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You can find the current article at its original source at http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2014/may/10/new-york-city-subway-dancers-scourge
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| Subway break-dancers are a scourge. Even Barnum let his suckers leave | Subway break-dancers are a scourge. Even Barnum let his suckers leave |
| (4 months later) | |
| Manners matter. | Manners matter. |
| Far from being a wealthy indulgence, etiquette is a universal need in an urban setting. Etiquette forestalls the need to call the police as much as possible by establishing ways to handle disagreements and providing mechanisms to forestall them from escalating into open conflict or even violence. The denser a population, the greater the need for etiquette to dictate interactions between strangers. In the United States, there is no denser population than New York City – and within New York City, it is the subway system where the people pack in, shoulder-to-shoulder. Nowhere is the need for etiquette greater. | Far from being a wealthy indulgence, etiquette is a universal need in an urban setting. Etiquette forestalls the need to call the police as much as possible by establishing ways to handle disagreements and providing mechanisms to forestall them from escalating into open conflict or even violence. The denser a population, the greater the need for etiquette to dictate interactions between strangers. In the United States, there is no denser population than New York City – and within New York City, it is the subway system where the people pack in, shoulder-to-shoulder. Nowhere is the need for etiquette greater. |
| NYC subway etiquette can be summarized in one simple rule: don't impose yourself on others. Don't put your bag on a seat if the car is even slightly crowded. Don't sit with your legs spread as wide as possible, encroaching on the seat next to yours. Don't eat anything that smells, keep your headphones inaudible, don't lean on the subway pole as if it were your personal property – and above all, don't hold the subway doors open when the train is ready to leave. | NYC subway etiquette can be summarized in one simple rule: don't impose yourself on others. Don't put your bag on a seat if the car is even slightly crowded. Don't sit with your legs spread as wide as possible, encroaching on the seat next to yours. Don't eat anything that smells, keep your headphones inaudible, don't lean on the subway pole as if it were your personal property – and above all, don't hold the subway doors open when the train is ready to leave. |
| A person who does any of these things is an asshole. And the subway dance crews, the biggest assholes of all, are worse than all of these transgressors combined. | A person who does any of these things is an asshole. And the subway dance crews, the biggest assholes of all, are worse than all of these transgressors combined. |
| The routine is a familiar one. A group of young people, usually all men, barrels into a subway car just before the doors close and proceeds to herd any standing commuters to the edges while shouting, "It's showtime!". As the train exits the station, the person with the boombox – yes, those still exist – turns on some terrible music at top volume, all the better to interrupt the iPods and audiobooks of their now-captive audience. The dancers of the crew then execute flips, kicks and other pole-dancing moves within inches of commuters' bent heads, rolling on the filthy ground and monopolizing the poles intended to keep the rest of us from falling, all while the non-dancers of the troupe cheer them on. Then, just as the train is entering the next station, members walk with hats and cans to ask the captive audience for money. For the subway riders subjected to the show, there is no escape – not in books, in earbuds or in sleep. Even PT Barnum allowed his suckers the courtesy of an egress. | The routine is a familiar one. A group of young people, usually all men, barrels into a subway car just before the doors close and proceeds to herd any standing commuters to the edges while shouting, "It's showtime!". As the train exits the station, the person with the boombox – yes, those still exist – turns on some terrible music at top volume, all the better to interrupt the iPods and audiobooks of their now-captive audience. The dancers of the crew then execute flips, kicks and other pole-dancing moves within inches of commuters' bent heads, rolling on the filthy ground and monopolizing the poles intended to keep the rest of us from falling, all while the non-dancers of the troupe cheer them on. Then, just as the train is entering the next station, members walk with hats and cans to ask the captive audience for money. For the subway riders subjected to the show, there is no escape – not in books, in earbuds or in sleep. Even PT Barnum allowed his suckers the courtesy of an egress. |
| Just your average Monday evening on the New York subway with a boy dancing on the ceiling pic.twitter.com/uSp1hug63m | Just your average Monday evening on the New York subway with a boy dancing on the ceiling pic.twitter.com/uSp1hug63m |
