In the Wake of a Jump
by Liz Mathews
According to the Metropolitan Transportation Authority’s (MTA) website, the average weekday ridership is somewhere around 8,739,680 people. Almost 9 million people, riding the 2,056 miles of track, the 3,912 miles of bus route. For the most part, the MTA goes from point A to point B and then is forgotten, until it’s time for us to go somewhere else. For the most part.
But then there are mornings like November 19th, when the F and G trains were not running for a significant stretch of Brooklyn because, it came through the grapevine, someone had 
been struck by a train at 7th Avenue. By the time I left home, crowds were walking away from the train station and toward the nearest bus stop, where every bus that went past was already packed. I’d get to work when I got there.
When I did, Gothamist was the only source online with any news about the incident, and the article didn’t say much more than I’d already heard. But the reader comments were revealing. Although we do not generally speak while we commute together, the anonymity of the internet presents the ideal sounding board for all the thoughts flickering behind the eyes of our fellow riders.
The first comment: “Yes, it was a pain in the ass today.”
Followed by: “Tragic: for the jumper, the desperation; for the train conductor, the guilt; for the riders, the delay.” This second person then took a less thoughtful approach: “Hundreds of Park Slopers were forced to walk three blocks to the 4th Ave. station. Most passed the time by using their Crackberries as they walked, making for a not-so-pretty sight of weaving and bobbing bodies trying to walk and text at the same time.”
Some took aim at the MTA: “I live in Park Slope and had to walk a lot further than 3 blocks, and the MTA person at the stop was completely unhelpful and not the nicest.”
But others, perhaps still under the influence of the somber tone of the day’s beginnings, had a different perspective; “I give the station agent major kudos for dealing with the angry customers who I imagine were all over the F line this morning.”
There were those who felt for the jumper: “What desperation would drive a person to jump in front of a moving train to end his life? The psychological postmortem on a suicide victim is littered with missed opportunities and missed signals.” And there were those who did not: “I seriously hope that train ran his ass over real fucking slowly. If he wants to off himself, go do it somewhere where you’re not screwing up thousands of people’s mornings.”
A few were just cruising the message boards: “I had another beautiful bike ride to work—did something happen on the subway?”
And some were commenting on the commenters: “Please keep a measure of perspective when reading these comments, and realize they do not reflect accurately the feelings of normal human beings with active social lives.”
Fifty-four comments appeared, but no answers—and really, few questions, either. Later that day, Gothamist reported that “NYC Transit spokesman Charles Seaton tells us that a person was struck and killed by a Queens-bound G train. The train’s operator was also taken to the hospital for trauma.”
Well before that statement, by 10:15 a.m. or so, train service had been restored to pretty much normal.
