Braking Bad

Governor Cuomo has officially advised his large and diverse constituency to avoid “crowded spaces,” like the subway. This is no small order, especially for New York City’s nine million inhabitants, many of whom use mass transit on a daily basis. Well, despite my esteemed governor’s counsel, I opted to venture out this weekend and descend into the underground—and so did a lot of other people by the looks of things! Without them, yesterday’s ride wouldn’t have risen to the level of a “crowded space.”

While I fully appreciate that the coronavirus is not to be taken lightly, I couldn’t help but reflect on the recurring electronic announcements in subway stations, which told us to wash our hands frequently for at least twenty seconds and sneeze or cough—should the need arise—into our elbows. Surprisingly, I didn’t spy a solitary soul wearing a mask in my travels, but did see a discarded one on the sidewalk.

The highlight of my downtown train ride was not the stuff of sneezing and coughing in a subway car. It was idly sitting for about twenty-five minutes at the 191st Street station. The reason: Somebody—or somebodies, actually—activated the emergency brakes on the two trains ahead of the one in which I was a passenger. Now, that doesn’t sound like a coincidence to me. I know there are times when these mysterious brakes are pulled in real emergencies. In my personal experience, though, the braking was courtesy of lunatics and punks.

Anyway, after finally reaching my destination, I ventured out into the great outdoors—on a pleasant post-clock change morning—and encountered a very, very angry man on his phone. He was informing a passerby of the wind beneath the wings of his rage. What was all the fuss, you ask? His civil rights were” violated,” he said, by a mall security guard with, naturally, no “proper cause.” And this fellow wanted to “press charges.”

I suppose the man called 9-1-1, because New York’s Finest materialized in short order. Initially, two officers spoke with him for several minutes. At one point an officer got into the guy’s face. This made me happy for some reason. Honestly, the complainant sounded to me like an annoying whiner—a victim poseur. From what little I could glean, the security guard wanted to look inside a shopping bag of his from another store, which can be humiliating, I know, if you’re an innocent party. But making such a big stink about it…

Eventually, the two policemen went inside the building where the violation purportedly occurred. They came out a couple of minutes later with some security detail, who watched with interest further interaction between the cops and the complainant. This tête-à-tête went on for more than a half hour and a couple of more officers even joined in the conversation. But nobody on the scene took out a pad or notebook and wrote anything down. They were more than likely trying to convince the fussbudget to forgettaboutit. Less paperwork for them and, honestly, civil rights violations and pressing charges should—when push comes to shove—be the real thing or nothing. Of course, I’m only guessing here and filling in the blanks. Perhaps I’m violating this crybaby’s civil rights by reporting what I saw and what I didn’t see. I just don’t know.

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)