Speaker static cut through the full A train hurdling down towards 59th. What type of showtime would we be in for? Singing? Dancing? Poetry?
Smooth beats erupted through the static. No one reacted apart from the two young blonde men sitting across from me. Clearly not New Yorkers. My guess is Scandinavian. The dead giveaway was their wide-eyed exuberance. Tourists don’t carry that subtle shroud of jaded exhaustion with sagging shoulders and heavy eyes.
A man with a physique worthy of a Men’s Health cover began dancing. He hit all the subway b-boy standards. Hat tricks, hand stands, and basic popping. He executed the classic pole dancing moves with eloquent ease– holding the flag position, walking his feet around the ceiling, plenty of spins. He was very talented, although his performance quality had room for improvement.
Fellow riders maintained downcast eyes. Clutching their bags tighter and sinking further into their seats to avoid flailing limbs. I’ve never seen someone get hit by a subway performer, but there’s a first time for everything.
His routine was brought to a close as the subway doors opened. Dead silence.
No nods of acknowledgment. No clapping. No friendly looks. It was as if any sign of recognition would teleport money from their pockets to his.
He wasn’t pleased….
The performer perched his body forward and down, as if talking to a child, and stared down one end of the car with slow deliberate clapping. He repeated the same in the other direction. 99% of the car continued staring down, the Scandinavians were confused, and my claps were the only ones joining in.
“I just put on a performance for ya’ll, and ya’ll didn’t even acknowledge my existence. You didn’t hear me ask for money. I just was putting on a performance, sharing my talents. You don’t know what kind of day I’m having. Just a friendly smile could completely turn my day around. Did anybody even enjoy this?” (Add a few curse words into the above quote.)
I silently raised my hand. The Scandinavians nervously did the same.
He gave me an, “I appreciate you”, then continued to shame the car before bursting out at the next stop with a, “I don’t need ya’lls money… I’ve got a podcast.” *metaphorical mic drop*.
I have no idea who that man was, where he’s from, what he does, or his life experiences. But I knew exactly how he felt.
From my dance career, I know how crushing it is to leave your heart on the dance floor in exchange for blank stares. From my gig economy experiences, I know how soul-sucking it is to get ignored by every single person walking by.
For you, the watcher or passerbyer, that encounter is an isolated experience. Just keep your head down. Don’t panic… the awkwardness will only last for 2 seconds. For us on the other side, each cold shoulder compounds in a snowball effect. The human psyche can only bend so far before it snaps.
And oh man did that man’s psyche snap.
Having your subway ride interrupted by a performer can be annoying. Being handed a flyer on the street can be obnoxious. I get it. But what if you were the one on the other side?
Simply validating someone’s existence can go further than you expect.
There’s a strong narrative to do something and make a difference. Fight for equality! Save the environment! Take a stand! How can we fight for these big, hot topic issues if we can’t even treat each other like humans? Macro issues are important to tackle, but everything starts at the micro level. You have the power to make a difference, and starting is easier than you think.
