Not a pressure cooker

Fig. 1: Heat stroke victim.

It was extremely hot in the Northeast last week. Temperatures hit an unseasonable 95° on Wednesday, and on Thursday the mercury crept up near an even 100°. As a cavemanly type who prefers cold temperatures to warm ones, I found this situation distressing.

The situation became even more distressing when I considered that I'd have to venture into the subway in order to get to work.

If you've never lived in a major city or relied upon an underground metro system for transport, it's probably not clear why this might be the case. If you have, you are aware of the rather intense sensations associated with venturing below the streets on a hot day.

When snakes hibernate during the winter, they retreat into large underground burrows. Subterranean chambers retain heat, and the extra heat helps them regulate their internal temperature. Humans don't need the help, but subway platforms provide it anyway. All that asphalt, stone and concrete above your head is getting fried by the sun, and the heat is conducted downward onto the platform. The effect is that of standing in a huge but somewhat ineffective oven.

Not pictured: my sweaty balls.

As a result, the colorful experiences available via mass transit magnify themselves. The hordes of people sweat and get smelly. The homeless among them get even smellier (especially Greenpoint Santa, as I discovered on Thursday afternoon). The touchy assholes among them become that much more temperamental. The trains break down more frequently. And the waits for the trains that do work seem interminable.

But the MTA, in their infinite wisdom, has equipped all of their trains with air conditioning. Usually, the AC units even work. Without them, stepping onto a crowded train car during the summer would turn the ineffective oven into a pressure cooker. But with them, the arrival of each train becomes quite a relief.

And that experience is  a microcosm for relying on New York's public transit network in general. It doesn't always work perfectly, it's easy to bitch about, and you're guaranteed to see (and smell) some awful things. But at the end of the day, it's better than virtually any conceivable alternative given the circumstances. New Yorkers who incessantly whine about the MTA should try riding SEPTA for a few years.