Escalators

In the future, I'm sure I'll write about the New York City subways because nothing burns my buttons more than those overcrowded, poorly run, dirty, rattling underground locomotives, but today I'm starting small (smaller). I'm writing about escalators.

I like escalators, in theory. That is, I like what they stand for: hey, this city is for everyone, even lazy people like you, and so we're going to install stairs that move so you don't have to walk to your jobs where you're underpaid and underappreciated, it's a place, like your couch or your toilet, where you're treated like a king. Rest ye weary limbs, dear peasants! I would continue this italicized description of the meaning of escalators for several paragraphs, but my friend (lets call him Happy Stan) is looming over my shoulder and threatening to pull the plug on my computer if I don't find something nice to say about someone soon (he thinks that New York subways are a "miracle"). Stan clearly doesn't get me.

So I would like escalators if they and the people who rode them all existed in a pristine, perfect world (such as the universe of my mind). Alas, we live in the real world and I believe it was either Jean-Paul Sartre or Daffy Duck who said: "Hell is other people."

There are approximately 7 escalators on my commute each morning and I'm one of those who doesn't mind walking up them. I prefer to hop into the left-passing-lane and glide up the steps two at a time: it's like flying, except without the danger of crashing (and without actually flying or getting anywhere nice, like Hawaii). Those in the right lane are more patient than I am, and I don't begrudge them their brief moment of luxury, as long as they stay over there to the right where they belong. For those who drift into the left lane and then stand, lump-like, blocking the way for the scrum of neurotics and Type-A's working up a coronary behind them, I propose this: the death penalty. [An aside. I'm basically against the death penalty for things like murder, because I can't see how it's a disincentive to others. I can't imagine anyone who, in a fit of rage, would pull out a candlestick to kill someone and then stop and think: wait, I'm going to get caught and then get sentenced to death, I'd better chill out with a pitcher of Budweiser and put down some money on the Steelers to win the SuperBowl instead of killing my friend Happy Stan. Thus, the death penalty amounts to a simple act of revenge.] But I'm all for the death penalty for standing to the left on an escalator during rush hour because if it were a crime and you knew the penalty for standing there was death, you wouldn't do it. Unless you wanted to die, and then I say, good for you, you've found something you're good at! Why not clear the population of malcontents (who don't have blogs), anyway?

So where was I? Oh yes, escalators. My biggest problem with these ambulatory devices is that they are always breaking down. And by always, I mean: every 17 seconds. I would estimate that the average escalator works only about 50 percent of the time (I've done extensive research on this matter, including sleeping on this topic after a heavy lunch). I live in New York City, and thus I have two choices: numb myself to the incompetent, careless, feckless, heedless, inattentive, irresponsible, reckless, thoughtless, unconcerned, unmindful people who work for our public transportation departments or work up a lather of anger and frustration that leads only to an increase in my blood pressure and a thinning of my hair, but that does nothing to contribute to the public good. I choose the latter. (By the way, I looked up "lack of care" in the thesaurus and copy\pasted the entries above. I noticed "New York Public Servant" wasn't listed, so I'm crafting a letter now to Roget's). So then why are escalators always breaking down? I've considered two possibilities: 1) they're just built very, very badly. Imagine if your car worked only half the time. Or your computer (wait, that might be an upgrade if you're using a computer with Windows). I suppose it's the American way. Build something badly, make it so it needs lots of repairs and thus, keep a lot of people employed (and keep a lot of other people, like you and me, but mostly me, really cranky). I guess that's called "Built-in Obsolescence." Geez, though, couldn't they at least last more than a week? It seems unlikely to me that builders can construct airplanes that fly for years without incident (it's the safest way to travel, they tell us, and lord knows "they" are always right), but escalator architects can't build a decent set of moving stairs that don't break down after fifteen minutes. That brings me to my second theory. Lets call it Possibility 2) they're doing it on purpose! They just want to piss us off, maximize our inconvenience, because, well, they can! It's not that they're laughing at us or particularly enjoying the misery they've inflicted on millions (yes, visit Grand Central and count the teeming masses (and if you get bored, count toupees)). But there's no incentive to do it any better. No one is holding them to a higher standard, since this is New York City and there are 11 million of us here. You can overcharge and underwork and as long as you can sleep at night, you can also just say fuck it, let them suffer. So while the escalator workers might not consciously be doing it to us the hard way, they're unconsciously doing it. I bet no one who works for these various companies has ever had any therapy. A little Freud, a little guilt, and we might all be traveling like Kings again.

Another possible solution to this whole mess: the death penalty.