NEW YORK CITY? GET A ROPE

Train conductors and flight attendants are two separate and unique species. There is something admirable about the train conductor, some kind of respectable humanity that is consistently lacking in the flight attendant. Perhaps it is the character and authenticity of their attire, the specialized belt-mounted ticket dispensing gear, and hole-puncher holster, even (if you’re lucky) the funny little hat. Something about the uniform gives one the impression that the train conductor could actually drive the train. Not so with the flight attendant. Their attire is servile. They are paid to patronize you. Gruff, jocular, or sardonic are not adjectives you might ascribe to a flight attendant, but they fit a train conductor as nicely as a belt-mounted ticket dispenser. Ultimately, the distinction probably lies in the fundamental difference between their roles in walking up and down the aisle and interrupting you, unbidden: the conductor comes to collect, while the attendant comes to please. You have, in effect, already paid the flight attendant, and they are thus obligated to bother you whether you want them to or not. The conductor has business with you, an exchange of ticket for receipt, a slight transaction much like buying a newspaper. In short (not necessarily, I guess, consequentially), train conductors are employees, real people like you and me who are just trying to do their jobs, worthy of our sympathy and respect, while flight attendants are robotic sycophants. This is why I like train conductors and dislike flight attendants.

This all came to me Thursday as I was riding the Metro North between New Haven and Grand Central. The fam and I went to for a little foody trip to Manhattan, sampling some fine restaurants, gourmet food stores, and celebrity chocolatiers. It was a fine day, including unequaled hot chocolate, and exceptional hamachi and fatty tuna sashimi.

New York struck a surprising chord in me. Most of my memories of the city are from high school trips to the various museums, or from a visit or two to friends in the city, and all of these memories smell of sewage and are clogged with people, cars, noise, filth, and the whole panoply of human detritus that makes up the urban landscape. You might say I do not recall New York fondly. This time, however, I was able to filter all that out, most likely due to a tolerance acquired in San Francisco. The scale of the place, the personality, the grungy efficiency of the subway, everything seemed kind of appealing. I’m still fairly sure I’d lose my mind living there, but it now seems like a tolerable place to visit.

Oh, and Happy New Year.