Earlier this year, on one of the first nice weekends of the spring, me and my family decided to venture out of the house so we would hopefully no longer be tempted to murder one another. It was that kind of winter.
Unfortunately, everyone else in the city decided to do the same thing. So we waited forever for a bus to take us to Queensboro Plaza hoping to take the N/R into Manhattan, only to find the platform packed three deep with scrambling, antsy folks who’d clearly been waiting for quite some time. After a ridiculously long winter, the mild, almost-70-degree temperatures felt downright balmy. Everyone was a little sweaty and nervous and pushy. Especially me, as I tried to keep my daughter from running around the platform and zipping toward the third rail like a magnet.
And while I was trying to corral her, I noticed something odd: A large suitcase sitting on the edge of the subway platform, in the yellow space where you’re technically not supposed to stand. It was the wheeled kind, designed to be dragged behind you as you run through an airport or knock pedestrians over on a busy street while you talk on the phone. Its retractable handle was fully extended. The reason it stood out is because on this crowded platform, it was all by itself. No one was standing near it. The suitcase had either been accidentally abandoned or was left there on purpose.