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Words by: Tim Matson

Image by: bobster855

Well, that’s not ideal, I thought.  And that explains the tape over the turnstiles.
“How long?” another person in the gaggle cried out.
“We don’t know at this time,” the woman at the ticket booth said.
A disgruntled sigh grumbled up from the group.  I’m not proud of it; I was one of the grumblers.
But flooded tracks happen.  Trains get messed up.  There’s not much you can do about it, so it doesn’t make a lot of sense to get bent out of shape.
(Or so I tried to tell myself.  To a lesser degree of success.)
I walked back up the stairs to the street level, and passed a line of people heading into the station, only to receive the same news I’d just heard.  A couple of folks walking up the stairs behind me said to them, “Trains shut down, no trains running.” But mostly, people continued to walking down the stairs, to see for themselves.
I figured I would start walking, south, toward the office.  At this point, I was at about 93rd Street.  And I worked at 28th Street.  The rain was letting up, but walking 65 blocks was not at the top of my list of things to do at eight o’ clock in the morning.
But, I set off.
I got to 86th Street, dashed into the subway station, and learned that the train lines were still down.  Same story at 79th Street.  And at 72nd.
I had, and still have, no idea how long it takes for a subway line that’s flooded to get, you know, unflooded. But, apparently, it’s more than the time it takes someone to walk 25 blocks.
So, I started looking for a bus stop.  I can just ride the bus to work, I thought.  And, having left home early, I might just make it on time.
I looked over my shoulder and saw a bus moving through traffic down Broadway.  A lucky break.  But then, I noticed a good two dozen people waiting for it at the next corner.  And as the bus passed me, I saw that it was already filled beyond capacity.  Passengers were standing in the stairs and next to the driver.  People were straddling the accordion joint in the middle of the bus and almost falling down with every turn.
So, the bus idea was out.  I was finishing the trip to work on foot.
I called the office, no answer, left a message that I was going to be late.  I texted my boss with the same info.
And, with the rain having stopped completely, it was starting to get steamy out.  You know, city steamy.  Like when you step outside, you feel like you’ve walked into the shower room at a gym.
I decided that the button-down shirt wasn’t working, it was too warm for that.  Especially if I ended up walking another thirty blocks.  I took off my oxford blue, tucked it over my shoulder bag, and continued my walk, in a Hanes white undershirt.
And then I looked around, and I realized that I wasn’t alone.
No, I was one of a crowd.  Dozens of folks, dressed in work clothes, some of them shedding jackets and ties, not because of the heat, but the humidity, on both sides of the street.  More folks than usual at that time of day, and everyone walking the same direction.
With each block, more people joined us.  By the time we got to 50th Street, we were a mob of metropolitan marchers, determined to get to work.  Like a massive school of salmon, swimming upstream to data process, to handle mergers and acquisitions, to answer calls, and to see clients.
A huge group of people, independently doing the exact same thing and not realizing it.  If I hadn’t pressed stop on my ipod and looked around me, I wouldn’t have noticed it either.
I caught the eye of a man walking next to me.  We exchanged an exasperated and knowing look, kindred spirits for a millisecond in the current.  A brilliant flash of a connection, between two strangers, on the streets of the city.  It was an awesome moment of unity, with thousands of other New Yorkers, all cursing the rain and the subways, but determined to get to work.
Then the magical moment was broken abruptly, like the subway coming to a sudden halt due to backed up tunnel traffic:
My kindred spirit’s cell phone rang, he picked it up, and a curse-laden rant about the MTA began.  A taxi honked angrily.  I realized I that my work shoes were not meant to walk three miles and blisters were starting to form.
Then, in midtown, people started branching off, having arrived at their offices.  And the giant wave ebbed.
I branched off at 28th Street, flying solo again, wincing from foot pain, as I walked the final half block to the office.

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