The Man with Work boots on the Train

What first caught my eye was the Hasidic Jew's coat was taking up half the empty space. That is not my commentary on religion, description, or anything else in the world of a million disclaimers that I feel like I should disclaim. Merely that the man was a Hasidic Jew and his coat was taking up half the space where a human being could sit down on the subway seat.

I gave him the universal nod and the Hasidic Jew moved his coat out of the way. I've done the same action a couple of hundred times with my own coat. No offense, no anger, merely a piece of clothing getting a little ahead of itself.

Which is probably why I didn't fully notice the guy on the other side of me. I say fully notice in the sense of I certainly knew there was a human being to the side. Male. Work boots on. Pretty good condition. Leaving enough space where I could sit down when the coat was moved.

Less than a stop later I had my copy of Fast Food Nation out and was blissfully aware that I was not overcrowded there were no pregnant people looking for a seat or anyone about to keel over.

Three stops into the trip I heard the moan.

There are approximately four hundred thousand variations of a moan one can hear in life. Most of these moans you do not want to hear on the subway. You especially do not want to hear any moan, subway preaching, or a challenge of a fight coming from the person right next to you.

This moan was pretty low key and work boots started shifting around in obvious discomfort. I took a closer look at him via the peripheral vision - if you look wrong at the wrong person and you might get punched.

His face was pale and withdrawn with thousands of wrinkles- though not the type of pale of withdrawn of a drug addict - the thousands of wrinkles from too much time in the sun where a man constantly crunches up his face and the pale and withdrawn look of being in immediate pain.

Currently, work boots was clutching his right arm in pain. The type of clutching where there is pain shooting through your body and there is no way to stop it.

I'll admit it - if he didn't look clean I probably would have gotten up and moved. Instead I asked, "You okay, man?"

Work boots half-laughed. I did not have any real expectations or thoughts of what he would or would not say other than my hope it would not require immediate medical assistance. "My back's all messed up. It's embarrassing to make these noises." The first part was said through a half-laugh, the other part what I guessed was his normal voice.

Work boots voice was scratchy, most likely the result of spending too much time outdoors inhaling dust and pollen. It wasn't quite gravely, though certainly well on its way.

"I'm heading to the Doctor," work boots added, while he self consciously tried to pull his hand away from his pained arm, failed and returned to clutching his own bicep. "I gotta get there before 9 or they cancel my appointment. Doctors."

He said the last bit with one more half-chuckle. The same half-chuckle you use for dealing with mechanics, tax agents, or anyone you have to deal with when you don't want to.

He kept talking. I couldn't blame him. I've been in pain before and all you want to do is distract yourself from the pain.

"My back's all screwed up, it's got these discs --they're--they're" he started searching for the word. His expression was one where he knew what he was looking for, knew exactly what it was, only he couldn't verbalize it.

"Bulging discs," I added.

"Forgot to take my aspirin this morning and this ride's killing me." He shook his head and winced. "Doctor gave me two choices. My discs are degenerative--"

He looked at me and I nodded for him to continue. I've had my own back issues and years of playing sports has made me aware of the potential risks.

"--I don't want surgery 'n that's choice one. Choice two is an epi--epi--epi." His face suddenly contorted. "I sound like I have fucking turrets." The last part came out in a blaze of fury. The fury dropped and his eyes darted around to see if anyone had overheard.

"Epidural," I finished for him. "They want to shove a needle into your spinal column."

Work boots pulled his hand away from his arm as whatever wave of pain finally passed. "I forgot my aspirins this morning. Tylenol to thin the blood so everything moves a bit more. Ibuprofen for the swelling. I went to my chiropractor - he can't even move my back. He gets behind me, jams his shoulder into my back," he lowered his shoulder slightly to demonstrate, "and can't move it."

"You ever try acupuncture?"

His face lit up at this question. "No, is it good?"

"I've had all sorts of back stuff. Acupuncture really helped me at one point."

"Can't hurt." The way he said it wasn't in defeat - only admitting to an option that wasn't there a minute ago. "All of this stuff has to be done before 5 though. Otherwise I lose a day of work."

Conversations are weird like this. Writing his segue out makes it seem like he jumped a thought - only he didn't jump a thought at all. He merely thought how he could incorporate a new found option into his life.

"You stretch at night too?" I asked him. My own back issues coming to the forefront.

"Hah. My girl massages my knees, neck, back; I stretch. Some days I'm hunched over drilling for 10 hours - you know what 10 hours folded over feels like? Like you don't feel like unfolding."

I wondered how he could forget his aspirin this AM, so I asked. He smiled a grim smile. "I left them - just forgot. I take them without water. Can't even swallow them so I chew 'em like candy."

I winced. "That sounds disgusting."

"Even when I was a little kid I couldn't swallow 'em. I don't want anything stronger - no codeine, or whatever else, that stuff'll kill you."

I thought about how daily aspirin use can cause liver damage. I kept the thought to myself.

He reached up and touched his right shoulder. "Torn rotator cuff too."

"You always outside?" I pretty much knew the answer. I had met work boots before. Different variations. Different times. Same guy.

"Outside. Inside. Whatever the job calls for." Work boots looked up the clock in the subway, "I gotta make it there by nine."

We watched at the subway sign told us we were approaching Union Square. It kept repeating various messages as it got closer - none of them the actual time. Humanity turned over and the subway pulled out of the station - finally the clock read: 8:41.

Work boots face dropped. "I gotta make it 77th and Fifth. Going to be tight."

"Day after vacation for a lot of people. Everyone is half a step behind," I told him.

Work boots smiled at that. "I'm 44 years old - man - take care of your back. Everyone should know if you're lifting, bend your ass down and lift from the legs. How's that book?"

He gestured toward Fast Food Nation. "It's good. It's about the fast food industry and all the businesses that are involved with it."

"Fast food. We're a nation of convenience. I want it now. I want it yesterday. Big business has it smart - they get everyone. You know how gas is expensive? Other countries laugh at us 'cause it's five bucks a liter in most countries. Unreal, right?"

He looked up at the clock again. Suddenly aware of the time.

"You should transfer at 42nd for the local, that way if the escalator is out you don't have to walk the steps at 59th. It always breaks when you need it the most."

He nodded. "I ain't leaving this seat right now. With any luck the doctor will send me home. I could use the day off."

The train pulled up to 42nd street. "This is my stop," I told him.

Work boots stuck out his hand, "Thanks man, I needed that." We shook hands and I exited. I felt like thanking him. Whatever work issues I was thinking about. Whatever twinges I felt in my own body. Whatever was bothering me - it reminded me that you can think you're having a bad day or something tough is happening and there are people who are having a much worse day.

Though if I asked Work boots if it was a tough day I'm sure his answer would be the same answer my blue collar Uncle Bill once said, "What? Am I supposed to stop getting up and working this morning?"

Wayne