(Originally
published 3/9/20)
Governor
Cuomo has officially advised his considerable and diverse constituency to avoid
“crowded spaces,” like the subway. This is no small order, especially for New
York City’s nine million inhabitants, many of whom use mass transit daily.
Well, despite my esteemed governor’s counsel, I opted to venture out this
weekend and descend into the underground—and so did a lot of other people by
the looks of things! Without them, yesterday’s ride wouldn’t have risen to the
level of a “crowded space.”
While I
fully appreciate that the coronavirus is not to be taken lightly, I couldn’t
help but reflect on the recurring electronic announcements in subway stations,
which instructed riders to frequently wash their hands for at least twenty
seconds and sneeze or cough—should the need arise—into their elbows.
Surprisingly, I didn’t spy a solitary soul wearing a mask in my travels but did
see a discarded one on the sidewalk.
The
highlight of my downtown train ride was not the stuff of sneezing and coughing
in a subway car. It was idly sitting for about twenty-five minutes at the 191st
Street station. The reason: Somebody—or somebodies, actually—activated the
emergency brakes on the two trains ahead of the one in which I was a passenger.
Now, that doesn’t sound like a coincidence to me. I know there are times when
these mysterious brakes are pulled in real emergencies. In my personal
experience, though, the braking was courtesy of a lunatic, punk, or some
combination of the two.
Anyway,
after finally reaching my destination, I ventured out into the great
outdoors—on a pleasant post-clock change morning—and encountered an incredibly
angry man on his phone. He was informing a passerby of the wind beneath the
wings of his rage. What was all the fuss, you ask? His civil rights were”
violated,” he said, by a mall security guard with, naturally, no “proper
cause.” And this fellow wanted to “press charges.”
I suppose
the guy called 9-1-1, because New York’s Finest materialized in short order.
Initially, two officers spoke with him for several minutes. At one point an
officer got into the man’s face. This made me happy for some reason. Honestly,
the complainant sounded to me like an annoying whiner—a
victim poseur.
From what little I could glean, the security guard wanted to look inside a
shopping bag of his from another store, which can be humiliating, I know, if
you’re an innocent party.
But making such a big stink about it…
Eventually,
the two policemen went inside the building where the violation occurred. They
came out a couple of minutes later with some security detail, who watched with
interest further interaction between the police officers and the aggrieved party.
This tête-à-tête went on for more than a half hour, and a couple of more
officers even joined in the conversation. But nobody on the scene took out a
pad or notebook and wrote anything down. They were more than likely trying to
convince the fussbudget to
forgettaboutit. Less paperwork for them and,
honestly, civil rights violations and pressing charges should—when push comes
to shove—be the real thing or nothing. Of course, I’m only guessing here and
filling in the blanks. Perhaps I’m violating this crybaby’s civil rights by
reporting what I saw and what I didn’t see. I just don’t know.
(Photos
from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)
