In praise of the JMZ

On the eve of what may be a city-stopping transit strike, I briefly pause to praise my obscure-but-sublime adopted subway line: the JMZ.

The brown-hued JMZ trains dip briefly into Manhattan. Sandwiched between stations in Queens, Brooklyn, and Brooklyn again, the line makes six stops between Delancey and Broad streets in Manhattan. The JMZ is never crowded: at rush hour, I could extend my arms and twirl without hitting anyone. I've never seen tourists, peanut M&M salesboys, panhandlers, or menacing schizophrenics. Everyone minds their own business: the only socially acceptable activites are reading and listening to music. I've never seen a loudmouth or troublemaker on the train, because they know better than to play games on the JMZ.

By virtue of its location, the line is resolutely working class. Everybody wants to get to work and get home. There are no pretentious ladies curling their eyelashes on a crowded train; no drunk NYU kids squealing or stinking of cologne or perfume; because it does not connect major nightlife destinations, there is no suffering the yuppie indignities of the F.

On top of that, I rarely wait more than five minutes for a train, and the conductors seem uniquely willing to hold the doors when they see people rushing their way.

I'm rooting for the Transit Workers in this strike. Not necessarily eight-percent raise rooting, but enough that they catch a break and save a little face after the belligerent sabre-rattling they've endured from a disgraceful governor and a pandering mayor.

As a commentor on Gothamist noted:

I'm a conductor, and for all the times that I've been threatened, swung at, spit at, spit on, pissed on (yes...PISSED ON), cursed out, degraded, slurred racially, etc...because someone had a bad day, or missed their train or whatever. Nah, they don't pay me enough to take someone else's abuse. I get it on both ends. From management and the riding public. And for sure, I don't want what I already have to be taken away. And if that means that people have to suffer for a few days, then let the chips fall where they may.

Then there's this comforting thought: When a London-style bombing happens here, these are the people who are going to be the first responders and on the front line. They'll be the next category of municipal workers to be celebrated and lionized. It may be well-deserved, but it sure as hell wasn't what these people signed up for when they took the job.

Plus, if there's a strike, we'll all have a great excuse to wear sneakers at work.