So I’ve always had irrational fears (being a passenger in a car on a winding cliffside, afraid of plummeting to the water below…being a passenger in a car near mountains with plenty of yellow “falling rock” signs, afraid of being trapped in the car crushed by rocks…the possibility of being attacked on the streets and not being able to run or scream, glued to the ground).  Okay, most of these involve control issues and the last one is a dream, but remain fears nonetheless.  

My most recent fear follows my most recent move.  In the 7th Avenue stop in Brooklyn, there is a rusty revolving-door turn style that serves as an exit from the subway station.  You must use some force (due to said rust) to exit one at a time, the turn style divided and the exit blocked once each person passes through.  You only have a moment to exit before your chance is ended by the person behind you, as the blocker blockades any from entering the wrong way.  It is an Exit Only turn style (although the dual entry ones also possess this quality), and I am deeply afraid of it.  I am afraid of someone pushing through behind me before I am out all the way, therefore trapping me between my division and then crushing me against the steadfast rusted-metal blocker.  If that happened, how would I escape?  It is a very old turn style, and with my naked eye I cannot see the way an MTA worker would dismantle this contraption if I was stuck.  I don’t see locks to unlock.  This baby is solid for a reason.  How would it come apart?  Would the Jaws of Life even fit into the train station?  Would there even be a reason to call for the Fire Department as I would most-likely bleed out before being rescued?  You might say that this scenario is irrational.  But I say, ever the believer in the “anything is possible” mantra, that it is indeed both a possibility and an inevitability.  We are all busy New Yorkers, hustling and bustling to and fro.  Most of the time we are unaware of those around us, thanks in some part to iPods and in other to our own self-involvement.  It is my self-involvement that provides this fear.  So every day, at least once a day, the turn style rustily creaks and squeaks, warning me as I pass through it, but also praising me as I successfully clear it, safely avoiding a potentially fatal injury.  My anxiety causes my shoulders to rise as I approach it, and my success causes a sigh of relief as my shoulders lower while I head home.  A cherry on top of another successful day in New York.  

But that cherry still scares me every time.