Singing Subway Praise

My first monthly teachers’ meeting proved to be a lesson in where not to host it. The company office, about the size of my studio, would not seat nine. Instead, we rented a room across the street – in a karaoke parlor. At first, the idea seemed genius. Private booth with seats for all, eighth floor views of the approaching thunderstorm, and a one drink minimum on my employer’s tab.

The only hitch was that our neighbors were using their space for its intended purpose. Blood-curling yelps rivaling those at Abu Ghraib distracted our getting down to business. The language was incomprehensible. Were 1,000 cats dying a slow death, or was it one of Metallica’s greatest hits? The finer points of flash card use went in one ear and out the other.

On the subway ride home, I witnessed a miracle in public transportation. Tokyo’s Metropolitan Subway is a well-oiled machine. A paraplegic boarded with the help of a station attendant who bridged the gap between the train and the platform. The wheelchair glided into a designated section. The point of disembarkation was radioed ahead, whereupon a new attendant waited with another bridge at the exact set of doors closest to the passenger. Not one bump in his ride or ours.

Now let’s imagine you’re a paraplegic riding the MTA. First off, most stations aren’t handicap accessible. Three of the City’s 12,487 taxis are, so here’s to hoping you never have to leave your apartment. But if you do, good luck with figuring out which subway carriage is equipped with a berth for wheelchairs. Weary commuters eyeing your extra seat eject you from it. You’d never get off the car’s floor because rainwater short circuits the signal system installed circa 1090 B.C., stalling the train in the tunnel and plunging the A,C line into un air-conditioned chaos.