3 Hot Hours Stranded on New Jersey Transit with Livid Passengers

"I repeat: There are no trains goin' in or out of New York. We don't know when service will resume. We apologize for the inconvenience..."

Tuesday, June 18, 2024
Clark, New Jersey

I’m going to say something very controversial for a New Yorker…
I actually like New Jersey.

I know, I know. I’m meant to hate it and mercilessly mock it for its sprawling mess of towns and big houses —a spaghetti of turnpikes, traffic, and Tony Soprano— but there’s something about taking a short spell from the madness of Manhattan in the summer to get a gasp of oxygen before dipping back into the miasma. Thing is… the enjoyment of that spell is predicated on the guarantee of a return trip.

Today, that guarantee vaporized into a steaming hot train carriage full of livid commuters, sitting outside Newark Penn Station for hours…

I woke at 6 am to heave my drawing supplies to Penn Station in 80% humidity. I was doing live illustrations for concepts for Loréal for the day— their main lab HQ is located in Clark, New Jersey. I was to jump on the train to Cranford, then a bus to Clark. The total trip would take about an hour and 25 minutes.

The train was due to leave in ten minutes, then twenty, then, all of a sudden: never.

It’s like someone dug up old racist tweets for every train line that morning. (Note the British spelling of “Cancelled”.)

As the boards quickly filled with the words DELAYED and CANCELLED for every single train, small clumps of caffeinated commuters evolved into a large, seething crowd, spitting and cursing with words I’d never even heard before. You haven’t seen ‘swearing' ‘til you’ve been around New Yorkers late for work due to public transport.

I checked the internet to see what was going on: Turns out, there were crippling overhead wire issues and a disabled train clogging the entire station.

I was due in New Jersey soon, and the clock was ticking down. The client was not going to be happy if I showed up late. I texted them explaining the situation. They asked how much an Uber would be to Clark, New Jersey. I checked immediately. Unfortunately, Uber had already clocked on to the fact that not only was it peak hour, but Penn Station was crippled— thus, the prices spiked higher than San Fransico real estate. A one-way trip to Clark, NJ was the same price as a flight to Paris, France.

“Book it.” came the reply.

And so, with sweat pouring down my back and panic rippling through my arteries, I piled into a smelly Uber with no air conditioning and hurtled through the Lincoln Tunnel. My ears popped as we exited into New Jersey. I was in another land. (At least I got this view on the other side):

One of the best things about Jersey City is the view of New York City.

I arrived just as the session was starting — I huffed a bagel and tried to towel off my sweat with whatever I could find and ended up with a damp wad of napkin on my forehead for the rest of the day.

After the long and intense day of work, I was keen to get back to the city for a date with Sophie. We hadn’t seen each other for days, and we had tickets to see Stacy Kent at Birdland Jazz Club at 7:30 pm. We’d been looking forward to it for months.

I waited at the Cranford train station for 45 minutes as barely understandable announcements blared over the speakers. Something about ‘heat’ and ‘tracks’ and ‘Penn station’. I couldn’t hear anything over the waterfall of sweat gushing down my forehead, so I checked the internet to see what was going on:

Oh, good.

I checked Uber again. This time it would take 3 hours to get back to the city as everyone else trying to take a train had the same idea. With surge pricing, it would could cost me less to just buy a black Toyota Camry and drive myself home.

An hour passed before the train arrived— I hopped on, trepidatiously, wondering if this thing would even make it to New York. What should have been a 20-minute ride took 90 minutes. We were one stop out from Newark Penn Station when the train slowed to a crawl, then creaked to a stop.

There were no announcements for the first 15 minutes, just people peeking out the windows with their bags in arms, ready to disembark. Passengers were crammed into the area by the doors, waiting for the train to make the final push into the station for us to pile out.

Then, came the first announcement:
“Uhhh— *Squeeeeeee*—sorry, Uh, Ladies and gentlem- uh. One sec. (click).”

Eyebrows were raised.
Ten minutes passed before the next one:
“Uh, hello. Yes, uh— we appear to be held. We’re held outside the station as there is a backlog. A backlog of trains. We’re being told there is nothing going in or out of New York for the foreseeable.”

Now, both eyebrows and blood pressure were raised.
He continued: