Please, Mister Conductor

One of my favorite things to do in New York is ride the train from Tarrytown to Grand Central. Among the highlights is seeing which conductor I've drawn and observing how he/she interacts with the hoi polloi.

Early on (in July), I boarded a train during peak hours but had an off-peak ticket. I was preparing my best rendition of "Please Mr. Conductor, don't put me off your train," when he almost smiled and said, "Hmmmm, let's see what we can do." (Maybe I was humming the tune or something.)

And when I recently returned from SF, the bus to Grand Central dropped me on Park Ave four minutes before the train to Tarrytown was supposed to leave. You should have seen me tearing through the crowds on 42nd Street, bursting through the doors at GCT, shoving people away from the schedule screen and sprinting toward track 35. All the while I was dragging a suitcase, carrying a purse and protecting a bag of bagels.

With the train in sight, I increased my pace. All of a sudden the conductor pops out of his control room and tells me not to have a heart attack, I would make the train. He asked where I was going. Then over the course of the next 50 minutes, he kept his eye on me and, as we passed under the Tappan Zee Bridge, he encouraged me to start gathering my stuff for the Tarrytown stop. What a guy.

All that in marked contrast to the conductor Mr. Pandey and I encountered on one trip to the city. We had been chatting happily when the conductor came up and locked eyes with Mr. Pandey. She said, "Do you realize I can hear your voice all the way at the other end of the car?" Pandey didn't know if he was being complimented or insulted, so he smiled broadly and asked if he could take her picture. She huffed and walked away.

I was crushed. The first and (so far) only bad-egg conductor, and she had to be female. Put her off the train, that's what I say.