For those of us who work outside the home, there’s a period of dead time that occurs between leaving the house and arriving at the office. Or between leaving the house, dropping off the dry-cleaning, and arriving at the office. Or between leaving the house, hitting the bagel place for a bite, tossing the video in the return slot, dropping off dry-cleaning, and then arriving at the office to kill an hour before having lunch.
This dead time has a name: Commuting. From the Latin Commutus which means, roughly, “I’d rather be sleeping.” And no community understands the commuting lifestyle better than Maplewood.
The practice of commuting actually began in the prehistoric age, when a caveman named Amok noticed that the mastodons he was responsible for hunting wouldn’t just walk into his living room; he had to go out and slay them. On his daily trek to the most popular mastodon hangouts, he found new ways of distracting himself, like staring at the sun until his eyes burned, picking cavedust from his fingernails, and occasionally wishing he could listen to lesbian dating games.
Fast forward to the current day: Americans spend over 100 hours a year commuting, with an average drive-to-work time of 24.3 minutes, according to the 2005 U.S. Census Bureau’s American Community Survey. The survey also revealed that New Jersey commuters have the third-longest travel time in the country, falling just behind commuters in Maryland and New York. Expect those rankings to change once the International Space Station gets its own Wal-Mart.
With the ubiquity of iPods, commuter distraction is now a cottage industry. Step aboard a weekday morning train and you’ll find even the most veteran commuters listening to music or audiobooks in addition to the traditional habit of reading the newspaper of the commuter next to them. Great multitaskers can read the paper, work on their laptops, listen to their iPods, and hold open coffees at the same time. Hint: Don’t sit next to one of these people if you value dry pants.
Those morning DJ teams drive me the most crazy. Few things are more annoying than people half as young, twice as loud, and 20 times more caffeinated than I am expounding for the billionth time on the differences between men and women. Often, I’ll switch over to National Public Radio, but it’s at that moment they usually profile an Indonesian cockroach expert or a Hassidic bluegrass singer.
Satellite radio, from companies like XM and Sirius, enables car commuters to listen to virtually everything, including news, commentary, rap music, pop, hip hop, and hop on pop, which is the all-Dr. Seuss channel. As impressive as satellite radio is, it’s disquieting to know the first voice heard by extraterrestrial visitors might be that of Howard Stern.
Commuting by railroad is a lot less demanding than driving, except for the occasional sprint through the back part of town, under the bridge, over the sidewalk, past Grandma’s house, and into the station, only to find out it’s a Hoboken train. I admire New Jersey Transit, but it’s not always dependable. Often you’ll hear announcements like:
“The 8:22 train to New York is arriving 32 minutes late on the Dover-bound platform, and will proceed directly to Hoboken, making one stop in Secaucus. Please use the pedestrian underpass to reach the Dover-bound track for your express train to New York. Next and final stop: Brick Church.”
Soon you find yourself sandwiched between an obese, snoring woman and a urologist shouting into a cell phone: “Sorry, could you describe the irritation in greater detail?”
The train stops suddenly. Twenty-six minutes later, a voice on the intercom finally enlightens the travelers: “Ladies and gentlemen…we have come to a stop.”
That’s when you really need your iPod, laptop, magazine, or a small ball peen hammer to keep yourself busy and distracted. But such is the price you pay – that, and around $140 a month – for a train that delivers you into the heart of New York City.
Commuting will always be a big and essential part of New Jersey’s character. Whether traveling by car, train, or bus, commuters send a loving message back to the community: “we can’t get out of here fast enough!”
But they always come back. Walking like zombies to their waiting cars, waiting homes, and waiting families, weary commuters cherish the opportunity to put all of the mindless monotony aside, and enjoy the thrilling practice of just sitting still and watching television.
See how this article appeared in the News-Record of Maplewood & South Orange
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