Door Blockers and Subway Sprinters: An Observation

By Zach Galligan on 05/29/2008

I live in Manhattan and take the subway practically everyday. Over the past year or two, as subway ridership has reached record levels, I have noticed a pattern of behavior among a certain group of fellow strap hangers (OK, the strap is long gone, but the cool nickname remains) that is typical of Type A New Yorkers. I'm sure other people have noticed this behavior as well, but I haven't seen it discussed in any detail.

I'm talking, of course, about Door Blocking and Subway Sprinting. Let's begin with the more common affliction, Door Blocking. You are a commuter, and you go to work every morning taking the NRW trains from 49th street to, say, 23rd street, a short but rather common trip. Since you do it every day, you know to get on the last door of the second car in order to be EXACTLY in front of the turnstile exit, and thus get out of the Subway first, before the crush of the other, slower people leaving the train.

The problem is that other Type A commuters have figured out the same thing, so at any given moment (usually between the 34th and 28th street stations, in my case) there begins to be a small group of people hovering around and/or outright blocking the doors in order to obtain Position. I have actually had people wedge into a tight 4-inch space between myself and the door in order to obtain this crucial strategic linchpin.

Obtaining Position is critical for the ultimate type A Manhattanite, the Subway Sprinter. This is the person who, after a successful Door Block, zips through the turnstile and sprints, as if his (or her) life depends on it, up the station steps to the street with the ultimate goal of being FIRST.

How do I know that this bizarre behavior exists? Because, shocking as it may seem, I myself am both Door Blocker and Subway Sprinter par excellence. And, in the course of my travels I have encountered many of my own ilk, hyper-competitive people (usually, but not limited to, males) who have transformed a mundane, extra dull commute into a quasi-sporting event. I am also ashamed to admit that the last time I wasn't first out of the 23rd street station was sometime in mid-March. The hilarious thing is that, without saying a word, we Blockers and Sprinters recognize each other, oftentimes grudgingly nodding in some form of mute, perverse respect. Occasionally, there are even rivalries, like the one I currently have with Suitcase Man.

I do not know Suitcase Man's name (nor, for that matter, do I want to), but I see him occasionally, usually around 9:45 in the morning, always carrying a briefcase so large it resembles a suitcase (hence his nomenclature). When he sees me, we exchange silent glances that mimic, almost exactly, the poisonous relationship between Jerry Seinfeld and Newman so brilliantly depicted for years on that epic sitcom. I know Suitcase Man's moves like the back of my hand (he's merely a Blocker, not a Sprinter), and, like Moriarty to my Holmes, he knows mine.

The one move he has been unable to counter, however, is a deceptively simple tactic known as the One Door Down (or ODD). In this move, you enter the train one door down from the door you actually want. Then, when the train pulls into the station before the one you want , you slide up to the coveted door, entering the train like any other passenger (of course, the doors must open on the same side of the train for this to work). If there are Door Blockers at your door (and there almost always are), they will be forced to let passengers enter, expecting you to move around them and further into the subway car. This is where your skill and cunning are essential, as you must seem as if you are going to barge into the train and, suddenly changing speeds, instead slide into the Position spot they have stepped back from in order to let you board. Wham! You've been ODD'd, sucker.

There is, without question, a slim chance that I might be imagining the whole thing, that none of this is actually happening and it's all a part of my overloaded, fevered brain. So, the next time you see me on the subway, smile and say hello. As I bolt up the steps, three at a time, seeking daylight, I'll be sure to wave back.