands against the window to alert my friends that I was trapped in the belly of the beast. One of them bravely began to pull the doors back open, and succeeded, but the train began to move and it was all over.
I looked around at my fellow MTA riders to see if anyone else had witnessed this. The most surprising part? Over a dozen New Yorkers stared back at me in complete shock. They knew what could have happened. I knew what could have happened. And yet we had no choice but to remain seated within the train that clearly thirsted for blood.
I spent the next 20 minutes at the 125th street station waiting for the next downtown train and pondering where it all went wrong. I eventually returned home in one piece. And yet, I left something behind that night: what little faith I had in the MTA.
the demon itself via Bwog archives.