Dear Diary:
Every morning on my quiet, 60-minute train ride, I am awakened by the same voice â€" a recorded female voice â€" saying, “This is the final stop, Penn Station, New York City! Please be alert and aware of your surroundings.â€
There is more than a twist of irony to this forewarning. Once I ascend the steps to the main floor, I see lethally armed troops in camouflage uniforms who rarely appear on alert and aware of their surroundings.
They stand in pairs, and the animated social banter between them, while they frequently check their smartphones, does not suggest a state of high watch. If my vulnerability to unspeakable acts inside Pennsylvania Station is as great as their accouterments suggest, could they not spread out from each other - even 10 to 15 feet - and not talk to each other?
The two-by-two arrangement often coalesces into a fivesome or sixsome. These are even more troubling. They stand in a circle, which is nothing more than looking at and talking to each other. Even the guard dogs are looking at each other.
Perhaps the sweet and assuring voice I hear every morning is telling me to be alert and aware of my surroundings because no one else will.
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