| Serendipitously, if you can call it that, I was once again subjected to this horror show while working on this very piece. So, I made it a point to pay attention to just how far their behavior crossed the lines of decorum. Maybe, I thought, I had been overreacting? | Serendipitously, if you can call it that, I was once again subjected to this horror show while working on this very piece. So, I made it a point to pay attention to just how far their behavior crossed the lines of decorum. Maybe, I thought, I had been overreacting? |
| But no. The music they turned on was so loud that it overpowered the television series I was trying to watch on my iPod. When the display ended, one of the dancers joked, "Hey, we didn't hit anyone in the face." I was left hoping that the admittedly-talented young men transition to giving impromptu comedy performances within the train cars – that way, I'd have no compunction about pelting them with eggs and rotten fruit. | But no. The music they turned on was so loud that it overpowered the television series I was trying to watch on my iPod. When the display ended, one of the dancers joked, "Hey, we didn't hit anyone in the face." I was left hoping that the admittedly-talented young men transition to giving impromptu comedy performances within the train cars – that way, I'd have no compunction about pelting them with eggs and rotten fruit. |
| Advocates for these troupes claim that to hate them is to hate dance and music. Like modern-day Ayns Rand, their defenders decree their personal tastes to be some sort of universal, objective moral code – and have no problem castigating heretics who differ. Is there anyone who genuinely doesn't like music ? But few of us like all music at all times, and fewer of us like it when it's not our taste and we cannot escape it – or the flying appendages of the person playing it. | Advocates for these troupes claim that to hate them is to hate dance and music. Like modern-day Ayns Rand, their defenders decree their personal tastes to be some sort of universal, objective moral code – and have no problem castigating heretics who differ. Is there anyone who genuinely doesn't like music ? But few of us like all music at all times, and fewer of us like it when it's not our taste and we cannot escape it – or the flying appendages of the person playing it. |
| That argument – that we are required not only to endure music and dance, but also to enjoy them while dance crews transform our commutes into a stage – lends itself to absurdity. Does it make me a puritan to condemn the "trend" of men pleasuring themselves in the subway? After all, who among us has not experienced the joys of self-gratification? Or is it simply a matter of etiquette dictating the right time and the right place? | That argument – that we are required not only to endure music and dance, but also to enjoy them while dance crews transform our commutes into a stage – lends itself to absurdity. Does it make me a puritan to condemn the "trend" of men pleasuring themselves in the subway? After all, who among us has not experienced the joys of self-gratification? Or is it simply a matter of etiquette dictating the right time and the right place? |
| Need more proof that it's not just me? Just look and the expressions on commuters in these photos: boredom, discomfort and annoyance abound, not the "smiles" of people being entertained. | Need more proof that it's not just me? Just look and the expressions on commuters in these photos: boredom, discomfort and annoyance abound, not the "smiles" of people being entertained. |
| The asshole is the worst person permitted to abide in civilized society: he is the co-worker who doesn't flush; the couple who refuse to leave a tip simply because they don't have to; the woman who uses the express line with far more than 10 items. Operating just short of illegality, assholes are so offensive and inconsiderate that others can only mutter "There oughta be a law". Now, for the first time ever, there actually is: the NYPD has begun to crack down on the subway dance crews andcharge subway dancers with reckless endangerment for their acts which, in fact, do endanger paying subway riders. | |
| The 1972 trash classic Pink Flamingos culminated with Divine brandishing a pistol at her vanquished adversary. "Connie Marble, you stand convicted of assholism!" crowed the 300-pound drag queen. "The proper punishment will now take place." Said punishment, in that case, consisted of the death penalty. (Reckless endangerment, by comparison, is only a Class A misdemeanor, punishable by no more than one year in jail and/or a $1,000, and usually far less.) Even for the self-proclaimed "filthiest person alive", assholism was a bridge too far. I, for one, am in full agreement. | The 1972 trash classic Pink Flamingos culminated with Divine brandishing a pistol at her vanquished adversary. "Connie Marble, you stand convicted of assholism!" crowed the 300-pound drag queen. "The proper punishment will now take place." Said punishment, in that case, consisted of the death penalty. (Reckless endangerment, by comparison, is only a Class A misdemeanor, punishable by no more than one year in jail and/or a $1,000, and usually far less.) Even for the self-proclaimed "filthiest person alive", assholism was a bridge too far. I, for one, am in full agreement. |