Radio Workshop

Death to Doorway Blockers! (Transcript)

by Andrea Lee

I've only been in New York City for 8 months, but I learned pretty quickly that there's no place for rectitude on the New York subway. I assumed that the rules of mass transit were uniVERsal: get on the train, move away from the door, offer your seat to anyone on crutches, older than you, or with child.

Boy, was I naive. On a New York subway car, the only place courtesy gets you is stuck standing in the middle of a train at the bottom of the train chain of command. It's all about the power of placement.

Firmly in command is the door blocker, usually a sulky young man wearing headphones, his feet planted firmly and his back belligerently to the door. He doesn't budge as the doors open and people getting on or off excuse themselves as they shuffle by. When the doors close, he leans back, flouting the "Don't Lean On Doors" stickers with every scornful bone in his body. The door blocker follows no one's rules.

Right behind the blocker is the door straggler: that person who is not close enough to the door to lean on it, but who refuses to move even than 2 feet away from the door at any time. When a door blocker actually exits the train, it's often a keen door straggler that jumps to take his place.

After that, there is the privileged seated class. Seated people are relaxed, comfortable. They revel in the covetous glances of those standed around them. But even the seated have to deal with door blockers.

Right at the bottom of the chain are people like me. The glow of moral superiority that comes from giving up one's seat or moving away from the door is quickly trumped by the sad realization that we have no power. When the time comes to get off the train, we find ourselves at the mercy of them all: the seated, the stragglers and ultimately, the door blocker.

Here's what happened to me once on the 1 train heading uptown: It was around 3 o'clock, just after school, and the train was PACKED with middle school kids. I was seated happily, talking with a friend. My stop approached. I bid goodbye to my friend and began to shuffle over to the door, only to find myself blocked by a wall of pubescent oblivion. "Excuse me!" I said politely, pointing to the door. Nothing. I gritted my teeth. "Excuse me!" I said, a bit more forcefully. No one budged. I was going to miss my stop. "Move it! You're blocking the door!" I fumed, as I shouldered and checked my way through. I finally popped out of the train, my arms flailing behind me.

I, the morally superior, was miserable; they, the blockers, were not.

What if I were an old man? A pregnant woman? Do door blockers discriminate? Who ARE these people? Didn't they learn ANYthing about showing consideration for those around them? How do they get away with it?

If I wanted to be a real New Yorker, I'd have to know what it was like to be the subway's most powerful. So I gave it a shot.

There I stood on the number 2 train to Times Square, in all my door blocking glory. If the doors opened on the other side of the train, I moved over to block them. When a couple to my left stood up to get off the train, I made them walk around me rather than give up my spot to let them slip by. I flinched as I waited for the confrontation...but none came. I didn't even get an over-the-shoulder look of disgust as they walked down the platform. No one called me on it. Was my steely gaze too intimidating? The guilt was overwhelming.

So I understand now, what it's like to be a door blocker. I've felt the power of having people bend to my rules. But I still believe that it's better to be courteous. I'd rather miss my stop than ever block a door again.

I'm Andrea Lee, for Columbia Radio News.