Leah McCann Smith | Writer & Editor

This afternoon, I missed the train by one minute on the way to Long Island. My instinct was to blame it on the older lady two people ahead of me at the machine, moving slower than when you’re a youngin’ and you’re waiting for Christmas morning to finally arrive. I watched her actions in slow motion—tapping the wrong buttons on the screen on more than one occasion; selecting peak instead of off peak, realizing her mistake, having to start all over; inserting the credit card, only to enter the wrong zip code and have the credit card declined. If anyone has ever seen Zootopia (the scene with the sloths at the DMV), it was sorta like that.

There were a few emotions that manifested while this happened.

Annoyance. I was really peeved (this is to be expected—New York can do that to you) because I now had to wait half an hour for the next train, when I had just watched the 12:22 pull away from track one before my eyes, less than 50 feet away. So close, yet so far.

Regret. So the guy directly ahead of me in line at the machine was clearly feeling impatient too, tapping his foot like he would the floor of a concert hall, except the tapping was not in rhythm—it was rushed and sporadic, and a bit hostile. While I was (shame on me, I know, I know) annoyed at the old woman, HIS annoyance and decision to rush her to hurry up frustrated me a million times more. I felt ashamed to have been angry with the old woman in connection to how this guy acted. I didn’t want to be associated with his inconsideration.

Conflict. Two women who looked to be in their early 30s, each with a stroller, came up to the machine as the man was making his move (not that kind of move, you weirdos). After this next interaction, I knew the old woman was a grandmother of sorts to the two women. They didn’t hesitate to chastise the man for calling the old woman out, saying, “Hey, man. She’s just an old lady.” But it’s hard to explain their demeanor as it occurred in real life, though it relates to this next emotion. Here’s where the conflicting emotion rises up: After the women came to shame the man, for some reason, it didn’t feel like they were doing it for their grandmother, or in good faith. It felt like a giant wave of “fuck you,” but the crest of this wave had no finale or ultimate end goal. The closest thing I can relate it to is witnessing a scene in which someone carries and displays a huge sense of entitlement. Perhaps I could have interpreted it differently had the women approached it differently—with less hostility, and more genuine concern instead of attack. Maybe that’s out of place for me to say. But I believe there was no lesson intended to be taught here: I don’t think any of the people involved came away with a better understanding of others, or with a feeling of regret (the man) or pride for standing up for someone (the women).

Clarity. The thing I think I do better understand is that people can choose to be unkind, or they can choose to be miserable, but all that frustration and ill intent and impatience adds so little to our world.