Kindness in Transit

Here I am today with more evidence—not that we need it—to prove that New York City is not the hard, cold, unfriendly place it’s sometimes accused of being.

When it comes to helping people who are lost or confused, New Yorkers are not only eager to help, they’re also colorblind and ethnicity-blind.

They just jump in without hesitating and offer directions or suggestions or subway fare to the hapless soul in need.

It happened to me three times in one evening, an outpouring of kindness on the part of strangers—and a new record of cluelessness for me, but that’s a different story.

Now that I’m no longer coming into Manhattan every day, I’m a little bit out of the loop on some basic information about the city. The current subway fare, for example. One evening three weeks ago, I arrived at Grand Central en route to an assignment and headed for the Shuttle to Times Square. I walked up to a MetroCard machine and pulled out my credit card. That’s when I realized that I didn’t know the fare and therefore didn’t know what amount to enter.

That was bad enough, but on top of that I am technologically challenged, so naturally I couldn’t figure out how to use the machine. I tried to buy a MetroCard with a value of $5, but I failed. I tried a different machine and failed again. I could feel my frustration rising, and the worst part of it was the blow to my pride. I used to feel like a sophisticated suburbanite with one foot in the big city, but here I was, as helpless as a tourist from a tiny town who’s never even seen a subway train.

I asked a passing stranger if she knew what the fare was. It turned out that she wasn’t a New Yorker; she was in town on business. But she looked as though she belonged here, with her colorful tunic and multiple ear-piercings. She had a MetroCard, and she suggested that I use it to pay for my ride. I declined and told her I had no singles to pay her back. She dismissed that and said that in the short time she’d be here, she wouldn’t use up the value of the card anyway, and she insisted that I swipe it. I did, and we boarded the train together. When we reached Times Square, I told her, “Thanks for the lift.”

I took a subway to 116th Street, the stop closest to my assignment. Anticipating that I’d need a MetroCard for the trip home, I tried again to buy one. No luck. I asked a young woman for help, but she couldn’t figure out what the problem was, either. A man who was passing by cheerfully offered me a one-time use of his card, but I explained that I was exiting the subway and wouldn’t need a return ride for another few hours. I thanked him warmly, and he said, “God bless you.” Then the young woman pulled out a MetroCard of her own, told me it was an extra, and insisted that I take it. “It has 45 cents on it,” she said. I thanked her, and somehow I managed to add $5 to it.

All the while I had a feeling that when I reached my destination, I might meet someone I knew who would give me a ride home. Highly unlikely, of course—but it happened, courtesy of my friend Beth Griffin. I didn’t need the MetroCard after all.

The quest for it, however, was rewarding. I learned that the current subway fare in New York City is $2.75. I received gracious and friendly help from three strangers. Incidentally, one of them was white, one black, and one Asian. I learned that New Yorkers and visitors are as friendly and helpful to other people as I have always found them to be.

The lesson in human kindness, like the subway ride, was free.