Subway Etiquette (or Lack Thereof)

As a regular user of the TTC (although not necessarily a proud one), the one good thing I can say about it is that it’s consistent.  Routes that tend to run on schedule, usually do, and the ones that are always late, are just that, always late.  And while it may not be particularly good at what it does, like all public transportation systems, it has its advantages and disadvantages.  The biggest advantage for me is that, unlike those who drive to work, I have the opportunity to read during my daily commute.  But in the past month or so, I’ve noticed a disturbing trend.  The trend has been marked by a series of unexpected encounters with strangers and, as we shall see, at times it can make for a life-affirming foray out of the restrictive cocoons in which we urban-dwellers tend to wrap ourselves.  But other times it can be awkward and downright irritating.  Here’s what I’m talking about.

The first time it happened, I was standing in a crowded subway car on the University line, reading Saramago’s Blindness, when suddenly I heard a quaint voice coming from no more that one foot in front of me.  It said, “How are you liking it?”  I’m sure a couple of seconds passed before I finally looked up to discover a fairly attractive, artsy-looking young woman, staring right at me.  I was literally on the verge giving one of those conciliatory half-smiles that you show when you catch someone staring at you and you want to let them know it’s okay, but then I realized she had been talking to me.  She wanted to know how I liked the book.  It took me another few seconds to negotiate the transition from aloof subway rider to semi-coherent interlocutor and I can’t recall exactly what I said in response but I will say the subsequent exchange probably could have gone a little bit smoother.  Nonetheless I was left with a curiously wholesome feeling by the end of it.  In my head I went over some of the possible thought processes that might have led her to start the conversation and eventually settled on the explanation most agreeable to my ego.  Naturally, she had been staring at me since getting on the train and had been secretly building up the courage to start a conversation. 

Perhaps not, but either way, the book was the icebreaker, the crack in the otherwise impenetrable barriers erected between strangers going about their daily lives in the city.  I once read in a book by Neil Strauss that members of the seduction community would purposely go to bars wearing ridiculously over-the-top items of clothing in order to attract women in a practice known as peacocking.  Peacock theory, according to Strauss, states that the more you can stand out, the more you’ll be the centre or attention, thereby increasing your social value while, at the same time, giving shy girls an excuse to approach you and ask about your kooky accessories.  Could it be that I’d discovered a new spin on peacock theory that was tailor-made for those of us with intellectual leanings?  Could it be that by being seen reading something other than Thug’s Digest, I had projected intellectual value and opened the door for inquisitive young women to engage me in conversation? I’d soon find out.

The same thing happened a couple weeks later.  This time, I was sitting in a sparsely occupied train, reading Gladwell’s Outliers, when the slightly overweight, grungily-dressed girl sitting across the aisle got up and slowly walked toward me as though she was about to exit through the door behind me.  Instead, she stopped right beside where I was sitting and politely leaned forward to tell me, “That guy also has a really good one called Blink.  You should check it out.” Of course she was referring to Gladwell’s previous effort, which, not only was I well aware of, but it was actually recommended and listed prominently on the cover of the book I was currently reading.  Unsure what to say, I let out a tepid “thanks”, pretending half-heartedly that I was grateful for the heads up.  Then I went back to reading as she stood silently for the next few seconds until the train finally came to a stop and she got off.  I wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t really her stop but she just felt urged to leave prematurely due to the growing awkwardness of the situation.  Although, this was a much less fruitful encounter than the first, still there was no harm done and I remained appreciative of the gesture overall.

Then, this morning, while on a train even more empty than the last, a middle-aged man sitting several rows down from me, noticed me reading the wildly popular Freakonomics.  “That’s a great book,” he said ostentatiously over the din of the tracks.  Now I was getting annoyed.  Not wanting to enter into a discussion about the merits of the book, I smiled and nodded in agreement and continued reading.  By now I was considering permanently removing the decorative paper jacket that covers most store-bought hardcover books in hopes of achieving some much-needed anonymity.  But I was too late to act.

After I left the train and boarded my connecting bus, I proceeded towards my usual post at the back where I could observe and not be observed.  Just seconds after I had settled into what I thought was the perfect seat, I was joined on my left by a stout, twenty-something patron, whose outfit, coupled with his jittery body language and the time of day, told me he was likely on his way to some type of job interview.  Perhaps in an effort to calm his nerves (who knows?), he immediately turned to me and asked, “What’s that book about?” in an abrupt and self-assured tone without so much as an excuse me to preface his demand. My initial feelings were a mix of bewilderment and disgust.  I was repulsed by the sense of entitlement that led him to believe that I should interrupt what I was doing to compose an improvised synopsis of the book just to satisfy the curiosity of this guy I had never even met.  It’s most likely he had picked up on the word “freak” in the title. In hind sight, I probably should have told him it was a semiautobiographical how-to book on pimpin’ hoes for maximum profit.  Instead I gave him an intentionally belaboured, half-assed summary, partly because I couldn’t be bothered to do anything more and partly to convey the message that his query was unwelcome.  And I think it worked.

Can you imagine tapping the shoulder of the earphone-clad guy next to you on the train and asking, “Hey! What ‘cha got in your ipod buddy?”  Well neither can I.  Unfortunately when it comes to reading the signs, whether they be the subtle signs of social convention, or the explicit signs telling you to give up your seat to an elderly passenger, some of us are clearly much better than others.  A friend of mine recently wondered aloud why some subway riders can be seen reading and listening to headphones at the same time when the two activities seemed so mutually exclusive.  I hadn’t thought of it at the time, but now I wonder if the headphones aren’t just a ruse meant to pre-empt any attempts at interaction by fellow passengers, a type of added fortification to the social barrier placed between oneself and the public.  At the time, we all had a laugh at how silly it was.  But now I’m starting to think... maybe it isn’t such a bad idea after all.