The Cold Stove Report

Yes, it’s summertime and hot around here—extremely hot. The pictures accompanying this essay are to not only be seen but felt as well. Feel the heat and humidity. Take a deep breath and the smell the oppressive underground. On Friday, I rode the subway to and from Manhattan—in air-conditioned cars this go-round. I didn’t see the gambling man on this trip—perhaps he hit it big with that dollar of mine—but I did encounter a fellow who claimed to be “God’s prophet.” From the outset, I prayed that his mission was to preach to—and convert—the entire train. That way his time spent in my presence would be relatively short. Unfortunately, he confined himself to one car—the one that he entered with me in it.

For multiple stops, this man didn’t come up for air. He quoted passages from the Bible and enumerated a whole host of sins—ranging from lesbianism to masturbation—for which transgressors would be consigned to eternal damnation. After processing this litany, I could say with some confidence—as I scanned my fellow passengers—that there was not one among us who was heaven-bound. God’s prophet mercifully exited at 50th Street, which put him in the heart of the theater district, near Radio City Musical Hall, and also Rockefeller Center. In the heat of the day, I’m certain he found sinners aplenty—from all over the world, too—to chide and relegate to the nether regions.

Several hours after my subway ride and religious experience—during the rush hour—a “network communications issue” suspended service for seven of the numbered train lines. That's a lot of miles. I can’t say whether it was an act of God or not. The powers-that-be professed that it had nothing to do with the excessive heat or an electrical failure. I don’t suspect stranded riders took much solace from that. In any event, this computer glitch left those at the command center—subway central as it were—unaware where all their trains were for over an hour.

This mechanical hiccup is further evidence that technology—even the most advanced—is quite fallible.  As I loathe driving—especially in the New York City area—I have long wondered whether or not I will live to see the day when I could be chauffeured to my destination by just asking Alexa—or some such thing—to take me there. Wouldn’t it be nice to just punch in some coordinates, I thought, and leave the driving to software in the dashboard? But now I can't help but think about the gremlins lurking in there.

Once upon a time, too, I appreciated the slogan: “Go Greyhound and leave the driving to us.” But I’ve since been on some very long bus rides where I left the driving to them—or a competitor of theirs—and they were pretty uncomfortable. In fact, the long rides seemed even longer than if I was behind the wheel myself, which says a lot. Of course, I had to sit next to a person unknown on a few occasions. You can choose your friends and not your relatives or fellow bus riders. Once I got stuck sitting beside an incredibly uninteresting blowhard eating a stinking sandwich. Perhaps, though, that is preferable to sitting alone in a computer-operated car that malfunctions on a heavily trafficked highway.

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)