Pushers and Squeezers

When I got to the L yesterday, it was after 8 PM but the platform was quite busy all the same. I assume it had been one of those situations where some logistical anomaly forced a ten-minute wait during a moderate-traffic period and caused a big build-up of people. I’m not much of a pusher or a squeezer. If the train is full, I am usually cool to wait for the next one. I do however, like (by “like” I mean “employ as a commuting strategy”) to get in a good position to hop on immediately and let myself get pushed further into the train by the pushers and squeezers.

The platform being as busy as it was, I was unable to get right at the yellow strip to take this approach, and after glancing at the ETA, decided that the 4-5 minute wait for the next train would be fine.

The point is, once the train filled up, and the waiters had resumed an at-ease posture and taken their half steps away from the platform edge, there was a girl who caught my attention, standing in the most-proximal-to-the-closing-doors position. If you ride trains, you know this position: not yet surrounded, but shoulders slightly scrunched with your back perfectly straight, in anticipation of the doors spring-loading you in. What I noticed though was the way she glanced briefly at the floor in front of her, maybe a square foot and a half of floor space. I recognized it as being the opening for a pusher or squeezer, and I think she did, too. Was she worried about a pusher making a last-second effort? Was she considering inviting a waiter to become a squeezer? Was she merely remarking to herself that, in a town full of pushers and squeezers, this was remarkably rare real estate?

I always think it’s important to point out when I am not attracted to girls, especially in this town where everyone is just looking for a piece, so I place this detail here. She was not attractive (though not ugly).

Now, why I thought the following, I don’t know (perhaps my acute awareness of her made me think she was acutely aware of me) but my main hypothesis was that she might be about to invite me to squeeze in. There were other waiters there, so I don’t know why this would happen, but in the instant, I was questioning whether I would accept.

The doors closed. Her jacket—just a tiny bit of it, was pinched between them. She noticed, looked at it and tugged a little bit. It wasn’t coming loose. She glanced up at me, I smiled at her predicament, and she smiled back with an understated eye roll and invisible sigh. Before the train left, the doors opened briefly and she freed herself. The doors closed again. As the train departed, she looked at me again, and we nodded to each other.

I live for these moments.