Holding Position

There are small things that we do, I think that we privately take great pride in. Perhaps we recognize that they are not truly impressive in the sense that others would not see them in the same light that we do, and so maybe we don't tell others about these things, but we see them at the very least as mildly heroic deeds. George Carlin included such things in his act, calling it the small world. Perhaps much of what I write is in that category.

One of the little things that I do is on the subway. All year long, there are times when train cars may be crowded, but it is egregiously pronounced in summer, when tourists flock to town and seemingly eschew rental cars for LA's long-maligned public transportation system. Perhaps the word is out that it's better than it used to be, but I wish people from out of town didn't know. Anyway, the result is that seats are often unavailable.

It can even be the case that there is not space on the poles for one's hand. I see myself as someone who can maintain his balance in the absence of anything to lean on or any thing to grip. It is necessary merely to account for three things. You must compensate first for the train's acceleration, later for its deceleration, and in between sometimes for sudden stops. The first two are easy, if the driver gently eases into them.

Those sudden stops are what often humble me. I can spread my feet apart and absorb the acceleration and deceleration, but suddenly braking the train can throw me if I am not vigilant, and that's when my perception of myself as some kind of exception being in this regard comes crashing down. Of course the blame lies with the driver, who must surely be new or else incompetent. It is always the unfit people around you who make you look bad, isn't it?