Not So Thrilled: Riding the Rails with the Undead

The New York subway system is an interesting place to be at 11pm on a Tuesday.

I’d forgotten this, considering I am not usually one for the rails. I walk mostly, and if I’m not walking, I’m taking the subway, but rarely that late on a Tuesday. I’m 29. You can bet your bottom dollar that I am two sheets to tomorrow by 11pm on any given night.

So you can imagine my surprise last night to find that I had stepped onto the platform, and into the Dawn of the Dead.

Had it been 1982, I’d have suspected that the Thriller video had just wrapped, and every extra lived in my neighborhood. However, its not 1982, as I would be 2 years old, and the question would not be “Am I riding the subway with Thriller extras?” and more “Where are my parents, and where can I find a clean diaper?”.

Sidenote: If it WAS 1982, MJ would still be alive, and that would be rad. Sigh.

But in all reality, I had to rub my eyes to ensure that I was not, in fact, dreaming.

It was as if it was the witching hour, and all of the dregs of the earth sprouted from the ground, and shuffled their way onto the 4/5 express train. I was sitting next to a girl, who at 4pm, would be a girl a lot like myself: pulled together, articulate, poised (did I mention beautiful?) – but at 11pm, she looked a little like the victim of a mugging.

And then there was the guy in the brown suit sitting diagonally from me. Again, he looked like he was an executive during daylight hours – like someone I could take home to my parents. But now…now he looked like someone my Father would have to stab through the heart with a wooden stake. His executive haircut was tousled and spiking out at points. His tie was missing, shirt halfway un-tucked (How does this happen? I’ve always wondered) and one shoe was untied. His complexion was pale, with the exception of dark – almost purple - half moons under each eye.

The legitimately crazy woman in mismatched socks, with missing teeth and an invisible friend was – in comparison – looking like the sane one.

It was astonishing! There was an African American man sitting in the far corner, wearing a collared short-sleeved shirt, jeans, argyle socks and shoes with tassels – normal. Normal from the neck down. From the neck up, Dude looked like a wax figurine of a lobotomy patient. Slack face, dead eyes…he barely blinked.

Looking around, I realized that everyone in my car was like that: like Zombies. Bodies were loose and swaying and bumping with the rocking of the train, eyes were sullen, faces motionless and sad. At every station, they’d get up slowly and drag towards the door. They’d get off, and would immediately be replaced by another night crawler, shuffling onto the train and plopping into a seat.

What is it about nighttime weekday subway riders? Is it that everyone was like me, and wanted to be in bed? Was it that there was a tragedy above ground that I didn’t know about, and everyone was in shock? Was it because they actually were extras from the Thriller video, and I was in some kind of time warp?

Mind you, these were not threatening, or scary Zombies. These were friendly Zombies that sat, lifelessly (which, in and of itself, is scary), but I felt relatively safe. Granted, I felt like I was dared to spend the night in a graveyard, but safe, nonetheless.

But then something truly frightening happened: I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the subway car window, and I stared at it a minute – not knowing it was me. Because there I was, totally disheveled. The light was such that it cast a horrifying shadow on my face that made my eyes look hallow, my nose look long, and my cheeks, sunken. I was expressionless, and motionless, with the exception of the sway of the train. I looked like one of them. Possibly even worse!

THEY were looking at ME thinking I was of the undead! ME! Here the mugging victim was thinking that I looked like I may have just pulled myself out of a gutter after having been robbed. The guy in the brown suit was thinking that I looked as though I could be a girl he could take home to his parents during daylight hours. Mr. Argyle Socks was certainly thinking that I was coming straight from my Tuesday night lobotomy session!

Horrified, I ran my fingers through my hair, sat up straight, and bolted when we reached my stop – and didn’t look back to see what was after me.

I suppose it just goes to show that before one (me) judges, one (me) should consider their (my) own reflection first.

That said, I would have made a GREAT extra in Thriller. Even at 2 years old.