You know winter’s finally over when you prefer the smell of your month-old yogurt to the subway.
Trapped some 50 feet underground, takeout wrappers marinate in old newspaper folds among discarded change. If Manhattan is a melting pot, its trash is the amalgam of all the scraps that didn’t make it to the dinner table. And this, of course, is precisely why I love this city.
I spend a lot of time on the subway shuttling to and from places of work and leisure, various appointments and the occasional fitness class to which I am almost always late. I spend a lot of time trying not to fall asleep in the topknot of my seat mate, or jam the surface of my armpit into the face of the person below me — lord knows Secret may be strong enough for a man, but it’s no match for a Manhattan summer.
In all my twenty odd years riding the subway, I’ve found that Gogurt is the most transportation-friendly breakfast. I’ve also found that on any line, at any time, on any day I choose to ride, the following five passengers will be riding right beside me.
Oh, is My Music Too Loud?
It’s 8:20 a.m. and Laidback Luke next to you appears to be sleeping. His Beats by Dre however, tell a different story. From the looks of it, his headphones are on their fifth cup of coffee and they’re struggling to keep up with the EDC playlist Luke has prepared for them.
For the remainder of the ride, you will concentrate on your breath as you shoot glaring looks at Luke. He won’t notice. His eyes remain closed until miraculously, he jumps up just in time to make his transfer.
Five Course Franny
Five Course Franny always had a pack of Dunkaroos when recess rolled around. They were vanilla frosting-flavored with rainbow sprinkles and when she was done, she’d cleanse her palate with celery sticks. Now that Five Course Franny is grown and has a full time job, she must eat her meals in transit.
Never one to compromise her nom, Franny packs her breakfast in a string of Glad containers. She carries with her a single kitchen spoon and some Wet Ones, and has zero problems assembling a Greek yogurt parfait while standing up. She will one day lead the fight against dolphin obesity; the cure of which she is sure revolves around a balanced breakfast.
The Hot Dude Reading Who You Swear You Made Eye Contact With
He gets on at Smith Street. His carefully man-scaped beard suggests a deep level of dissatisfaction with his midtown office job. His flannel insinuates he’d rather be kicking it in Brooklyn with a creative cohort but also, that he is able to afford air conditioning.
Maybe you’ll muster up the courage to tell him that you, too, love Cormac McCarthy. Maybe you won’t. Maybe your phone will give you a damn signal so that Happn app can do its job.
The Peanut Gallery
The Peanut Gallery travels in a pack of at least five. They are chatty. They are loud. And they are almost always carrying Century 21 shopping bags. Reluctant as you are to admit it, you kind of want to skip your stop and hang out with them.
To hell with Broadway prices; for $2.75 you can get the performance of your life. Or, you can get the magician whose “party trick” involves half a deck of cards and a loose tongue, but hey! This is New York. You might just get a six piece Mariachi band, a Parkour expert or a ukulele playing parakeet. No shame in the game. Just don’t miss your stop.
Drawing by Joseph Amar
While we’re categorizing “types,” what kind of shopper are you? Did someone say shopping? Check out Leandra’s shopping cart here. Need outfit inspo? These girls (and guy!) have some great closets to show off.