Now Hiring: Narcoleptics

An announcement now frequents the airwaves in the metro: "Attention passengers! The Carte Orange is modernizing! The monthly pass is now available as Navigo. Sign-up at the ticket window."

Navigo: a metro pass that magically allows you to slide through the turnstiles without having to slip your ticket through the machine. Just keep Navigo in the bottom of your bag, and slide it across the sensor.

This new and exciting technology was previously only available to those possessing a yearly card. Having a regular Carte Orange, I was jealous. So naturally, I found this new announcement riveting.

The next morning, I left for work a little early so I could stop by the ticket window and pick up a pass. When I arrived at les Halles, I found the ticket agent sleeping soundly behind the glass.

I cleared my throat and waited. Nothing. A man came up behind me. The ticket agent began to snore. I tapped on the glass. The man only pitched forward a little and began to snore into the microphone.

My fellow commuter and I looked at each other. We tapped on the glass again and listened to the snoring a few more minutes before giving up. I let the man follow me through the turnstile, the agent’s amplified snoring growing fainter as we disappeared down the hall.

Calmly Now

Thursday, packed car, rush hour. Commuters looked wearily at those occupying the seats. Four of the seats were filled by rowdy middle school kids who jumped around the area as if trying to rock the metro onto its side. Disdain clouded adults’ faces. The kids were far too energetic to necessitate seating.

I could read the complaints on the commuters faces: I had to work an eight-hour day. I slept three hours last night. My back hurts. I have to ride fifteen stops.

Soon, one of the boys began screaming, and with each yelp, sprung three full feet into the air. No sooner than I had exchanged a frown with a nearby woman, a man closeby leaned over them.

“Oh! Can you calm down for five minutes?! You’re on the metro, and the metro must be calm!”

The boys snickered, heads hung low. One of them whispered to another.

The man grabbed the culprit by the collar with one hand, and with the other, reached into his jacket. He whipped out a leather business card holder, and shoved his credentials under the boys face. “You little asshole making fun of me? You see who I am? You like that? Want to take this right out onto the quai and talk about it? Oh, not so funny is it now, you little shit? Who’s laughing now?”

The man released the kid and turned back to his newspaper. The pre-teens were silent. Finally, the girl of the group said quietly, “What did it say on the card?”

“Fireman.”

The Wait

Passenger Love

Usually we passengers travel as if alone on the train, faking obliviousness. We read, listen to music, or stare at our umbrellas. The only acknowledgment of other passengers comes in the form of moving body parts or bags, making room for the influx of commuters at stations.

Sometimes, though, braking trains warrant passenger contact.

The One's design is different from the other trains. It features the same four-seat areas, but also, a group of six seats whose backs are flush to the wall. The passengers in those seats travel sideways. Between these opposing seats is standing room, complete with bars hanging from the ceiling to ensure balance.

This afternoon, I was lucky enough to secure one of those six seats. Not a prime location since people stand directly in front of you, but a seat just the same. The One rattled on.

The passengers in front of me were expert commuters; they ignored the handles and poles, chatting on their cell phones and reading the day's paper.

Until it came: the emergency brake. The populus in front of me fell, hard. We six suddenly found passengers in our laps. My businessman and I exchanged panic-stricken looks. He leaped back to his feet, as did the other fifteen passengers in my area.

Once stable, he smiled. The others chuckled as they put away cell phones and papers and gripped the bars tightly. Excuse mes and pardons were exchanged. I found myself smiling, if only briefly, with my fellow passengers. I looked them straight on, and they did the same.