Zoe vs. Subway Etiquette

Now that Zoe's getting older, increasingly we've been taking the train instead of the stroller to and from preschool each day. At first I was preoccupied with holding her hand to make sure she stayed far from the edge of the subway platform. And I was also distracted by the charm of her enthusiasm for a mode of transportation I take day after soul-deadening day.

Fact: each day anywhere from 96 to 97% of
subway riders are screaming internally.

Then the novelty wore off. And I noticed something.

Zoe is all the people who annoy me on the subway.

The Sudden Stopper

All that matters to them is that they make it. Onto the train. Off the train. Through the turnstile. To the bottom/top of the stairway. They get where they're going and then immediately come to a complete halt, forcing the person behind them to stop short. (My personal fave is the person who blocks the entrance to the train car.)

Because I'm also responsible for Zoe, and she's still small, I can at least corral her or sort of give her little shoves ("Mommy, stop pushing!"), but it still drives me batty.

The Close Sitter

Personal space is a rare commodity on the subway. There are rules, and not everyone follows them. If there are others seats available, you don't need to sit right next to someone! Seriously, there are not enough exclamation points.

Zoe hasn't gotten the memo.

And, though she's less than 40 pounds and just over 40 inches, she needs three seats. She's like the guy who sits with his legs wide open, clearly overcompensating, or the New York Times reader who must suffer from a rare birth defect rendering them unable to fold paper because that's the only reasonable explanation for why they keep elbowing you.

My comfort zone lies somewhere
beyond the edge of the cone.
Jean-Louis Grall (Creative Commons)

When she's sitting, Zoe's feet are right at her neighbor's shin level, perfectly positioned for kicking.

"Sorry!" I say to the stranger, then, "Keep your feet to yourself, Zoe."

In response, she barks. Which brings us to . . .

The Crazy Person Who Talks to Herself

Random exclamations, singing, growling or hissing, and keeping up a dialogue with someone who isn't there. If she wasn't four, fellow passengers would not be smiling patiently.

The Clueless Clutzes

These are the people who get on the train and then fail to account for the fact that the train will move. As if that's not its purpose. So they stand there, contemplating where to stand or sit, and then when the train moves they lurch wildly, often falling on someone.

Each night I usher Zoe onto the train, so then I'm behind her, in nervous suspense. Sit. Right there. Sit.

She finally moves, just as the train does, and is about to fall, so I reach out and jerk her back by the collar of her coat. "Mommy, you're hurting me!"

The Loud Talker

While I'm trying to cover for Zoe's accusations of abuse, she makes loud proclamations about her day---what hurts, who caused the hurt, who didn't listen, can she have a Tic Tac? why can't she have a Tic Tac?

The People Who Think the Train Is Their Living Room

Not only do they spread out with their body and possessions, they remove articles of clothing, and leave messes behind. Food, spilled drinks, nail clippings.

It's only two stops but Zoe wants to take off her hat, her gloves, her scarf. Maybe her boots if her sock fell into it. I say no but then relent on the gloves because how else can she accept the Tic Tac I didn't say I was giving her.

I thought these were Tic Tacs,
but then I ended up in the Matrix.

Inappropriate Socializer

Public transportation, like church, should be a place of quiet contemplation if not angry silence. It's not a place to make friends. And yet she introduces herself. Or inquires in a stage whisper about the girl sitting directly across from us.

"Where is she going? Why? Where does she live? Can we see?"

Often the girl smiles indulgently. Zoe is cute for a stalker.

But the absolute worst is when Zoe sees another child.

"Let's go talk to that kid," she says as my blood instantly turns to ice.

I don't want to talk to that kid or that kid's parent/guardian. When will Zoe get with the antisocial program her father and I have tried to foster in her? Hopefully someday.

Until then I'll distract her with Tic Tacs.

Zoe: 81; Universe: 0

For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on Facebook and on Twitter at @zoevsuniverse. 

I need a win here, people. 

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